Solemn Promise, Answered Prayer

The shoreline was alight with fire and blood as the Dragonborn forces cascaded into the city in all their ferocity.  The people of Stonebeach, soldier and commoner alike, met the invaders with all their might but were stopped, turned, and butchered all too easily.  Brother Maxwell watched it unfold through wide and fearful eyes as he stood at a window in the grand hall, his hands shaking as they gripped the windowsill.  His own home was in chaos as servants, friends, and family members ransacked the place and fled the scene, the bonds of blood and service proven all too frail.  Overcome with fear, Maxwell’s knees buckled, sending him to the ground in broken supplication, his hands clasped together.

“My Lord Helm,” he whispered shakily.  “Forgive me my transgressions, my greed, my lust.  As death comes to my door, know that I am sorry, and humbly ask for your mercy.  But if there is a way for me to live – if there is a reason for me to live – know that I will dedicate my every last day, every last moment to your service.  I will make your name great, my Lord Helm.  I will…”

A loud blast rang through the hall, breaking his concentration.  He looked up in terror to see the very ceiling trembling from a great blow, sending dust and bits of plaster raining down.  Instinct kicked in, sending him scrambling away from the window.  A servant careened in, her face pale with fear.

“Cannon fire!” she shrieked.  “They’re firing on the house!”

As if in confirmation, a great, flaming ball burst through the window at that moment, slamming straight into the servant and sending waves of flame pouring across the floor, spurred on by enchanted malice.  The sheer force of the heat sent Maxwell stumbling back against the wall, hands raised in a feeble effort to protect himself. 

“My Lord Helm!” he cried, his voice choked with despair.  “Hear my cry!”

Another blast rocked the house.  Cracks spread through the ceiling as quickly as the fire engulfed the floor.  Maxwell watched, transfixed, as everything began to tumble around him.  Destruction roared in his ears.  Danger rained from the sky.  His mind screamed for action, but his body would not obey.  Knowing that his time had drawn to a close, he shut his eyes tight and waited for the final blow.

The wait seemed to last for ages. 

“My Lord Helm, end it quickly,” he stammered pathetically.

Only then, after speaking those words, did he realize that all had gone quiet.  Certain that the roaring chaos had simply made him deaf, Maxwell cracked an eye open to take in the progress of his demise.  Sure enough, the fire raged and the debris rained down, but nothing drew near to him.  Even the heat seemed to have abated.  The only thing he could feel was a strange and heavy presence hovering above him.

Stunned and still very much afraid, Maxwell turned to look up, and his eyes met a most glorious and terrifying sight.  There, hovering above him, was a tall, imposing figure in brilliant armor.  It had broad, white wings that seemed to spread across the whole room, yet remained unsinged even as the flames licked at the feathers.  Its head was laden with a long, black hood, its face shrouded in impenetrable shadow.  The aura that surrounded it was at once comforting and chilling, as if nothing could overcome this magnificent figure, yet it could also punish even the slightest false move.  In any case, Maxwell understood in the very core of his being that the figure was there for him.

“Run,” came its firm, echoing command.

Maxwell turned toward the main door, which seemed miles away, and found that the flames had been parted.  With one last look at his guardian celestial, he took off running through the pathway.  The fires swept aside as he approached, debris bounced off an invisible shield above his head – even large obstructions seemed to break apart or roll away of their own volition.  In time, he emerged from the house to find the rest of his world in the throes of pandelerium: people running to and fro in search of shelter, some screaming to the skies, some on fire.  He wanted to stop and help but their bodies were too ghostly, their voices too dim, and his guardian only spurred him on.  He ran for what seemed an age, his feet endowed with untold speed, his lungs with otherworldly capacity.  The city became a blur and was gone.  The green woods greeted him but he could not stop to return the favor.  Only when the sky had disappeared under a thick, green canopy did his feet and chest begin to feel the strain.  Fatigue overwhelmed him suddenly, instantly sapping his strength and sending him tumbling into darkness.

Maxwell’s respite was brief, yet still long enough for him to wonder if he was dead all over again.  The smell of dank soil and the tickle of dry leaves on his cheek informed him otherwise.  He picked himself up slowly, his aching muscles urging begging him to be gentle, and took in his surroundings: a small gorge of sorts, littered with plant life, surrounding by large walls of soil threaded with the roots of trees.  Atop one of the walls stood his guardian, wings folded at his side, his hood down to reveal a face of startling masculine beauty, all chiseled features and dark, lustrous hair.  The guardian looked down upon his charge with something approaching affection, as if he had stumbled across a helpless babe in the woods.  Maxwell, in turn, looked up at his savior with reverence, still far too stunned to speak.

“Remember your promise,” the guardian said in that same vast yet intimate voice. 

With that, the wings spread again, and in one great swoop they sent the great celestial soaring into the sky, vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.  Maxwell stared up at the patches of sunlight in the canopy, happy to see the sky and know that someone up there had been looking out for him.  Too exhausted to move or think, he laid his head back down on the soft ground to sleep, departing the waking word with three simple words:

“Thank you, Lord.”