He had come to their little village on a quest, they said, but they could not say what it was or why he had chosen this little place instead of the Araphen castle town. The truth was, perhaps only one or two people really knew, and neither of them came around anymore. He wasn't really a monk, but he had built his orphanage in the name of the Blessed Saint Elimine, and served her cause well; he could oft be found teaching both the young and the old, the sickly and the robust, down in the little chapel next to the well. His arms were open wide to any and all who would come to hear his tales of the Saint's blessed being and her magics, and the people came to love him despite the mystery surrounding his character.
In these days, his long hair had grown silver more than golden, brittle rather than soft, but his kind blue eyes always shone when one of his children smiled, and one could see his gentle spirit yet remained. There was a food shortage, and as much as everyone in town liked to pretend they were yet at peace with the world, there was no cure for the bodies falling each and every day. Despite the drought and how feebly his garden grew, he always helped the townspeople and gave them what extra he could – even if he didn't eat himself, he smiled at them and bid them to enjoy the small miracles with which they had been blessed. He always cared for his children and those less fortunate than himself before even thinking about his own needs.
As the months passed, the crops all dried up into nothingness, and the well grew shallow. The townsfolk were beginning to fear something which they could not understand, and the teachings of Saint Elimine fell upon deaf ears now more than ever. Even those who had so diligently attended the Father's meetings for years stopped coming; those blue eyes just shone on, spreading what little warmth and kindness they could, even for those who had betrayed his teachings. He loved them, though they loved him no more than they had loved those orphans he had taken in.
The days went by, and still no rain came. Dozens of children and the elderly had passed, and yet the townsfolk would not heed the Father's teachings. Nobody came anymore; only the small children for whom he cared attended his ceremonies, for there was no more food for him to give those greedy souls. He fed the children broth and bitter roots, and they often cried of hunger, but he could offer them nothing more, and those blue eyes filled with despair. Even yet, he loved; it was all he could offer them.
The Alliance had warned the province to be on the lookout, for Bern had overthrown the peaceful people of Sacae and the frozen-hearted warriors of Ilia. There were no guards to protect the tiny village when pillagers from the mountains came; nobody could stop them, so their work was quick and tidy. Their Father told them yet not to hate, for these people were suffering, too; he warned that they were better off starving another night than hating their foreign neighbors. Violence would solve nothing, he said with sad sincerity in his tired blue eyes, but they would not heed his warning.
Now, the Bernese army had come to their homeland. These men weren't interested in pillaging like the starving mountain villagers; no, they were here to starve the people of what little food they had, to kill off any hope of Lycian rebellion against their cause. They took the grain from the mill and the meat from the butcher, and their job was done; they paid no heed to the smaller gardens, for what could they possibly provide in this drought?
But one young boy stood in their path, tears streaking his dirty little face as he held his arms wide, demanding the knights to stop, this was Father's garden, and they needed the food for the young ones who were crying inside their shabby little home. The knights' commander stopped and laughed at the child, demanding that he move; the child stood yet, unyielding to the overwhelming forces before him, glaring at the lot of them.
"Father says not to hate the hungry mountain people, but what of you who destroy without heart, without cause? I cannot tolerate the young children being hurt, I cannot tolerate them starving one more night. Do what you will with me, but I will protect this garden as their older brother."
"Very well, brat. Come at me if you will, and I shall put this arrow through your heart." The man dismounted and stood before the little blond boy, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked well on its taut string. His finger, it was pointed straight through the frightened child's heart, but as he went to release it-
The boy was no longer there; the arrow sank harmlessly into the trunk of a dead tree. The Bernese commander gaped, not in confusion or shock, no. Before him stood a silver-haired demon with a child upon its back, cerulean eyes glinting in the harsh sunlight, its face devoid of any emotion other than the purest hatred. The commander fell upon the earth, leaving the street in a state of hushed awe. He was dead before he hit the ground. "You shall not pass through here," spoke the demon, even as the terrified footsoldiers raised their weapons. "I shall strike down any who dare trespass upon this sacred garden."
As the townspeople watched in horror, they understood their Father's cause and why he had come to their small town, but none could save his life, nor the struggling garden that he had died to protect. His blue eyes were pale and glassy now, and all they could do was try to remember the lessons he had tried so hard to teach them since coming to their home.
Edit 3/22/2013: Yowch this was written in haste, and as such was full of really bad mistakes. I've skimmed through and fixed some of the more glaring issues, so hopefully it will be a smoother read.