The Newest of England's Great Chivalric Epics: Remus & Gwilherm: Chapter XIII - For King & Country
The battle of Mt-Sorg was a dreadful affair, for just as he had fallen upon Réalwaldr, Wigstan fell upon the unsuspecting forces of the King. Who being entirely unaware of the danger had failed to post guards, or his usual round of scouts, with many men falling before Æthelwulf could rally his men.
A surge of panic arose in the army, in particular amongst the women, who being completely untrained for battle knew not what to do. The most prepared was mayhap the lady Elena, who was swift to worry more for Gwilherm, crying out to him as he leapt upon his horse, prepared to go back the way he had come to seek noble justice for his lands and peoples.
“Gwilherm, wait!” She called out to him, her greed for more of the gold within the mountain momentarily forgotten, as she worried for the man she had come to bear a great love for.
“Vladin,” Æthelwulf called out, more worried for his own wife and the ladies herewith him, he wished to see to their safety before that of any others. “Open these gates and let in your Queen, fair lady that she is, she has no part in our feud! Even if you consider your duty to I your King forfeit, you must surely still have some honour and wish not to let any harm befall her as in the case of the ladies and men of Réalwaldr.”
None foresaw the effect these words could have had upon Vladin, for they chilled his very blood beneath his veins. Greedy for the hoard of the dragon, he had already laid claim to much of it, satisfying some part of the greed, though not enough to assuage his full desire for it. But the thought of Ælfflæd subject to the vile maltreatment of the evil Wigstan was more than he could possibly endure. Such was the power of the pure-hearted passion he bore for Ælfflæd, and the fatherly love he bore her children that none could stop him from tearing his way down the ladder of the walls, to bellow at his followers. “Open the gates! Open them!”
“But, Vladin what of the treasure?” Someone questioned, one of the Ratvians he saw, with the man fortunate that time was of the essence, less the Dwarf might well have struck him down in that instant.
“Pah, to the underworld with treasure, out there stand my friend, our Queen and Ælfflæd’s slayer!” He shrieked in such a rage, that he hefted up an axe that lay against the wall, with few present unaware of who Ælfflæd was, or of his love for her, for he had spoken much of her. Some knew her by sight, as they were themselves of Estria and as with all who beheld her before, the contamination of Balthrorth’s accursed gold had had its way with her, they adored her. “Any man who prevents me from avenging her, from justice shall be cut from crown to foot by this very hatchet!”