Author: Miluielwen
Summary: The summer of their love was as brief as it was beautiful. He was nowhere near too young for revenge now.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Bruckheimer & Company? … Also, I realise this concept must've been used a milion times, but I really just suck at coming up with original ideas. My sincere apologies if I offended anyone.
Dedication: This one goes to Dickonfan, one of the best writers in this fandom and an amazing friend. Thanx for all your support! )
A/N: Basically, this is what happens when I listen to King Arthur music while working on an assignment for IB English. My mom thought it was too bloody (I say gritty, lol), my teacher gave me an A+ for it; I'd love to know what you guys think.
It's kinda random and un-beta'd, unless you count my teacher's spelling adjustments. Ye be warned.

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He had been too young, then, to take revenge.

His captors had been too big, too strong as they dragged him away from the burning remains of what had once been his home. They slapped him, threatened him, pulled at his hair. He had only struggled harder.

There was nothing left to live for, but at least he would go down fighting.

And so he trashed and grappled wildly, all he could think of that his family was dead, and that it was all his fault – that he could at least wound one of the bastards, if nothing else…

But then one of the other boys gently – but forcefully – took hold of him, hushing him until there was nothing left but a frightened little boy shaking with his own agonised weeping.

He had been unable to avenge the slaughter of his family, then. The guilt of it would be carried around for years to come.

Years passed. The group of boys grew to be men. Men grew to be warriors. Their mandate was to protect their captors; to fight for them without question, and to do whatever their masters bid them to do.

No matter what sort of fancy name they were given, the fact remained that they were assassins, each of them a deadly weapon that just happened to be human.
It was hard not to lose that humanity, to turn into a killing machine disguised as a person of flesh and blood. The lone thing that kept them some semblance of sanity during the long years of their service was each other's companionship.

The boy that lost his family grew, too. He changed into a man that rather observed than spoke and was generally regarded as somewhat of an enigma.

He had no trouble killing, his method of disposing of someone's life quick, clean and almost frighteningly detached. Some proclaimed it to be bloodlust; others admired his skills. He found that it was easier not to care. As long as he kept his distance, he wouldn't hurt.

He trusted only few things. Himself, his weapon, his ability to kill and, as he grudgingly admitted to himself one day, his companions. It was all he needed. His life was focused around survival, and the survival of his friends. Only very seldom did he wonder exactly what the purpose of his existence was.

But then she came. She, with her loving smile and sparkling eyes. She who loved the rain and could calm him with only a few words or the lightest of touches. She gave his life purpose again.

He wasn't a gentle man, but she didn't care. She understood him like no one else could, and could read him so well it was uncanny. His companions could've sworn sometimes that they were one person rather than two.

She managed to thaw a heart that had been meant to be frozen forever.

The summer of their love was as beautiful as it was brief. They could spend hours in mutual silence, not needing sound to communicate. Their eyes said more than a thousand words ever could. He would study her as she brushed her hair, and she would always look up and smile that smile that made him aware just how painfully in love he was. It was the little routines like this that he would always remember.

Life was not easy for them. Soon obstacle after barrier after trouble had to be overcome, and all small victories were celebrated as if it was to be their last. Their love only grew, and he could no longer imagine ever having lived without her.

Disaster struck all too quickly.

They found her broken body in a pool of her own blood. There was so much of it that even the most hardened of the group had to look away. She was alive, though barely.

Slipping in the burgundy fluid, he slid to his knees besides her, cradling her to him, chanting over and over in his mind that this couldn't be happening, couldn't be happening…

With her last breath, she told him she loved him. She had never spoken the words out loud before.

For the first time since that fateful day back home, the companions saw their friend cry.

He was nowhere near too young for revenge, now. He hunted her murderers down like dogs, knowing that if his masters found out he were missing they would do the same to him. But that was all right. He would be dead anyway.

Every man whose life he ended symbolised a loved one he had lost. At last he had his revenge. He killed them all without regret, but not without sustaining lethal injuries himself.

By the time his companions found him, he knew he could not be saved. He could feel the life flowing out of him like the sea ebbs from the shore. Someone was holding him, weeping bitter tears of regret and loss, and he smiled faintly when he realised it was the same man who had embraced him all those years ago.

Only a flicker of remorse for the pain he caused his friends crossed his mind before he let go. Nothing mattered anymore. There was no more pain… no more regrets. He could only see her smile, and the shadowed outlines of people he hadn't seen in over a decade.

He was home.

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