I found myself at the tail end of a medieval battle, there were many fighting along side of me and the opposing side was thinning out. Spears and swords were everywhere, the scene was very messy. I was in full armor armed with a sword and shield that was to say the least completely saturated with blood and gore. The smell of blood and sweat was profusely everywhere with bodies lying on the ground, dead.
After killing the last armed soldier opposing, I saw a single male figure not dressed in armor or bearing weapons, seemed very afraid. I lowered my shield and shield and sheath my sword and began to walk up to him. He did not recognize me, may have been the mess of a look that was splashed all over me from battle and wearing a helmet. The male figure, I didn’t know at first, as I approached his fear turned violent, he ran towards me unarmed and began to attacked me with his hands. Given I was in full clad armor, the hits of his hands did not bother me, as much as it likely hurt him from hitting the breastplate. As he was attacking, I began to recognize this teenager, and I did what anyone that may care would do being hit by someone they love, I threw him hard to the ground and demanded that he stop and come to his senses. After he was startled by the throw to the ground and elevated voice of command, I lifted him up to his feet and told him to look hard into my eyes…. He began to cry and say my name in a very painful way of sorrow.
I spoke through my own tears and said “This battle isn’t yours, it’s the Lords, its time to go home.” We gave each other hugs and he ran off into an unknown direction. This battle was in a city area of some sort, there was a nearby church I went in to rest. As i sat down in an old wooden pew, I cried and prayed. The prayer I spoke was unknown, but it was at this point I woke up in my bed from the dream, tears still rolling down my face at 5am in the morning.