This is a oneshot I wrote a while ago. I am posting it as a birthday present for my dear friend rebel-with-a-clue. Happy birthday! I hope you enjoy.
Ragnor raced through the forest, hardly feeling the rough fir branches as they whipped across his face. There was no time to push them aside as he ran; if he hesitated at all he would surely be killed. As he dodged boulders and leapt over fallen trees his mind began to wander. Ragnor thought of his wife, his beautiful lovely wife, who would never see him again. His heart ached for his two children, the twins, who would have to grow up without a father. He knew that they would be alright (their spirits were as fiery as their tangled red hair), but he would miss them terribly.
Lost in his musings, Ragnor suddenly found himself falling forward, landing hard on his hands. He was in a clearing surrounded by tall trees and shrouded in a thick cloud of mist. He shivered. This would be where he would make his final stand. He could hear the crashing footsteps of his pursuer drawing closer. This was it.
He wished that he had never become a mercenary. No amount of money was worth the terror, the bloodshed, or the violence that made up his life. But his children had been close to starvation and there had been no other way. He could not bear to watch them suffer. His orders had been simple: kill King Arthur. But it was easier said than done. He and his band of mercenaries had underestimated the number of knights that would be travelling with the king and their ambush had turned against them almost before it started. Before he could blink, Ragnor had been the last man standing, the bodies of his men littered around him. That was when he had started running.
The footsteps grew louder. It wouldn't be long now. As he stood up, waiting to face his foe, Ragnor comforted himself with the fact that at the very least, he would die fighting.
The dark-haired boy burst through the trees, his eyes ablaze. Ragnor drew his sword and assumed a fighting stance. All his panic and fear left him in a flood. The only thing that mattered now was this one last fight. The sorcerer charged. Ragnor braced himself. Only one of them would leave this clearing alive.
The sorcerer hurled a fireball towards Ragnor, missing his head by centimeters and crisping the edge of his beard. Ragnor leapt to the side and slashed, but the sorcerer was quick. A bolt of lightning shot towards Ragnor's heart, but he pulled his shield up just in time to block it. Time seemed to slow down around them. The two men jumped and dodged, circled and jabbed, but neither could make contact with the other. Ragnor could feel himself tiring, but he kept fighting, until he could no longer lift his shield. The sorcerer continued his assault, finally disarming Ragnor with a flash of golden eyes. As he watched his sword spin out of his hand, Ragnor began to pray. He prayed for his children, for his wife, and for his soul, that he would find mercy in the afterlife.
The sorcerer whispered one final word and Ragnor felt himself flying backwards into a tree. His head collided with its hard trunk and he slid to the ground. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was the sorcerer's fiery eyes fading to tear-filled blue. The boy hadn't wanted to kill him, but he would do anything to protect the people he loved and fulfill his destiny. He was Fate's mercenary.