For AshleyHawke. I've made it my aim in life to make this woman feel something, damn her ice heart! You should definitely go check check out her stories.

The young man was regarded to be one of the most loyal men to his king and country. He was a good man, truthful, powerful. It had been nearly ten years since this warrior appeared from the ashes. There were very few who knew him before his rise to power; Those who did would have never thought that this rebellious teen would have ever become what he has. He led his companions with the wisdom that he held beyond the years of his age. A decade since he first picked up the blade, he stood on the cliff edge where his life was changed. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The memories were due to haunt him it seemed.

His breath was heavy and harsh. Burning his throat as he ran, his footsteps slipping on the mud. The rain did nothing to cool the heat in his muscles, nor dampen the fear in his chest. He could hear the shouts and screams of those he left behind and those who were hounding him. Dogs barked and yelped as they caught his scent. They bayed for his blood and would indeed succeed in running him down. It felt as if his breath had turned to acid, scolding his mouth and nose. He coughed, lights appearing in front of his eyes. For a moment he felt hope before he realised it was simply exhaustion taking over. His weak frame would let him down, soon the dogs would be upon him. He wept unashamedly as he stumbled and lost his footing, the ground rushing to meet him. There was a sickening snap as his arm landed across a protruding stone. He screamed in pain, rolling onto his back, clutching his broken limb. The bone had torn through his skin, a pure white contrast against the deep red that now covered his hand and arm. He began to crawl unable to find his balance and get to his feet.

All too soon he felt the cloying breath from the hounds on his face. He hoped the pain would numb his body, but he was wrong. He felt every sharp tear the beasts made with their jaws against his body. Still he struggled. The dogs snapped and barked, deafening him, he was unable to hear his own pitiful whimpers. Just when he thought that his agony had reached it's peak there was a yelp. The weight and heat of the hounds was thrown from his body. High pitched yelps and whines echoed around the cliff. He was able to open his eyes after a few moments, it seemed that he had stumbled through a camp. A single man stood tall, he gave a dog a particularly harsh kick, sending the beasts running. He turned his attention to the broken lad, who whimpered and tried to back away. The boy's eyes focused to the light from the fire, the man was tall, broad shouldered and had a red scar over his nose. He wore his hair short and his beard looked a little unruly. He wore a tight smile and was about to help the lad to his feet when he heard the shouts from the men that were on the hunt. His brow furrowed and he raised his hand to the broad sword that he had sheathed across his shoulders. The lad was able to pull himself into a sitting position, fresh fear pouring through his veins.

'It's the Champion!' He heard a man shout. The man that saved him stood in front of the broken boy, his sword drawn. The lad heard the Champion talk to the men that were chasing him. Harsh words and a low chuckle reverberated through the camp. Just when the boy thought that he was saved, he was going to be sent back to the people who simply wanted to kill him. But surprise ran through him as the Champion shook his head and moved closer to the lad.

'No.' The Champion said simply.

An arrow was let loose and it hit the Champion in the shoulder. He yelled and pulled the shaft from his body. He was hopelessly outnumbered. More arrows hit him as he charged forward, his large blade screaming as it cut through the night and bit deep into the men that stood before it. The lad stared in horror as the Champion fought his way through the men. There were bloody cries and agonized screams as limbs were forcible removed and skin torn. He watched as the Champion pulled a dagger from his side, throwing it at the assailant that had just ran from him. It hit the man in the head, spraying blood which reflected gold in the firelight. Although it looked like the Champion was winning, it was the opposite. The lad cried out as a blade pierced the Champion's body, causing the large man to stagger back. But still he held both hands on his sword and quickly returned the blow, running the man through. He fell to his knees. The weight of his large blade falling from his fingers. The lad yelped as he saw the last three men swamp toward the Champion, his death intent. It was clear that the man no longer had the strength to hold his own weapon. They fell around him, their bloodied gurgles eventually reaching the lad's ears. The champion brandished a short sword, which he rolled in his fingers the blade spinning. He flicked the bloodied weapon to the floor, where it stuck upright in the ground. He pulled himself to his feet and stepping over the bodies and slipping a little with weakness and the blood, he walked over to the boy. Despite his injuries he held himself tall and proud. Only when he was a few feet from the boy did his body give out, throwing him mercilessly to the floor. The boy crawled over to the Champion, who smiled at him, his skin pale.

'F-Fear not lad.' The Champion spoke quietly. The boy nodded and looked at the Champion's injuries, they were numerous and deep. Broken arrows littered his chest, a gaping wound in his stomach, sharp slits covered his frame. Blood stained his armour, the fur on his collar matted and clumped. He coughed, a bubble of red bursting at the corner of his mouth.

'I-I'm s-ssorry,' the boy mumbled, his good hand hovering over an arrow wound. The Champion found a smile from somewhere and even chuckled. He shook his head, hissing in pain.

'To die for a innocent is a mercy,' the Champion said. 'Be safe lad. Protect those who can't protect themselves.' He laughed and patted the lad's shoulder. His grip grew weak and his breath faltered, the lad held the Champion's hand as his body grew cold, his blood hardened on his armour. The lad simply sat there, ignoring his own pain, as the Champion drew his last breath. The lad leant over and closed the Champion's eyes. No-one would know how the Champion died, it was no great war, or saving royalty.

It was for a young man, in the rain, the dark.

The lad spent the rest of the night building a pyre, honouring the man in the only way he knew. He watched as the flames licked the sky. He had saved a couple of items. The Champion's broadsword rested across his shoulders, the man's family crest sat on his belt. The lad raised his tear stained eyes to the stars and made a vow.

''I never knew his name, yet I do my best to honour his memory.''

The warrior stared at the setting sun, remembering the sacrifice of one man. On his shoulder a token from his armour, the family crest worn from all those years ago. His body bore the scars, the broadsword, he held in his hand it's grip worn smooth as the years he spent protecting those who couldn't. He told no-one of that night, he couldn't honour the memory of the Champion, not in the way it deserved. But he did his duty, like he vowed to the stars a decade ago. A hawk flew over the sky, watching over the young man, protecting him.

As a Hawke did all those years ago.

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