Footstep after footstep, the crackle of dead leaves and snapping twigs, the clank of metal on their wrists; they looked on to the face of death.

They arrived at a camp. The screech of sharpening blades, scent of smoke, and ever distant crackle of a fire. Linen tents dotted the view, with the dip of biscuits in bowls of stew. It was the memory of home, but it wouldn't be long before all eyes marked them.

A generous dozen spat their way, while others bowed their head. Many knew of their deeds in Arandoth, but never who they were.

"Rabble and scum! The deed is done!" Roared the voice of an old man, gathered by the finest among them, armor as stern as their gaze. "Let the flame of morning beckon us home!"

The crowd roared in unison, hastening away to make it so.

Theodren pushed his guards aside and, in his chains, dashed to the old man, coughing and huffing as he stumbled from a leather strap to his neck.

"To the Capitol? Did you not see the Zerethian that ambushed us?"

"I did not, boy. Should I be enlightened?" The old man smirked, turning to the crowd as they cackled back. "Or should your tongue meet the floor?"

Theodren coughed some more as his straps tightened, taking a scratchy breath.

"There were four of us. What would the king think if you only brought three?"

He turned his back to him. "With praise, I'd wager."

Theodren raised a brow. "And you're certain?"

"By your words; 'a Zerethian ambush, and only three remain'." The man turned to his men. "Perhaps you weren't there when it happened, but they were. The marching union, the bite of the charge. There was no hunger, thirst, or rest. No fear, courage, anger, or malice."

They paused, their eyes captive by visions, shaking.

"Why am I certain of praise? It's that you three are still standing." They turned to the crowd. "Now, what does the rabble say to his proposition? Shall we seek this phantom, or let his tongue taste the blade?"

The murmuring became loud, gathered voices without a clear lead.

"Raise them, then!" He shouted, banging the blunt end of his blade to the ground, echoing the clash of metal against a rock.

The hands were few for the phantom and numerous for the latter.

"Tongue it is!" Unsheathing his dagger, Theodren simply stared.

His heart was like a shell; fearless yet hopeless, despite the screams from Carrion and Valora to his side.

"High Commander Fenris!" A young voice shouted, and the old man's grip loosened.

"Back to work, boys!" The shouting turned to a murmur, with only the sound of footsteps gathered and then silence.

"What is it, courier?"

"High Commander Malrick sends his regards." The courier bowed.

"Make it brief."

The courier began to shake, bowing further.

"He was ambushed only strides from here, he claims, and lost a third of his men."

"A troubling loss, but what of it?"

"Y-You've been tasked to track them, for he wishes to find the fugitives on his own." The courier stuttered.

"Well, as you see, courier, they're already here. The glory isn't his to take. Let him fight them." Fenris crossed his arms.

"But -" The courier grew wide eyed.

"Enough, courier!" Fenris growled, his face fueled with pent-up rage.

"Th-the King sealed it, sir! Sending me away would be traitorous!" The courier's letter began to crinkle by their rapid shaking.

Fenris lowered his head with closed eyes and, with a gripped fist, sighed his way to the letter, signing it and sending the courier on their way.

Theodren just sat and watched, with nothing but the winds of autumn gracing the air.

"Very well, boy, you get your wish." Fenris trudged to his tent. "Off with them!"

The guards nodded.
_______________________________________

Thrown to the ground, Theodren grunted. Tied to a wooden post cloaked by a cloth tent, his face was intimate with the sight of dirt.

"Not a word, blonde man, or we'll take it out on the lady."

Theodren chuckled back.

"Blonde man? A step above 'boy', I'd presume?"

"Enough!" The other guard slapped him.

"Try and take her, and show me how many fingers you have left when you're done." Theodren spat back.

The guards turned to each other with raised eyebrows, murmuring past the tent as another entered.

"What's your name?" Fenris asked.

Theodren looked up, a sigh of relief.

"Well, yours isn't familiar. If it was, you'd already know it."

"You're Theodren, elder brother of Zoran, victor in the siege of Marfield, the King's pupil, and a member of Drakon." They paused, crouching to him. "Yes, I know your name. I'm asking if you know it."

"Why do you care?"

"Because, boy, if you knew it, you wouldn't be a fugitive. Do you know the lengths others would take to stand where you stood? You could've faced the trial of kings and won, yet here we are." They gripped Theodren's chin, pushing his face to their own. "Why is that?"

Theodren wouldn't say a word, prompting them to sigh.

"You demand your brother, yet hide in shade?"

Theodren looked to his side, and then the man hastened to face him again.

"Speak!"

Theodren stared blankly, not a word, not a breath.

"Might the thought change with the chance to depart; your brother free, your chains cut?"

Theodren's eyes widened but quickly subsided.

"With a more favorable view, I would deem you a fool to offer so plainly. I desire more."

They grabbed a nearby chair and sat down, the wood squeaking as they continued.

"Then spout it."

Theodren's eyes widened.

"First, I've met the ground. Decent fellow, but we've not much in common."

The man huffed, heaving the blonde giant against the post, who grinned in approval.

"Second, a set of saddled and tamed horses to guide our leave.. Weapons..armor..and enough supplies to last a week."

The man chuckled and returned a frown.

"Well, it pains me to say, but it would just be you that leaves."

Theodren turned away.

"You know I can't do that."

"Someone has to die, Theodren. Your sins are too great."

"And Valora?"

"Sent to her father."

Theodren paused, then turned to him.

"Let me speak to them. Do this, and I might comply."

Fenris bowed.

"As you wish."
_______________________________________

Guided past the army, of men staring daggers at his every step, he first came to Carrion.

The guards stood behind Theodren as he entered, and Carrion's hopeless eyes opened to the sight before him.

The two stared at each other, and then Theodren ordered the guards to leave.

The two came in an embrace, holding each other firmly despite their chains, trembling, but not a single tear was shed.

"Why are you here?" Carrion asked, pain in his voice.

Theodren approached his ear to whisper.

"He's giving us the chance to escape. All I have to do is fight the Zerethian that ambushed Malrick's band, which means we'll - " Theodren looked down, shaking at the thought. "We'll get him back."

Carrion sighed, turning to his side without a word.

"Well, what else do you want me to do?" Theodren's chains began to rattle, pounding Carrion's chest. "I already lost him once. I can't lose him again!"

"Times up." A guard said, walking to drag Theodren's trembling body back as he continued staring at Carrion without a word until the tent was closed shut.
_______________________________________

Valora looked aimlessly, thoughts racing about what was to come, all until she found Theodren pushed against her by a guard.

Startled, she banged her chains against Theodren's chin, and he cursed in agony.

"It's me, you dolt!"

"Theodren!"

Theodren turned to the tent opening, then back again.

"They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"If they did, you think you wouldn't hear their screams?"

Theodren chuckled, embracing her with a warm smile.
"I've wonderful news."

Valora raised a brow.
"Will you share?"

Theodren grinned.

"Only that I can assure our safety."

Valora's wide eyes turned a shallow grey.
"Was it Zoran?"

Theodren stepped back, and the grin faded.
"Is that a problem?"

Valora stared blankly.

"Is that a problem?" He repeated.

Valora embraced him.
"It's wonderful."

"Then... why the subtlety?"

Valora turned to Theodren's ear to whisper.
"You didn't tell Carrion.. did you?"

Theodren turned to do the same.
"What if I did?"

Valora sighed with closed eyes.

"Theodren..."

"What?"

"If you think you can return, then save Carrion.. but forget about me."

Theodren paused, eyes widened at the thought, and then he gripped her shoulders.

"That won't do.. we'll need you!"

"No..." She sighed. "Please, just this once."

Theodren nodded his head "no".

She laughed under her breath and then turned to embrace him.

"You just can't give in, can you?" Her hands wrapped around him. "I'll miss that."

Her lips graced his forehead, a sharp, warm sputtering on his face.

"I-" Theodren muttered.

"That's enough." A guard said, dragging away the eyes locked to a gentle smile.
____________________________________

Upon the horizon was evening, and the air was fresh with autumn wind. There were songs of swaying grass, a gold without rarity, yet a worth all the same --- trotted on by a hundred horses.

"High commander Fenris." Came the voice of a thin, sheepish man, with clops from their mount.

"Yes?" Fenris's horse trotted ahead.

"Why is the prisoner here fit in a soldier's garments? Is he not just our guide?"

"Quite simple. I enjoy the spectacle of setting my prisoners free."

The young man stopped his horse, and then Fenris glanced with a sigh.

"That 'prisoner' is a man of honor. He only wishes to save his brother. Why fear him?"

"But he's still a prisoner, sir."

"Well, aren't we all? I'd wager his chance against the lot of you.. if it were a duel," Fenris approached with a whisper, "I could use men like that."

"Might you at least place guards around him?" They began to stutter.

"There any others that feel the same?" Fenris spoke drearily.

"Could wager half the army, but I can settle with them." He pointed to a group on his right, who nodded in agreement.

"Very well, soldier, glad to have you volunteer." Fenris padded his shoulder with a warm smile.

The soldier blared, and the others laughed.

"Them too." Fenris led his horse ahead of them.
_______________________________________

By evening, they were still searching. Tensions were growing, with voices babbling their disdain for the prisoner, but something caught their eye in the distance. It was a shroud of grey, the vague scent of smoke.

"Look there!" One said, and the rest followed.

"Send the scouts," said Fenris, then glancing to Theodren.
_______________________________________

"It's a camp, it's a camp! Flags stained with the Zerethian banner!" The scouts said, their horses galloping to a halt.

"No patrols? Not a sight of your gallop?" Fenris's horse trotted towards them.

"None, sir."

Fenris chuckled.

"Fine sight, that! Spread the word to the others, but make it brief, for we best keep it that way."

"Aye, sir." The scouts nodded.

Fenris tightened on his lead, the men cheering in mumbled songs. He held a hand raised to Theodren but was returned with a husk in a daze.

"Theodren?"

"Sir, best to line the mounts before they catch our notice," said a soldier.

He continued staring.

"Sir?" Asked another.

With a sigh, he nodded.
_______________________________________

Gathered together, Fenris stood tall above his men, with every eye locked.

"Dispatch the mounted archers to the left, luring the enemy out of hiding with as much noise as you can muster, and I'll lead the cavalry to the middle: pushing to the camp as they reach you. Use the hills for cover for as long as you can. Aim to spread the enemy out, then pick them off.. and lastly.. if you see any prisoners, keep them alive. Are we clear?" Fenris

"Sir!" They saluted.

"Then set your spears loose, and bows drawn! Prove that you're better than those pampered nobles, and show those puppets how to feel fear!" With a raise of his blade and shine of his armor, he led his horse onward. "To arms!"

A symphony of metal marked the autumn plains, with Theodren's blade the sole at rest.

They awaited the rumble, the horn, of the silent dread.

Bands of archers stripped them bare, only to meet the whispers of autumn wind.. until they saw it.

"Prisoners!"

As their horses set a trot, they were met with scattered trembling, dirt, and mud flinging about.

"Bind together!" Fenris growled. "Must I proclaim that nobles truly best you?"

The men fell silent, for they too heard it; the rumble, the stampede marked with the Zerethian banner!

"Down the hill! Down the hill! Regroup!" Fenris struck his steed, tight to his stirrups. "Take the prisoners!"

Screams dotted the landscape, the labyrinth of tents leading their final cries to the hell that awaited them.

"With haste!" Fenris roared, and then a stallion bolted past him. "Theodren!"

He signaled the elite guards after him.

Beaming to the tents, Theodren unsheathed his blade; fabric tearing and flying in the wind.

"There!" Came the guards, with an upheaval of dirt in their pace.

With a turn, Theodren set his steed a blaze, with his pole to mark them.

The guards promptly scattered both directions, but not in due time. They could only recall the clash, and the agony of standing when the force was well past.

Theodren's breath quickened, head swung about with grinding teeth. He could hear the cry of the enemy; clashing metal and dying men.

He led his steed to a gallop, branding tents with slashes, until the noise had faded, and the last tent was met.

He led his steed to a halt, swaying to his sides.

"Zoran!" He beckoned, alarming all his way.

A cool breeze graced him, calling for him to wake. Again, he beckoned, and there stood Carrion nearing the gallows. He banged against his head, gaping once more, but out came nothing.

With the clap of gallops not far behind, he turned to face them...
_______________________________________

Bound to his captors, he longed to the world; longing for unopened dreams, but drowned in an endless nothing. Thick was the air that graced him, the sight of tents and a cackling crowd, but it wasn't the air that shackled him.

"Courier! Grab that bloody courier!" Fenris shouted as he gripped the courier by the shoulder. "Tell High Commander Malrick that I've met his due, and that his men wait in my stead."

The courier nodded, hastening their horse to the end of the camp.

Fenris's metal boots rattled as they met the ground, guiding his horse to his men as he dragged Theodren to his tent.

"You just couldn't do it, could you? Is it cowardice? Pride?" He came closer, gripping his weakened shoulders. "Are you daft?"

"What happens now?" Theodren asked with coarseness.

Fenris released him, and with a gripped fist, he departed.
_______________________________________

There, for long hours, Theodren laid still. The chains against him, the bite of metal and ache of his legs, was little more than a whisper. His eyes peered off beyond the curtains, beyond sight and sound, for the weight had begun to take its toll.

"It's a raid! Make way to the Lord's stead!" Said a scratched voice, a muffle in his ears. "Blast! The children!"

"Theodren, run along, now." Came another, a warming calm in their breath. "Come join your brother!"

He could hear the footsteps of a young boy hastening towards the voice, and in his sight, the shadow of a large figure standing ten paces ahead. It held a spear in hand and a fist high, then faded to the heat of a scorching flame. He called out to it, but no voice could be heard, for the crackle of the flame and clops of stallions were veiled as a cloud of smoke and dust.

A figure to his right gathered towards him, a coarse hand dragging him far from the figure in the flame, until all he saw was smoke.

There, for long hours, he laid, for such visions, much as they scarred, were all that was left of his brother. Despite the tug of many guards, he moved no more than the wooden post held to his side.

Upon the wind and frost was the call of his companions, yet he made not a word. Brought to a horse in chains, they were set to the Capitol.

_______________________________________

Clash came the bells, a rattle in his ears. Clash came the sight of faces --- daggers in his waking step. Strong stood the citadel, but stronger still laid its teeth --- the bite of knotted rope. Clash came the bells, a somber song at the arrival of the king, until all fell silent at the sight of their hand.

"Look before you! Men of great will! Look upon their faces, the stench of cowards claiming the might of the N'Farr!" Came the voice of a priest, a shimmering figure of jewels above the gallows. "In this solemn hour lays their due, and by thine eyes of Verikia is the mercy to hear their final plea."

The crowd roared, and fists raised.

The king made their way to the alter, a hand heightened to speak, and the crowd fell silent to listen.

_______________________________________

There was biting in Valora's ears, a rattle from above. Much as the sounds ached her, the only fear was the silence to befell it. Emptiness, the dread of death in its wake, crushed with a weight far greater than the cell itself.

There stood no light beyond a lantern, the weight of the doorway, and shroud of figures to its sides. It felt so near, like the grace of morning from a window, but trapped behind the resolve of steel.

She gathered the courage to speak, but like the husk of shadows, it departed nothing.. until there were footsteps.

From the door appeared a being as concealed as the cells. The guards hastens their step upward, with spears darted to it.

"You there! State your name!" One said with another step.

The being moved again.

"Are you deaf? Cease!" The other stuttered.

Without a word, the being snatched their spear and aimed to thrust the blunt end.

"I yield, I yield!" One guard fell to their knees, shrieking like a child.

The being sighed, kicking them into submission, then charged the other.

Valora grabbed the other guard, pinning them to the bars, much as they fought against it, and forced them to drop their spear.

The clang of armor echoed throughout the cells, as did the jingle of keys as they were engulfed by a handkerchief, plummeting to the ground. The being removed their cloak.

"Commander?" Her voice pitched.

"It's Fenris," they grinned, tossing the guards in her cell with the sound of freed shackles, releasing his hand, "allow me to be brief."
_______________________________________

There came an echo down marble halls, the bustle of cheering, battered by hastened steps. Embraced by morning, they faced the rattling court.

Two dozen soldiers marked the crowd's rear, with another eight gathered by the spectacle itself: Theodren and Carrion capped by dangling gallows.

With the event so near, they lost sight of the alarm of approaching metal, the branding of a High Guard noble.

With a jolt, Valora was placed in a crate.

"Be still. I'll return in due time." Fenris whispered with a turn, granting a courtly bow. "Sir Armand! Good morn! You've returned."

"I have." Armand said bluntly. "And you're not providing the speech. May I ask 'why'?"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself on my account. Indulge in the spectacle. You and your men have earned it." Fenris patted his shoulder.

Armand cackled bitterly, then removed his hand, wiping it out of disgust. "'Spectacle'. If that's what you call it, I'd consider it best you didn't speak."

"To the King, then." Fenris bowed in salute. "And a meager winter."

"I bloody well hope." Armand stepped back, bowing in return. "Good morn'."

Fenris sighed, hearing the metal clank to the distance.

"And so, as their tongues warrant no response, their sin is known! By Verikia, may their souls seek His earnest sanctity!" The priest continued, and Fenris's eyes widened.

The floor was split, their bodies fell. To roaring cheers, to the shake of rope. From the eyes of men that served them, and of those that sought their end, saluted all the same.

Fenris released his sheath.
_______________________________________

There was no sound as it happened. The bells that often tolled, the scratch of the rope's hide, nor the breeze of somber morning. It was silent, not in peace or fear, but devouring.

Their bodies dangled motionless, swaying in the wind, when their rope was.. abruptly cut...

Murmurs sparked among the crowd, with soldiers bolting to the gallows stand, but were met with the shred of metal to their throats.

The executioner, ornately bound in Lorlyn black, unveiled with a face of grey, branded in thrice black lines.

"To the keep! To the keep!" Screamed Armand, terror in his eyes. "Protect the king!"

The scent of metal, a crimson rain, drenched the noble families, merchants, and priests --- impeding their escape.

A shield wall was gathered around the king, hastening their path inside.

Fenris bolted to the gallows, flinging a dagger through the executioner's skull, finding Theodren and Carrion laying lifeless on the wooden planks.
Severing their ropes, he pressed against Carrion in synchrony, followed by breath, turning to his side to find Valora doing the same to Theodren. They woke with strenuous breaths.

"Well, that's a sight." Theodren muttered weakly, causing her to smile.

"Pardon to wake you, but we're amidst a battle. Can you stand?" Fenris spoke aloud, helping them up.

With labored coughing, they both nodded.

While those in combat seemed not to notice their escape, they quickly caught wind. Locking eyes with Fenris, their faces swelled. The choice was there, but they dared not pursue, veering their spears to the unfolding chaos.
______________________________________

The King's army advanced to the royal chambers, each step echoing sporadic thumping. The ground was slick with the remnants of battle --- the last of the Zerethian had fallen, clay limbs shattering against the marble floor, mixed with the hint of soldier blood. Just as they reached the inner doors, a thunderous crash filled the hall as the gate behind them shattered open.

There he stood --- Almar --- clad in royal grey. The air grew thick, choking any semblance of courage to compel him, as every step filled their hearts with a drumming weight.

"Fire!" Armand's voice cracked, breath heavy. A dozen archers, with trembling hands, unleashed their arrows, whistling through the air.

Most struck true, but they merely clattered off Almar's form, his advance unyielding, as though he were a moving fortress.

Another dozen soldiers surged forward, spears leveled and shields raised. Yet, as they clashed against him, they crumbled as clay spilled from their throats, collapsing lifelessly on his sides.

"I ask only for your master," Almar declared, his voice smooth with finality. "Heed this request and you will live."

King Derek stepped boldly into the fray, brandishing his royal blade, determination blazing in his eyes.

Almar halted, a weary look. "The trial of kings?"

"To the death," Derek replied, rage igniting his spirit.

Almar bowed respectfully, "So be it."

In an instant, Almar lunged, a blur of motion with staggering force, sending Derek reeling to the ground as he narrowly parried his fist. Gritting his teeth, he regained his footing, quick to retaliate.

Almar, in response, made no effort to halt him, but rather evaded the assault, stopping in place as Derek jolted back. "Where's your blade, fiend, that you're so proud yet so reluctant to duel?" Derek taunted breathlessly.

Almar, closing his eyes, bared his weapon --- a slender blade with intricate symbols, its cross guard akin to the craftmanship of royal Eyru.

Derek grinned, charging again, but Almar parried, and then struck his legs, like brushing away a strayed leaf, but it was enough to send him crashing to the ground.

Silence enveloped the room as Derek groaned, struggling to stand. Almar approached slowly, his gaze steady as he slowly reached down.

Suddenly, the feeling of cold steel thrust into Almar's chest. Time stretched as he stood still, the weapon embedded deep.

With a cough, Derek rose, blood spilling from his lips. "This kingdom is mine. Their deaths have earned that much," he rasped, fury mingled with pain.

The queen gasped, horror flooding her eyes as she called in desperate cries for her husband, for Almar had yanked the blade free, the edge gleaming clean --- no sight of blood.

Almar stepped close, and Derek trembled to the ground. "You did well to resist," Almar spoke gently, lifting the king as he gasped and wheezed.

Struggling in his grip, Derek's eyes longed to his beloved, who stood frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Spare them, and the kingdom's yours," Derek gasped, desperation creeping into his voice.

Almar bowed respectfully. "You have my word."

Derek turned to the queen, aching for her touch, her warmth, but she refused to step closer, for she was shaking.

With a final, shuddering breath, metal plunged through his heart, staining his garments crimson. As life flickered from his eyes, he turned to his wife, a gentle smile gracing his lips, knowing she would be the last thing he'd see, and then collapsed onto the marble floor.

Almar swung his blade, clearing the king's blood before sheathing it.

The queen fled, shielded by the remnants of the king's men, while Armand laid still, trembling in fear.

Almar stepped closer, surrounded by the clay statues of fallen soldiers. "Be at peace knowing you fought as you could," he extended his hand, "and join as I embark to this kingdom's victory."
_________________

Fires had sparked across the market sector as the blood of peasants and soldiers stained the streets. Many chose to blockade their homes; elders, mothers, and children, fearing the pillaging that would meet the outside.

Carriages flooded the gates, crammed with winter rations, weapons, and jewelry, led by the remaining guards. Much as they held strong to the peasants therein, the scent of smoke, rumble of shattered walls, and deafening screams, it would be brief.

Though the moment appeared as an illusion, from the steps upward was a crowd of peasants and nobles, without a soldier to guide them, fleeing like mindless animals.

The captain of the guard ran ahead to meet them.

"By my mark, you shouldn't be alive." The captain gripped his sword.

The crowd gathered their breath, with a noble confronting to speak, voice heavy.

"Tell that to them." They said, head turned to the citadel.

The captain released his grip, looking to his men with a raised brow.
_______________________________________

"Commander, I'm beginning to believe you're insane," Theodren remarked, his breath heavy, the clank of metal scraping the stone corridors behind them.

"They should be safe now," Fenris returned calmly, not breaking a sweat. "Just a few more paces!"

Theodren scoffed and stumbled behind, while Carrion remained unable to speak.

"Look there!" Valora pointed urgently.

Fenris ran ahead and opened a door.

"With haste!" he called out, echoes filling the hall.

They exchanged glances for a moment and then hurriedly proceeded through the door. It closed firmly behind them, the sound of plated metal echoing in the darkness. The clanking noises from before had muffled, and in the ensuing silence, one thing became clear-they had found a straight path to the outskirts of the city.

Though they expected the door to shatter and the enemy to pour forth, the quiet persisted. All that remained were their racing hearts and the sound of their own footsteps soaking the ground.

Finally, they emerged into the light, greeted by the comforting warmth of the sun, the peacefulness of the distant treeline, and the faint scratch of autumn grass.

As they turned back, Valora's eyes sparked with horror. Her heart sank, and an invisible weight locked her in place --- Fenris wasn't there.

Carrion came to her side, wheezing in an attempt to speak. "It was... the only way..."

Theodren followed suit, rubbing her hand with a smile. "He'll make it."

Their eyes were then drawn to the rustling near the bridge, and they turned to each other with knowing looks.