The skies had provided him a special blue for that morning. It was bright like they haven't seen in over a half century. Completely open and infinite, with no clouds in sight, shiny sun rays between the trees leafs, forming light drawings over the grass. The sun seemed to make the grass look more vibrant and healthy, oh so green and soft, little grass leafs being smooched under the weight of the prisoner's legs while he was dragged through the forest. It was a shame. Such a beautiful day didn't match with the blood dripping from the forehead all the way through the nose of the man who was being pulled by both arms, which arm being held by a guard. The left guard was taller than the right one. They weren't huge men like the prisoner was expecting. If he really thought about it, the expectation itself made no sense: elves were never burly. It simply wasn't a part of their nature. The prisoner shut his swollen eye closed, bothered by the clarity. It almost didn't look like an eye anymore, just a fat purple bulge, the skin glowing reddish against the light of the sun, throbbing in pain. There was some pus forming under the eyelid. He could feel the taste of blood deep inside his mouth, coughing heavily, making the thick blood come out of his mouth and run slowly down his injured bottom lip. For such delicate creatures, elves sure knew how to beat the crap out of someone. A smirk appeared in the corner of the prisoner's lips as he remembered of the beautiful damage he made on the little guy who captured him. He so could have taken that tiny little elf, despite his freaky long limbs and even longer fingers. The prisoner wondered if they would have to amputate the finger he'd almost bitten off when the elf tried to hold him down. That bastard's nail was lengthy enough to cut his palate, but the human didn't care at the moment. The fight became very unfair when five other pointy-ears creatures heard the screaming and came to help their fellow.

His ears were filled with happiness when he heard the morning birds singing. It had been so long since he'd last heard the bird's chorus. He rarely approached the Grove area, where the birds built their nests and raised their babies. The prisoner sighed deeply, grunting over pain when he felt his ribs stretch by his lungs filling in with air. He couldn't help but thinking that, back in his land, any sorrow manifestation coming from a captured elf would cause immense satisfaction in the sadist human guards. They would laugh and mock their captive. But things were different here. None of the guards laughed at his pain, the smaller one just tighten his fingers around the man's arm and tugged him harder, feeling that his body was getting heavier. Soon he would faint. His vision was getting blurry under the locks of his messy hair. He just knew he would faint. But he made an effort to raise his chin, observing the serious expression on the taller elf's face. Now he seemed taller than ever.

"Hey, buddy." the prisoner called with a devilish smile.

The elf never looked down.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, big guy," he tried again, whistling between his teeth (or at lest trying to, since he could barely breathe at this point.) "Could you tell me if…" and suddenly he was gasping like he had no air in his lungs. "…If it'll take too long for us to get to your enchanted fairy land? I'm having kind of a hard time here. You know. Being… Dragged and all."

But there was nothing.

The prisoner looked the other way, thinking of trying to get answers from the other guard, who seemed to get pissed off easier. He really intended to open his mouth and speak. But before he knew what was going on, his head dropped forward and a harsh cough interrupted his plans. He frowned in disgust with the bloody taste in his mouth, coughing so hard at this point that a few birds flew away. Perfect, now he was scaring off the birds he loved. Just what he needed. He could feel the sun burning behind his head, making it even more uncomfortable when he started to get dizzy. Boy, this was going bad. He couldn't distinguish the ants on the grass anymore, everything went blurry and confusing right in front of his eyes.

Then it all got black.

Kenny had no idea how much time he had passed unconscious. When his senses slowly started to function, he got a tingling feeling in his toes and his face hit the ground so hard he almost passed out again. The smell of moist grass was intoxicating. The guards had dropped his body carelessly on the ground. Kenny didn't need to look up to realize there was a warrior with a bow above him, pulling the bow string to the limit, pointing the arrow directly to his head. The warrior's dirty combat boot was also ready to smash his brain if he had to, standing right in front of the prisoner's face. Oh well. He was just starting to suspect the elf's hospitality.

Slowly he turned his face so he could try to see something – anything – even though his sore eye didn't even open anymore. The eyelids of his good eye closed up really fast when the sun light touched his pupil. The light wasn't so bright under the protection of the trees, but damn that thing burned. Kenny didn't feel like losing both eyes. He saw at a glance the left soldier bending for the warrior in respect while he stepped away. Kenny assumed that the right soldier was doing the same.

"Oh, you guys are leaving already? So soon…" he grumbled to his new friends under the heavy breath, insure if they could hear him or not. His voice was rough and talking hurt like a motherfucker, his throat scratching at every word. "But the party is just…" and a deep breathe. "Getting started… Guys, tell him… How nicely I… Behaved."

No one answered. Just a pair of fast hands pulled his arms behind his back and pressed his wrists together, tying him up with a leather strap, locking his blood circulation. Then the person (a man, for sure) spoke to the warrior:

"What are the orders, sir? Should we take him to the king?"

"The king does not know that we have this man." The warrior, Stanley, answered. He made a sign with his head so the person grabbed the prisoner's weak floppy body, holding him up. "They have not returned from their trip yet. But we did send Pip to give him the news. In the meantime, take him to the tower."

"A… A tower? Really? Couldn't you think of anything more cliché?" The prisoner asked with a smirk. The first elves who fought him have just given up trying to rip the smile off that man's face. Not even an arrow, that was still aimed just a few inches from the prisoner's eye, could make the blond stop smiling. Like it was all a big joke for him. "Don't tell me you guys are gonna lock me up at a dungeon."

Once again, he was ignored.

Stanley Marshwalker was, like the elven people liked to call him – damn, like everyone in every kingdom called him – the hand of the king. He wasn't the help, he wasn't just a favorite, he wasn't like a loyal watchdog. You could even say that Stanley was the king's heart itself, every vain that pumped blue blood through the king's body, that's what Stanley Marsh had become over the years of faithful service. If you want to get technical, in hierarchic scales, he was just a warrior. But there wasn't a single elf in the kingdom that wasn't aware of the bond between this warrior and the highest creature of their existences. That made Stanley different from the other warriors. Special, somehow. It wasn't by means of this bond that he had conquered the army's command, of course. He deserved it. The post was trusted to him because Stan was, in fact, different. What the king saw in him, everyone else could see too. It was a lion's heart that barely fit into his chest, a sense of truth and justice like never seen before, a natural braveness, a blind passion for the battlefield and for his people, which he would defend with the point of his sword at any cost. He was willing to give his life away fighting for his cause anytime, like a warrior should be.

He was more than willing to give his life away for his king. He trusted him his whole world, his whole life, even his dog – Sparky was Stan's only family -, everything that mattered to him. Everything his heart had ever loved. Because the king was above all of this.

And that was all the warrior could think about when he held that light hand, kneeling in front of him, hugging his sword tightly against his chest with pride. Stan lowered his head, shutting his eyes close, feeling his muscles tremble like he was keeping something devastating inside of himself.

"Your Grace." he mumbled.

The king's hand felt so soft against the warrior's rude ones that squeezed it delicately between his fingers, bringing it to his mouth and planting a long kiss on the back of his hand. It was so pale compared to his own. Stan's skin was tanned due to working under the sun, away from the shadow of the huge trees. The king's slender fingers gently pulled away from the grab and involved the warrior's jaw, caressing the war scar on his cheek, then softly went down to his chin to pull his head up so their eyes would meet.

Kyle's eyes were so green that every time Stan looked directly into them he was more and more certain that they were made of emerald. They were spotted with a honey tone inside the iris, the pupils enlarged with lust from staring at his warrior from above, caressing his face ever so slightly, wandering his fingers through the stubborn black hair tufts that insisted on getting away from under his helmet. A warm smile sprouted on Kyle's rosy lips, like he was trying to offer some insurance to the warrior, even though he didn't understand about what. But he could still see the fear into those dark eyes that looked up for him with such devotion. God, how much he loved this man.

"You watch me like you were seeing some wonderful forest creature."

"That's what you are, your Grace."

"Oh, Stanley…" he whispered almost like music. Like a quiet singing bird. "You are so kind to me."

In his chest, Stan knew that was true. That's what all of them were exactly, wonderful forest creatures living in the woods of the Grove. But the king was the only one who had those rousing ginger curls contrasting with the wooden crown on top of his had, too big to fit him because it belonged to his father first. Kyle was the only one who walked like he was floating, the only one who touched every elf like they were his brothers and sisters. He was the only one who had the bird-like voice. His cheekbones were so high made it look like he was always smiling. And his fire… That was the biggest difference in the warrior's eyes. The king had a fire that burned deep inside of him. The fire that made him so respected, despite being so petty. There was no elf in the whole kingdom of the Grove that doubted his fire, his capacity to lead, his authority.

Kyle wasn't just a respected king. He was a beloved king. So beloved by his people and his loyal warrior who was always holding his sword's hilt on guard beside the king's throne.

"Stand up." He ordered with a simple gesture, giving his back to Stan and walking across the salon, aware that the warrior would follow him. "And tell me what happened, yes?"

Stanley sheathed his sword and traipsed a few steps behind his king, licking his lips.

"We captured the prisoner this morning. We suspect he's a thief. We held a bag full of… Apples."

The king stopped walking. He turned his face to the side, just enough so Stan could see his profile, the thin line of his nose of Hebrew traits, the delicate line of his long neck contrasting with the sunshine that entered through the grand window. And a slight frown on his forehead, manifesting his confusion.

"He stole food?"

There was hesitation on the warrior's voice.

"Yes, your Grace."

"Pip informed me that you captured a man from the kingdom of Kupa Keep. Not that you had tied and locked a starving man."

Now he was turning directly to Stan, the crown pending gracefully on the side of his head, among the curls of hair that looked almost golden in the sun light. His voice was calm, but genuinely bothered.

"We suspect he is both, your Grace."

The hand that Stanley had kissed now ran up the redhead's forehead, his fingers gently smoothing the wrinkles of his frown while he thought about it. Once again he turned his back on his server, running his fingers down his nape.

"Come along with me to the tower, Stanley, please." The king said casually, reaching out his hand so the warrior would walk by his side.

And he, as always, was more than pleased to follow the orders that came disguised as a request.