The brave are the ones who win wars.

To be a knight was to have unwavering bravery, to charge in with a sword of steel and eyes of fire and protect the kingdom one was sworn to at all costs. For Tedric to consider himself a knight now was a mockery of the word.

He stood beside Constance with eyes attentive. But his stomach felt sick. It had since the night before this meeting. There wasn't anything to be done about it, though, not when they stood face to face with the enemy. All North could manage was to bury down the feeling and keep up appearances as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. His back was straightened and his clothes the best he had, though saying that wasn't saying much. A drop of dried blood was still smeared across the sleeve, and he hid it in a clenched fist that bunched the fabric. Before them both and as near to the Prince's side as Garner was to the King's, stood Adeline. Her appearance had not changed since the first day he met her. Blonde hair was wound in a tight ponytail behind her head, her thick plate of armor pulled on and stance unwavering.

The atmosphere was stiff, almost baiting. Tedric's dagger felt warm at his side, sweat clinging to his palms as he didn't dare to grab it. Adeline stood as a statue. Her sword's handle was clutched between white knuckles and the filtered air of the room gave her chest uneven rise. All eyes had converged on her, waiting for some foolish mistake to be made.

If she dared unsheathe it, the parley would become a bloodbath. The knights that rested on the Adrigolian side, which lay at a total of six if Garner was to be included, were more than enough to slaughter the four of them - or, three of them. Tedric had not felt the forgiving touch of a cut in a long time. Though to think that the mage by the King's throne did not have a way to slice him down within the second was unbelievable. It was in part the reason Tedric had chosen the position farthest from the advisor's and not his eyes drift to his more than once since they'd first entered. It was also why Tedric would not risk jumping before the Prince should their meeting come to blows. The thought was misconduct, bordering on traitorous, but the war was so close to done now that those thoughts felt harmless, unimportant.

Adeline's sword inched a sliver further out of her sheath. The silver gleam caught the light of the great hall and reflected off of King Gavin's throne as her eyes narrowed. She at least had the thought to withhold her rashness for a moment, if only to verbally confirm the insult before she allowed herself to strike. "How dare you address-"

"Adeline." A hand fell in front of her. It was steady and unwavering, covered in a thick black leather. Johnathan breathed deep through his nose as he forced a thin smile upon his lips. "I'm sure it was only a jest." The words were strained. It was clear he had taken the insult to his core as Gavin had intended. Still, he forced himself to brush it off. Negotiations could only continue if both sides pressed through to the end.

"Your Majesty," Sir Adeline relented, slipping her sword back into position. She spoke the words so sharp and directly to the Prince, though, that the meaning behind them was clear. All she needed was an order and she would attempt to separate Gavin's head from his shoulders—not that she would ever get close enough. It was unusual to see the knight so hot-headed. Adeline had always been a woman of strong command over her own emotions and that of her troops, but it was here hearing Johnathan degraded so easily that it brought her teeth gritting and toes curling at the slightest twist of the King's lips.

"So, your offering-" Johnathan tried to speak, to push through the negotiations, but paused when he realized he couldn't get the words out. They scratched the back of his throat and lodged there, restricting his breathing. His eyes were tired, hollow. When he watched Gavin's face, it was with heavy defeat hanging off him.

Tedric also watched. His eyes peered around the Prince as the King lean forward. He set his elbows on the edges of his throne, folding his hands together. A soft breath left his lips, his knuckles gripping harder for a second and then relaxing as he let the tension fade. Adrigole had done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more. "For your surrender, I will remove my troops from the three cities no longer under your control, as well as any other encampments. In return, Elusian with fall under my rule, and you will take the hand of my daughter to ensure the peace."

"The hand of your daughter," Johnathan repeated. He stared up at the throne, the terms of condition weighing on his shoulders harder than the defeat did. He looked to be no older than five as his gaze lower to the carpet beneath his feet. Like a child standing before their father and being scolded, Johnathan wrung his gloved hands together, the motion hidden behind his back. His shoulders caved in.

"Yes. Do you accept the terms?" Gavin ran his fingers through his beard as he watched the boy below him, too young to be considered much of anything. Not a strong military leader nor a fighter, not a presence to be revered or a leader with years of experience, not even a king. Tedric couldn't help but wonder if he noticed the second between Adeline and Johnathan. When the words left the Prince's lips, and she reached out with her left hand, moving it no more than a few inches to brush her thumb over the leather coating his. A fleeting second to assure him "I'm here" and perhaps to let go of a lost dream, with no more than a moment to savor it before it died. Or maybe the gesture was seen by no one but him and Constance, conveniently placed behind their backs and intruders on a private moment held within a crowded hall.

But then the hand retreated and fell upon a sword, and Johnathan's chin rose up to meet the King with all the courage he had left. There was not a moment in which his voice cracked or his form wavered. He matched an image of a much older man, instead, whose brown hair had been close-cropped and his clothes plain. Who had never worn a crown but commanded it better than most. Who had raised the boy that now stepped forward with blue eyes locked with King Gavin's and finally, mercifully relented.

"I accept."

The world let out a breath and the ice in the room melted. A smile spread across Gavin's face, not so full it was mocking but his lips pleasantly upturned for the first time. Those that stood guarding his throne were less still, glances dancing from short, thinning tattooed girl up to a broad man with a sword strapped to his hip and down to a mage that stood a few steps down from Garner. It was a silent victory, a moment to take in their success and revel. Tedric only felt his own stomach grow sicker.

He did not care that they had lost in that moment. The defeat was a long-awaited one, something he had not once been dreading. That didn't stop his own body from recoiling strongly. Whatever words were exchanged next, a few between Garner and the King before they were passed along to Johnathan who awaited them with thin spun patience now that the dead was done, North couldn't make out. He focused his eyes on the ground, and when that failed, found himself grappling for Adeline's arm.

It was no more than a small tug, their gazes exchanged, and she nodded ever so slightly, agreeing to his dismissal. It should have been the Prince's order. He was, however, caught in the middle of arranging dates and agreeing to the proceedings of how armies would be pulled out to maintain which borders until the news could be announced and spread. So Tedric took his chance without waiting for a second approval or a second glance. His feet were silent against the carpet, his body small. The door opened with the slightest creak. Then, he was gone.

Outside, the hall allowed for him to take a deep breath, the first deep breath he felt he'd taken since they first entered the room. His stomach's protests died some as he turned to walk, unsure of where he was headed. Around the long twisting corridor once or twice, then North figured he would return. There was little use for guards now anyway. The deal had been made and witnessed and soon it would be sealed on papers that would be sent out to all troops on all fronts. Killing Johnathan before the wedding would only cause outrage and revolt.

Turning down a slim hallway that appeared to his right on a random will, Tedric felt a presence beside him. It matched him as he walked. The shadow was heavy, but there were no footsteps to follow the threat. North felt he should have been more surprised when he glanced up to find Garner beside him. He wasn't really there, of course. The real Garner was sure to be by King Gavin's side as he discussed the logistics of the ended war. The one that walked in step with him now was only a projection, as solid as a stone but able to pass through it just as easily.

He watched Tedric watching him for a moment and sighed. A hand dashed through his black, curly hair, careful not to disturb the thin silver symbol that circled his head. "I would advise you not to interfere," the mage warned, tone grave and eyes as cold as the freezing rain that pelted outside the castle walls.

The boy didn't answer. He didn't feel one was needed as he reached into a pouch strapped to his side and pulled out a thin sliver of ginger. Placing it on his tongue, he rolled the piece around until the spice burned his tongue and stung the inside of his cheeks in hopes it would soothe his stomach. When he caught the mage's strange glance, he shrugged, too afraid to risk a smile but not so fearful that he bothered to cower. "I would be a fool to," he said, at last, letting his eyes wander down the hall. There was nothing but smooth stone and brick and the distinct smell of magic that tickled his nose.

"A fool without consequences," Garner reminded, his gaze catching the black ink across Tedric's face.

A light laugh slipped the boy's lips. He tilted his head and stifled the sound with a deep bite of his teeth into his lip. Not hard enough to break the skin, though, because then the bleeding would become someone else's problem. He knew Garner could not mean that. Even if the consequences were not his they were always someone's. "I have no reason to."

The mage raised his eyebrow. "To fight for your kingdom? Your ruler?" he suggested. His eyes were expectant as if North was supposed to jump on the accusation hidden beneath the words. That he was loyal to the Prince, loyal to his home, but Elusia had not been his first home and he had a feeling it would not be his last. So what was the point? He would not be a knight long after this. The war would end, and he would spend his time with Fable in the tavern again. The words she said before lingered with him now, reassuring to his weary frame. It was a problem for powers a lot higher up than him.

"One man can not stop what is about to happen," he assured Garner with a thin-lipped smile. His stomach was better, his tongue numb from the ginger. There was a calmness that settled onto his shoulders as his eyes focused only on the path before him, as he turned a corner and then another. Several moments passed. Tedric drew in a breath, holding it and then blowing it out. He risked a glance at his unusual companion before the words spilled over his lips. "I want it to be over."

Silence passed between them, the only sound Tedric's lone footsteps as they approached the courtroom once more. A sigh echoed from the mage. "Isn't that an odd sentiment?" The boy could not tell if Garner was joking or not. He was as much of a statue as before, eyes focused ahead and no humor reflected in his voice. Yet, at some point, a smile had found a way onto his face. It was small and worn, but there nonetheless.

"To say aloud, perhaps, but it is one everyone has thought of. I'd dare you to find me one who hasn't." Tedric no longer felt tired. His words felt hollow, premeditated but cold as he studied Garner's face for a response. For him to offer up his own King or himself as an example only to hear the click and scoff of the boy's tongue. But he did nothing, only dipped his head once and drew his gaze away as their pace slowed at the chamber doors.

North held there, his hand on the handle and his forehead hanging an inch from the wood. The presence at his side vanished. Tedric didn't need to look to know Garner had gone. The hallway behind him felt empty, a cold breeze brushing up against his back and tickling the hairs of his neck. A stiff breath exited out, his head thunking against the door as gently as he was able to let it fall. Eyes focused on the wood before him, North found his own smile. It was soft and cold against his lips, a silent surprise to himself. He wished for the war to be over at the start, from the first moments seated in the rain outside that banquet hall. He'd wanted an end to it, and finally, he was so close to seeing it.

What a knight he was. Selfish and pessimistic, with no taste for blood and arms that could barely lift a sword. Easily swayed by fear and cowardice, not angered they had not won but relieved in their loss. It was fitting, then, wasn't it? For him to have been the one to make it so far?

But the cowards are those that survive.