The Dream

Below is a dream that I had nearly a year ago. It is one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had. Very few of the details that I wrote were made up later. I apologize for the nasty part in the third paragraph. It was in the dream, I didn't make it up.  Well, I guess my sub-conscience made it up... So... yeah whatever.

Warning. I put this together very quickly and I'm not a writer nor do I pretend to be, so if you think, "this is terrible writing," you're probably right, and thank you.



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I stood at my post.  From my position on the battlements, I could barely make out the sea and the waves it carried to the beach just a couple hundred yards from the city gates. I shuddered. We knew the invasion was coming, but with the mist and the fog as heavy as it was, we would have no warning as to when.

Giving up on ever seeing the horizon again, I looked down toward the beach and saw my father at the head of the army assembled just outside the city walls. I could just faintly hear him hooping and hollering, waving his battle axe in the air, rallying our men. Next to him was his life long friend and brother in combat. They would take the invaders head on, leading our men to their deaths. But they were ready to die, with honor, for their banner. It took everything I had not to abandon my post and join my father at the head of our army, but orders were orders, and I was to direct the hail storm of arrows that would rain on our enemy from the walls.

A trumpet blast from the streets behind me pulled my attention from the beach. A carriage halted before the city gate. The king had decided to come out of his keep after all. He climbed down the carriage step and onto the street. When he got there, he turned and helped his sister do the same, though the way he snatched her forearm and gave a quick tug, she was better off without his help. She stumbled down the step as he caught her in his arms. As she tried to break away from his hold, he grabbed her chin and forced upon her an aggressive kiss. She slapped his face and was immediately slapped in return. Rage and disgust filled the hearts and faces of the men who watched.  The king's sister turned and embraced their armored uncle who had just arrived to greet the king. "Take off your helm, Uncle!" the king shouted. The king's sister moved aside to allow her uncle to heed the king's command. Once done, the king spoke, "Sister, kiss our uncle before he leaves to fight in battle! Go on!"
The king's uncle responded, "That isn't necessary, your grace, I --"
"She will kiss you, Uncle, or she will feel my wrath!"
At this the uncle quickly kissed his niece, knowing that the king had ordered lesser crimes to be punished by death. He hugged her, and whispered an apology and promise into her ear. Having done this, he returned his helm to his head, saying, "The men on the walls wish to hear you speak, your grace." Then he turned to walk through the gates and join his men outside the walls. The men on the walls did not wish to hear the king speak, but the suggestion distracted the king from his sister, who had just returned to the carriage.

The king began to speak to his men, but no one listened. The king had not been king for long. His father had died just weeks ago. One day he had been healthy. The next he was sick and could not get out of bed. The next he did not wake. His son was worthless. The incident that had just occurred was a reminder of that. He would not be king for long. Even if he survived the upcoming invasion, his own people would do the deed. He was sick, mad, incestuous. His father had been a great man, a great king, a great leader, but his son had none of his qualities. Had the king's men not been so busy preparing for the invasion, they would have dealt with this new monster that had succeeded his father's throne, but there was no time for it now. It was doubtful anyone would survive after today anyhow.

I went back to studying the blanket of fog that hid the horizon, disgusted. I had half a mind to send an arrow through the king's heart where he stood now, but I needed the men to focus on war.  Suddenly, the wall of fog seemed to change. Areas of it seemed to darken. I realized then that the dark patches were the black sails of the enemy. I shouted, "The enemy is upon us!" cutting the king's ignored speech short. He immediately jumped into the carriage and ordered it to fly back to his keep. The coward.

Battle cries were screamed from our men on the beach. But soon their was silence as from the fog came more ships than we ever could have imagined. The enemy was innumerable. Down on the beach my father and his friend screamed their battle cries as my father pounded his battle axe against his shield. He was blood thirsty. Once again the army behind him joined in with their battle cries. My father and several brave soldiers with him could not wait for the enemy to come to them, so they started wading out into the waters, ready to pull enemy soldiers from their ships and into the depths. He would be swarmed and destroyed.

I could not control the urge to help my father. I turned to the man next to me and gave him my commanding post. A quick glance back at the beach showed my father, already engaging the enemy, three or four at a time.  I ran down the steps, to the street, through the gates, and toward the beach. By the time I was half way to the water, I was surrounded by battle. I easily knocked two soldiers that had stood in my way. I came to a quick stop. Twenty yards in front of me was an enemy soldier wielding a war hammer, standing in my way. There were ten dead men at his feet. Our soldiers were giving him space, not daring to fight him. I charged. As I closed the gap between us by half he began raising his hammer over his shoulder as if he was going to smite the ground in front of him. Just before he swung downward, he released his hammer, sending it my way. I had not been expecting this and took the blow to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. My armor caved and dented, adding to the difficulty in breathing. I lay on the ground next to where his hammer had fallen, trying to regain my breath.

The soldier walked toward me, taking his time. He taunted his enemies around him, daring them to fight. No one did. He kept walking around me, jeering at the others. I was still unable to breathe properly, let alone move. Finally, satisfied with his taunting, he stood over me. Slowly he picked his hammer up off the ground. With his back to me, he addressed his enemies again, "Now watch your brother die!" In one fluid motion he lifted the hammer over his head as he turned toward me and smashed the hammer to the ground. His face contorted in pain and shock as he realized I was no longer there. As he had begun swinging the hammer to the ground I had managed to roll out of the way, grab my sword and pierce his gut. He lost the strength in his legs, allowing my sword to sink further into his flesh, finishing the job.

I pulled the sword from my enemy, got to my feet, and continued my jog to the beach. Having seen my victory, my brothers in arms regained their confidence and vigor, helping me thrash through the enemy toward the place I had last seen my father.

I was suddenly blindsided by an enemy soldier, tackling me to the ground. We both go to our feet and began thrusting and parrying. He was a strong fighter, skilled, and fast. He forced me back, back, back. We were moving along the beach, away from the heaviest fighting until we were among only a few fighting men on the rocks perched where the mountains met the beach. At this point, he ripped off his helm and I nearly dropped my sword in shock. I knew this man. He was the father of a dear friend of mine, a friend that was fighting for us on this very battlefield.

"Have you seen my son? Where is my son?" He asked.

Enraged to see an old ally fighting for the enemy, I struck again with my sword.

"Enough," he cried, "You either fight for them or you die. See? Already they've reached your walls and breached your gates!"

I turned and looked and saw that he was right. In less than an hour, there would be nothing left.

"My father!" I yelled.

"He's gone. He took a dozen with him, though, son, I'm sorry."

At this news I had no fight left in me. I sheathed my sword and sat in the rocks that concealed us from the battlefield.

Days later, the city had been burned and the enemy had moved further inland, continuing their rampage across the land.

We walked along the beach. We found his son. We found my father. I collected his battle axe. In a pocket we found some parchment that he must have been using as a journal. The last entry simply read,


"My God, there must be a million of them."