Peace was only a distant memory for the village that hugged the curve of the riverbank. The forest that towered above the little houses and huts on the south served as a reminder of the choices they had to make. Run to the river or hide in the trees to shield themselves from their charging enemies. They had the protection of both, but now they were secluded from the outside world and if something were to happen once again, surely they would be forgotten and their screams unheard.

Alfred was not born in this village. He was born in the war destroyed village that no one wanted to utter the name. His brother was born there, too. His twin, Matthew, was separated from him the evening that the men clad in leathered garments came with weapons and barbaric, blood lusting faces. He was too young, far too young to understand what was really happening around him, but he knew somehow that nothing would be the same after this. He knew what fear felt like early on.

Nineteen, tall, and strong. Alfred was a promising warrior, if time should come for that again. He was a champion in the war games, although the older people refused to call these shows of strength and speed as such, considering what they had seen in the past. The youngsters, however, relished these things. Hunting, fishing, fighting, racing, all was for fun, anyhow.

He had won a few events last summer, but his competitors were just as skilled and just as lucky. They were his friends and no hard feelings were felt when they bested one another. Perhaps these times were the closest moments to peace they had, but the worried, tiresome expressions from the elders and middle aged parents still reminded everyone of the struggles and the losses even when they were supposed to be happy.

Aunt Abigail was a kind old woman who took Alfred in. She was short and stocky, but still pretty in an angelic kind of way or so Alfred believed. Scars and burn marks were plainly obvious on the left side of her face and even that didn't mark or destroy her beauty or rather the selflessness and warmth that made her beautiful. He, after he was old enough, took it upon himself to take care of her like she was his own mother.

Only a month ago, she had died. Alfred was devastated, but to look tough he only cried when he was alone. He was a man now and he had to act like one. The house, he inherited that. Alfred was expected to choose a wife in the spring. He had his eye on a couple of girls, but hadn't really made a move for either. He was still grieving and the coolness of the winter air only made him feel emptier inside. Winter, he hated winter so much.

"Hey Al," greeted a sheepish voice. "Do you think you could give me some advice?" The voice belong to Luke, a boy a few years younger than Alfred. The kid admired Alfred and usually followed him around whenever he could.

"Yeah, what about?" Alfred snapped out of his daydreaming, glancing towards Luke with a sleepy gaze. "Mandy or something?"

Luke nodded quickly. "Do you think I should be nice like always or do what Marcus said and be aloof like a wolf?"

Alfred responded with a sigh, lifting his mug of ale from the cracked, wooden table. "A wolf, huh? Didn't think girls liked wolves." He paused, eyes shifting from Luke to Marcus who was laughing with his drunken friends from across the room. "Just be yourself. Mandy's a nice girl and deserves that much."

Outside a storm was brewing. The old people felt it in their bones while the young generation drank away any convictions. Something bad besides the storm was upon them and this time they probably wouldn't survive it like all those war torn times before. As the winds began to howl, nipping and freezing the little village, the army trudged upon them. We want what they have, they chanted. It was a surprise attack by a band of men who loved war games more than they loved peace and the lives of those who had tried so hard to find it.

Some rose up to defend, some tried to run away, and some could only pray. Alfred and the other men didn't hear the monsters until they had already killed and destroyed some of the innocent villagers. The wind covered them as if it were an ally. They were unprepared and clumsy on their drunken feet. They had lost this fight before they even started.

Alfred thought himself dead. He died last night along with all the others. But was this what death really felt like? His head throbbed, resting upon something soft. He turned his body. Soft, smooth, silkiness surrounded him, brushing over his skin. His eyes opened, immediately noticing the wooden beams up above. Confused, he looked again, this time at his arm. He was bruised from the night before. His wrist carefully bandaged. Alfred's stomach churned. Where was he?

Everything was hazy. His memories failed to surface. He wanted to move, but he knew his legs would give out from under him and he would be nothing more than a mess on the floor. God, he felt so sick. Alfred groaned, clutching at his throat.

The door cracked opened and a pair of green eyes peered at him briefly in between the small space, before finally making a full entrance into the room. Alfred stared with unsteady vision at this man. His blond hair was thick and unkempt and his face had a frown that made him look as if he was unamused with the entire world. Behind him, his wings wavered with each movement. He stopped at the foot of the bed and hesitated, seeming to be almost afraid of him.

"..Human," uttered this strange man, furrowing his thick eyebrows. He then wrinkled his nose, thinking of what to say next. The words must have never came for he was turning around when Alfred was finally able to get a hold of himself.

"Wait!" Alfred choked out, wheezing as he sat up in the bed. "Wait, I—Where am I? Please, I need to know. Did the village? What happened?" He blinked away the tears that were welling up in his eyes, blurring his vision further.

"That village? The one where you came from, I presume. Well, it's still there." The man with the wings like a butterfly, a fairy or a fae, turned and squinted. "Ruffians killed everyone, almost everyone. You were thrown into the river and were carried away with the current. I found you and now you're here, but only temporarily, mind you. You've been asleep for a few days thanks to my potion making skills. Honestly, you humans are much more trouble than you're worth."

"What?" Alfred covered his face, feeling as if he could break down with the realization that everything he once had was literally crashing down around him with this new tidbit of information. "Are they still there?"

"Yes. Why do you care? Are you going out to seek revenge?" He moved swiftly, without making a sound, standing next to Alfred's side at the edge of the bed. "Now how foolish that would be. Humans are so controlled by emotions, it's rather sad."

"All my life, we sad humans have moved and each time.." Alfred stopped himself, rubbing his fingers through his own hair, sighing deeply. "I'm going to do what I have to do. Whatever you are, I don't care what you think of me. But I ask that you help me in some way and if you do, I could do something in return for you."

"As if I want anything from you, but I may have a few potions that could help. My magic is brilliant." He smirked, pinching at Alfred's cheek. "Call me Arthur, human child. I am always willing to play with the weak for my amusement."

A/N: I haven't written anything in a while, at least for my own amusement. So here, have this.