The Highlander's Final Stand - [FOR HONOR]

[The third story video following "Knight Heretic" and "Freedom and Steel". Story below]:

The Highlander had known treating with the Knight woman would bode ill. He had a sense about him that let him catch a whiff of danger should it rear its ugly head, and she reeked of it. At the time, his Wife had told him his nose was rude.

So they parlayed, at his Wife’s insistence. They had never seen a woman of Ashfeld speak their tongue, and it intrigued her. The Prior’s name was foreign on their lips, and both the Highlander and his Wife found it difficult to replicate without practice. But the practice made him remember her.

And he remembered Ilsa indeed, when his daughter dragged her out of the river.

Broken and bloody, the Prior looked to have been in a fight. Taken by surprise most likely, as her blade was still stowed in its scabbard. At first the Highlander thought she was dead, which made for a show of minor hilarity as the cough that spat water out her lips startled him to his arse.

His daughter was practiced in medicines, so she handled the Ashfeld woman’s recovery. In the days following Ilsa’s dragging from the cold river waters, the Highlander and his Wife had many discussions about the Prior, almost none of them were kindhearted. Neither of them had any ill will towards her, though the lack of axe wounds meant she’d likely been beaten and disposed of by her own men.

Which meant their parlay was most probably null.

Isla woke the day after, barely able to talk. But that did not stop The Highlander from pulling information out of her like the water she’d coughed up. And he did not like any of it.

‘They’re coming,’ said Ilsa ‘What day is it?’

‘Thor’s Day,’ said The Highlander.

Ilsa did not know what that referred to. She weakly exhaled, her broken ribs paining her, and shook her head.

‘Two days since our girl pulled you from the river,’ said his Wife – a Valkyrie.

‘Then...’ Ilsa could not muster more than a whisper ‘Arcturus could attack by dawn…’

There was much discussion between the Scotsman and his Wife.

The defense could not hold off another assault. Their bulwark was nearly crushed from the attack from the Warborn. The Highlander and his men were tired and injured. His leg was aching from a deep slash. And he was old. The Blackstones would take their port, they had the numbers and the fresh soldiers – with fresh boots. It would be overwhelming. His village would likely be slaughtered.

He looked to his Wife and Daughter. And he knew his injuries did not matter. The attack did not come at dawn. But night fell.

‘I love you...’ began the Highlander to his Wife, as he heard the Knight drums begin to roll with their thunder from Niflheimr.

‘...More than Valhalla,’ finished Ylva, his Wife, as she boarded one of the boats.

Eight of them held the wall that night. But by morning the wall was shattered and there were none.

Ten hours bought their people enough time to secure their safety. And the Knights won, for their effort, a port with no boats and a burned, derelict dock. The Highlander’s parting gift, of course.

Under the tree where The Highlander first met his Wife, he died, his proud eyes skyward. No single man had given him a felling blow. His death was the work of dozens. He’d taught the Blackstones a valuable lesson that night.

Fear not the young warrior. Fear the warrior with gray in his hair.



Music: Dark Souls III Yhorm the Giant & Epilogue Remix by Alex Roe
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