From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

Chapter 20: Dawn of Reckoning

In the pale light of dawn, the silence of my chamber was broken by the arrival of two figures, their hands heavy with anticipation. They bore black leather armor, a gift from Queen Rhaenyra, crafted for the battle that awaited. The door remained ajar, a White Cloak standing sentinel, his gaze fixed inward, observing the men as they worked.

The armor was more than just protection; it was a second skin, black as midnight, mirroring the scales of the Cannibal. Intricate carvings, resembling scales, adorned the shoulder plates and breastplate, catching the faint morning light and reflecting it back in subtle, menacing patterns. Each piece was meticulously fitted to my frame by the silent attendants, their movements precise and efficient. The chest plate came first, followed by the shoulder guards, each fastened securely with straps crisscrossing my torso.

This ensemble extended from my shoulders to my ankles, equipped with integrated rings at the waist just like the war belt.

Once the final adjustments were made, the attendants presented me with two daggers, each to be strapped at my hips. Their golden handles contrasted starkly against the deep black of my armor, catching the light with a glint that felt almost ominous. These blades were a far cry from the familiar, benign scalpel I was accustomed to wielding, designed instead for a much grimmer purpose.

Handling the daggers sent a cold shiver ran down my spine. Their weight served as a constant reminder of their potential use—not to heal, but to harm, to kill. This stark departure from everything I had trained for filled me with dread; my profession was dedicated to saving lives, not ending them. The possibility of using these blades in the heat of battle sent my heart racing and churned my stomach with profound unease.

I forced myself to secure each dagger in its place with shaky hands, trying to steady my breathing and focus on the task at hand. Despite the fear gripping me, I knew I had to prepare for every eventuality. War was unpredictable, and I needed to be ready to defend myself and others, even if it meant stepping far outside the bounds of my medical oath.

As I finished strapping the daggers, the White Cloak's voice once again broke the silence, grounding me in the moment. 

"Doctor Elizabeth, the Queen requests your presence at the Dragonpit. It's time," he announced solemnly, his gaze steady as he beckoned toward the door.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded and stepped toward him, the armor and daggers a heavy but necessary burden as I prepared to face the challenges that awaited at the Dragonpit. The battle at Rook's Rest was imminent, and I had to be ready for all that it would bring.

***

The Dragonpit was dimly lit, the morning light filtering through cracks in the stone ceiling, casting long shadows across the cavernous chamber. As I stepped inside, the low, rhythmic clicking of dragon claws and the occasional roar echoed off the ancient walls, a constant reminder of the power contained within this space. The air was thick with tension, the kind that could only come before a battle.

In the center of the pit, a makeshift battle table had been set up, a rough map of the surrounding lands stretched across its surface, weighted down by stones at the corners. Around it, a small group of people had gathered, their faces tight with anxiety and focus. I recognized a few lords from the council, their nervousness palpable as they flinched at each distant roar or click that reverberated through the chamber.

Rhaenys stood among them, her armor a striking combination of red and black, mirroring the scales of her dragon, Meleys. Her presence commanded respect, a warrior through and through, exuding a calm confidence that contrasted sharply with the unease of the lords around her. Nearby, Jacareys was bent over the table, meticulously moving pieces across the map, his brow furrowed in concentration as he updated their positions with the latest intelligence.