[b][color=gold]Ser Aerion’s Race Against Time[/color][/b]
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Ser Aerion ran to the side of the stricken Lady Amber, dashing across the open streets to kneel beside her. It was bad, even to a seasoned warrior as himself. To make matters far worse than they already were, the amount of blood Lady Amber had lost was an unknown factor, for it had mixed with the pool of blood from her fallen mount, and perhaps the small rivulets of blood of those who had fallen further up the road. She was breathing still, which was good, but her breathes were short and labored, pain written across her unconscious face. Ser Aerion reached for her neck, to feel a rapid and erratic pulse. How could such a thing happen… where were the guards, let alone the scores of men-at-arms, squires, knights, and lords residing within the city. Ser Aerion turned quickly, scornfully cutting down two barbaric raiders, hacking them with a cold fury that had possessed him at the sight of someone so innocent and young being the victim of the great evil that beset itself against the city of King’s Landing.  

Not waiting for the fallen foes to finish their last breaths, Ser Aerion sheathed his blade in its scabbard, moving the belt so it was now slung across his back, the leather pressing down upon his already raw and painful wounds. He gritted his teeth, using a crude club to break out the windows to a nearby clothier’s store. The glass scattered about the interior of the shop, as Aerion tore down a beautiful silken curtain, using a knife from a dead guard to cut the fabric into more manageable swathes. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Aerion hurried back to Lady Amber’s side, now armed with silk bandages of his own making. With a few of the bandages, he laired them one atop the other, folding them into compact squares, pressing them onto the abdominal wounds of Lady Amber. The silk quickly began to drink the ebbing blood of the jagged cuts, the fibers and natural congealing factor of cold blood to form a slightly better barrier. Next Aerion took the remaining strips of fabric, and wound them tightly against the folded swathes, compacting and compressing them against the wounds of Lady Amber, and through directly applied pressure, helping to staunch a measurable amount of the bleeding. But such actions were only half-measures, and would only serve to delay the inevitable unless a surgeon could be found to mend the wounds more permanently. 

Ser Aerion darted back to the clothier’s, taking a warm fur coat from the shop display, an unsold item from the winter stock no doubt. Lady Amber would be cold from her blood loss, and the extra warmth would help stimulate her body to naturally try and heal itself, to help slow her descent into death. With as much as he could do with his own two hands and battlefield triage knowledge, Ser Aerion scooped Lady Amber up into his arms, her short labored breathes warm against his neck as he held her close to his body. The worn leather of his boots held firmly as he began to run headlong towards the Great Sept of Baelor. Only the skilled healers and doctors of the Faith of the Seven could save Lady Amber. It would be of no use to try and even head to the Red Keep. With these monsters running loose, and their bandit-esque brethren, the drawbridge and gates would be sealed shut, and no man or beast could leap across the dreadfully deadly moat filled with spikes and other unknown dangers. No, he had to make with all his will and endurance to the Great Sept, to the arms of the Faith, and their septons and septas, who could mend any wound, small and great alike. But Aerion had to get there before it was too late. 

Ser Aerion slipped and fell hard, slamming and skinning his right elbow upon the jagged cobblestones of the road. He let loose a cry of anguish, hissing loudly through his teeth, holding back profanities as he focused his gaze upon Lady Amber, making sure she had no wounds from the fall. Thank the Seven, she had safely landed atop Ser Aerion, only suffering a shifting of her clothing and hair. Spitting out some blood from his bitten cheek, Aerion slowly and wobbly rose to his feet, panting slightly as he caught his breath. By the Seven, he had covered a decent amount of ground, but it was still very, very far to go. As Aerion looked about for a horse, a carriage, something and anything to expedite his flight to the Great Sept, a bow twanged as the arrow and string were let loose. Followed was the subdued thud of a metal and wood meeting fleshing and fabric. He nearly fell, the arrow having lodged itself in the meaty part of his left shoulder, coming clean through and out the other side. Blood dripped from the cruel looking barbed tip of the arrow, dripping upon the surreal peace that made-up Lady Amber’s face. Ser Aerion snarled in pain, pushing himself forward farther down the street. Such a foe would doubtfully be alone, and to retaliate, would only mean more delays. Cursing the enemy, Ser Aerion trudged onward, the hill upon which the Great Sept sat upon growing large with each passing footfall. 

Lady Amber was dreadfully pale, yet still she breathed, life still within her body as Aerion raced onwards. His own blood dripping down his body, his breathing hard and hoarse, straining with every fiber of his being and body to continue onward. Nothing could ever prepare someone to have to madly race across a city and time to save another’s life. Ser Aerion coughed aloud, spitting blood from his mouth as he skidded to a stop. A small skirmish was unfolding before him, Gold Cloaks against a motley assortment of man beasts and mercenaries. “Cursed burned bodies of Stannis’s Seven,” Ser Aerion cursed aloud, pressing he right shoulder against the outcrop of a building. He would have to wade through the fighting, to push ever onwards to safety and medical help. Steeling himself for the frantic dodging and darting to come, Ser Aerion dug his feet into the ground through his boots, and set off, dashing out of the shadows into the dancing light of small fires and lanterns. He ducked, dived, dogged, dipped, and darted his way in-between the opposing forces. Near misses, little cuts, blades barely scrapping across his body all the while he kept Lady Amber from any more harm. He could feel her bandages beginning to dampen, though be it from sweat or blood, he could not tell yet. As he sidestepped a fiercesome opponent, another scored a vicious cut across Aerion’s right temple, cutting down to the bone through flesh and muscle. The pain alone nearly caused Aerion to fall, but he balled his toes up, letting the pain writhe through him as he smashed his head against the fool’s face, shattering the man’s nose and causing his attacker to double over, before a passing Gold Cloak finished him off. 

Ser Aerion had almost made it through the fighting, when another bowman of the enemy let loose an arrow towards the forces of good and justice. Ser Aerion cried out, falling to his left knee as an arrow buried itself into his right thigh, nestling painfully in the fatty hind part of his leg. The pain was blinding, only to be joined by more pain from a laughing and sneering foe, who shot another arrow to find its mark in Ser Aerion’s right arm, causing him to momentarily drop half of Lady Amber. He yelled out in blinding pain and fury, his own conviction now the only force driving him onwards. “BY THE SEVEN… I WILL NOT FALL, BLESSED BE MY OATH AS A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS AND THAT OF THE FAITH!! I WILL NOT FAIL!!” Ser Aerion forced himself upright, grabbing Lady Amber tightly to his own person, biting his cheek and tongue as he rose, fighting against the pain to push himself forward, and away from the fighting. 

He favored a glance behind, seeing a surge of Gold Cloaks pressing down the hill. He laughed, a bitter laugh of anger and hatred. If Lady Amber were to die, he would never forgive himself, no would he let the fools of the city guard ever live it down. He coughed and sputtered, moving upwards through the street, making his way past friendly forces finally. The guards were more prevalent, along with the Faith Militant, who were more apparent as he neared the Great Sept. As his muscles burned and ached, his wounds screaming and tearing, Ser Aerion made it to the safety of the outer square that led to the Great Sept. His eyes stung with the mixture of sweat and blood, of dust and grime from the long arduous push to make it here. Aerion nearly stumbled, regaining his footing as he began to mount the steps leading up into the Great Sept. Faith Militant ran by with frightened smallfolk, whilst others ran in the other direction to join battle with the enemies that beset King’s Landing. Ser Aerion shrugged off the helping hands of those that offered, determined to carry Lady Amber all the way to the Sept, and into the skilled hands of the Faith’s surgeons and doctors. He looked like hell warmed over, but such a sacrifice would have been worthy and noble if it saved the life of the innocent and pure Lady Amber.

As the sounds of battle fell away behind Ser Aerion, the great oaken doors of the Sept blocking it all out, Ser Aerion breathed a small sigh of relief. He would soon be surrounded by members of the Faith, Septons and Septas, who lead both him and Lady Amber in his arms to a cloister devoted to the Mother, for her mercy would be needed to save the lives of the wounded, and most of all, to grant hope for Lady Amber’s survival. Aerion allowed his charge to be taken from his arms, Lady Amber being carefully lain atop a fresh linen sheet atop a wooden table, where a group of the Faith surgeons began to hastily work upon her. Ser Aerion hobbled over to the magnificent statue of the Mother, and knowing if he knelt, he would likely not be able to get back up, he prayed quietly and quickly to the Mother, for her mercy, and for her guiding hand to save Lady Amber. “Sacred Mother, aspect of the Seven. Grant mercy to your child Lady Amber Redwyne. She is a good soul, pure in heart, mind, body, and soul. Save her from the wounds she has suffered, and watch over her when those who have sworn to defend the innocent cannot.” Aerion bowed his head, before painfully moving back over to Lady Amber’s side, holding her left hand whilst the doctors went about their work. Only time, and prayer now, could tell if the young woman would survive her injuries. Aerion sighed heavily, shaking his head to another doctor, saying, “I will take medical attention once she is out of the woods… not before.” He forced a smile, before focusing back upon Lady Amber.