Julius Harlane POV
The battle is over. My body feels like it has been through the seven hells and back. I am standing in a river of blood and flesh, and I am responsible for so much of it. The Trident ran red, its waters choked with the dead, floating like butchered fish. This was hell. A real, tangible hell.
I have killed hundreds of men today.
For what? A castle? Gold? A title? Influence? Power?
I'm starting to question it all. What is the point of such prizes when they are paid for with human lives? Living, breathing people. Each soldier I cut down had a family. For some, he was the only one putting food on the table. Without him, a wife and children might starve.
The men I killed… some had children waiting for their father's return. Others had parents waiting for a son, a wife for a husband. They will never come home because I sent them to the grave. These men weren't all evil. Most were just simple, unfortunate souls, drafted into a war of dragons and stags.
With this much innocent blood on my hands, can I still call myself a good man?
I believe I am. I have done good things for the people I've encountered. But does a good deed wash out the bad?
Ahhhg… Every joint in my body screams in protest. I need to rest. My body and soul demand at least eight hours of sleep.
Why am I thinking about the dead? I feel guilt for them. But they would have died in this battle anyway. Does it make a difference if they fell to my sword or another's? The result is the same. In a way, by fighting so fiercely, I ended the battle faster than it might have gone. Perhaps I saved more lives on our side by doing so.
But saving some always means you can't save others. I tell myself I'm not killing for personal gain, but technically, I am. Castle, gold, position… it's all part of the reward. Whatever.
In my years in Westeros, I have seen so much. The shitty politics the nobles play. The breathtaking landscapes, like seven different continents patched into one. The impossibly beautiful, unrealistic medieval castles. The horrible, unique foods that somehow grow on you.
Oh well. If I've survived this long, I can survive what's to come. Hopefully.
It's time for rest. It's been a long day. I've done more than just fight a battle.
And damn… the battle was awesome. I'm not a warmonger. I don't like needless killing. But I enjoyed the war, the fight itself. And that is, by its very nature, killing and bloodshed.
I'm not a psychopath. It's just… my head is messed up with two different souls. I don't know what I am anymore.
Overall, I have done more for this rebellion's war effort than almost anyone. I hope people remember that when all this is over.
Robert may have defeated Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and won the glory with his hammer. But I defeated Barristan Selmy.
The man is a living legend.
(Flashback)
When our swords first clashed, he announced himself, his voice clear even over the din of battle. "Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. State yours, Ser!"
I replied in my most dramatic tone, "Ser Julius Harlane, a knight of this rebellion. The honor is mine, I suppose."
And that was that. No more words, only the song of steel.
I was exhausted from a day of slaughter, but I was still confident I could take him. That was my mistake. I underestimated his legendary skill and got stabbed for my arrogance. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it was the first time in a long time a blade had truly touched me.
I must admit, Ser Barristan Selmy is a master swordsman. I am stronger, but he used my own strength against me, turning my power into his defense. But I have a higher tolerance for pain and a faster recovery. He couldn't keep up in the end.
In the final moments, our swords locked. I was slowly overpowering him through brute force. Seeing him in that state, I'd had enough. I kicked him square in the chest—a crude, spartan move. He landed hard several feet away, struggling to find his feet.
It wasn't a knightly thing to do, I know. But this old lion needed to be put down. He had earned my respect in both of my lives.
I walked toward him, seeing how heavily he was wounded. He looked up at me, and in his eyes, I saw a man who had accepted his fate. I raised my sword for the final blow.
But suddenly, I was distracted by a loud, roaring cry. Robert's voice boomed across the field for all to hear.
"Rhaegar!!!"