Summary: I am a man without honour, they say, so why should I be honourable? Saker's perspective on why he left the Albion Royal Army.

A/N: I've always been a bit fascinated by Saker. He's a bandit and a brute. He murders and robs. But he served in the army once. How come, and why did he leave?

This story is my take on the truth about Captain Saker and why he left the Albion Royal Army. Was he a man without honour, or was he a man putting his foot down?

Warnings: There's nothing glorious to this story, at all. Nothing fluffy, nothing sweet. It's dark. Rated M for language, rape and violence.

Enjoy!

A Man Without Honour

Oath-breaker. Deserter. Rapist. Murderer. They look at me like a lesser man. 'He's a man without honour,' they say.

So why should I be honourable?

Many years ago, I served in the Royal Albion Army. Damn proud of it, too. I'd had a difficult childhood, being in the company of thugs and murderers in Westcliff, but I stood my ground, had my values. The rise of the Hero King was the hope poor sods like me had been waiting for. He wanted loyal men at his side, men that didn't fear death, men that wouldn't hesitate to die for their King and country. He wanted women, strong warrior women, to join his forces as well, because the Hero King did not discriminate. He was everything the innovating youth wanted, and I was one of them.

So I made my way to the capital, and I enrolled for the Army. I was to fight for my King and country, and I was to defend the peace and the equality the Hero King had built up.

I climbed in rang, and I was respected by my men, the people, and the King himelf.

And then it all went to pig shit.

Albion was a proud country, with a just ruler and loyal men and women to keep it safe. But somewhere along the line, things turned sour, like fruit staying in the warmth for too long.

They needed a scapegoat, they needed someone to take the blame for the things the Royal Army had to do, and who was I to refuse taking a hit for our beloved King? But in the end, I'd had enough.

I am Captain James Saker, and I am a deserter. Damn proud of it, too.

—:¤:—

It's the fifth day in the cold. Mistpeak Mountains are unforgiving, especially in the winter. Glogger and Holland sing their stupid little songs to keep the mood up, but the rest of us mutter through chattering teeth.

"Where's the god damn Major when ye need 'im?" Donner hisses. "Three bloody months on the field, an' this is wha's goin' to kill us?"

"He'll come," I assure him. But I'm not convinced myself. The bridge is broken, we're not allowed to enter the Dwellers' Camp, and if we try to find a way around the mountains, I will lose half my men to the wolves and half to the cold. I've already lost too many men. Our only hope is that Sabine of the Dweller People changes his mind, or that Major Higgs comes to save us. Frankly, I'm convinced Major Higgs will come around before Sabine does. I've sent a falcon, and it should have reached Bowerstone a day ago. He should be on his way. It's only a day's journey to the foot of the mountains, and then another half day's journey to where we are now.

But I'm not convinced he'll even come. Why would Major Higgs care about us? We're the black sheep of the Royal Army, left to do the dirty work when things don't go according to plan. And the King? What's his opinion of it? He probably doesn't even know. Our beloved Hero King is never there when we need him. His endless mission as Hero takes him all around the country, and all around the world, and in the middle of a raging war against the Western Islands, his last concern is how the Royal Army solves their problems. Is the King even alive still? We don't know.

"Well, we've waited for almost two fuckin' days!" Donner barks.

"Aye! An' we will wait for two more days if we 'ave to!" I bark back.

"We need to move if we wanna live!" Donner spits.

"Then by all means, go!" I growl.

"Captain!" Roderick cries. "A falcon!"

The men and I look up. There, in the distance, is the shape of the bird I sent one and a half day ago. I stretch out my arm for the bird to land, and feed it a piece of uncooked venison before taking the small note from its leg. I let the bird fly as I roll the scroll up.

"Is it the Major?" Victor asks.

"Is it the King? It wears the seal," Porter mutters.

It's from the Major, but I don't say it out loud. I skim through it, and as the words are repeated in my head in the voice of Major Higgs, a heavy feeling spreads through my chest and I sigh deeply.

"What's the matter, Captain?" Clogger and Holland have stopped singing, and Holland swallows loudly.

I take a deep breath. "'A storm is coming. No men can be spared for a rescue expedition. Take the Camp, and wait for the storm to blow over. But hurry, it will reach the mountains in a day.'"

"Is tha' it?" Donner huffs. "Take the Camp 'cause a storm's comin'? In a day from when he wrote it? Skorm's balls, tha's now! The Dwellers ain' gonna let us take it just like tha'! They won' even let us in! I bet they're barricadin' themselves right as we speak!"

"We're going to have to force ourselves in," Clogger says lowly. "We're going to have to invade…"

I nod. There's a feeling of distain in my belly. I didn't join the army to invade cities and villages, and especially not when they need their own food and shelter more than ever. But neither did I join the army to die from cold just because my Major can't 'spare any men for a rescue expedition'. "Well, lads! It's either them or us! You wanna sit 'ere when the storm's comin', be me guest. If not, then by all means, come with me."

There is a cheer from my twenty men as we ready ourselves to march back up to the gates of Dwellers' Camp. I feel nauseous when I realise I'll probably have to kill people. It never gets any easier, despite what they all say. I still hate it. But if it stands between life and death, I'm not the sort of man to surrender. I never surrender.

—:¤:—

Blood. There's blood everywhere. The snow is coloured scarlet. Bodies lie spread through the village; brave men and women that gave their lives to protect those they loved. And we killed them all. I killed them all.

Sabine is still alive, and is locked inside a caravan. The other surviving villagers all sit locked inside another caravan, shaking and crying. Most of them are women. Some of them are children. My men stare at them, hungrily. They haven't had a woman since we left the Capital, three months ago, some of them even longer. I have spotted a pretty girl amongst them; plump lips, chestnut hair, green eyes, fine figure with broad hips and rich curves. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and I find myself wanting her. Not only physically, but mentally as well. I want to know her, feel her, be with her.

But I tear my eyes from her and speak to the whole caravan. "A storm's comin', You knew tha', but didn' let us in. This is wha' happens when you oppose me."

"You, as in the Royal Albion Army?" a woman spits.

"No," I growl. "Me, as in Captain Saker. Remember it."

"You're a horrible man!" another woman cries.

"Aye," I huff. "Horrible an' mean an' cruel an' evil. I've heard it all." Then I turn to Victor and Dylan. "Separate the women from the group. Put 'em in another caravan. Secure this from wind an' cold. An' give 'em somethin' to eat."

The two soldiers get to work while I pick out a cigar from my jacket and light it with my hands. Half-hero, my mother always said. Ancestors from the Guild. But I'm no Hero. Far from it. I walk up to the caravan where the leader of the Mistpeak People sits. The small man rushes to the bars.

"You, despicable excuse of a man!" he spits, and I laugh. "You think you can come here, invade my village and walk away?! The King will hear about this, Captain!"

I bark a laugh. "The King?! Oh, 'e's got nothin' to do with it. This is between you an' me." Take the hit. Take the hit.

The tiny man shakes with anger. "When I get free from this cage, I'll—"

"Who says you ever will?" I sneer.

The men eat and drink well tonight. Ham and potatoes and stew and ale. Women's cooking. Oh, how I've longed for women's cooking. The fire is burning in Sabine's tent, while he, himself, sits in a caravan and curses. We, on the other hand, endure the storm like kings.

The handsome girl with the chestnut hair serves me my ale. She looks frightened and tense.

"What's your name, girl?" I demand. I want the question to be soft, I want her to understand I'm not all that I appear to be, but it comes out like an order. I've grown so used to giving commands, I don't remember how not to.

"Heather, sir," she breaths, in the sweetest voice I've ever heard. But she's afraid of me.

I nod and allow her back to what she was doing before. Heather. The name suits her. I watch her throughout the night, while the winds howl outside the tent. My men are full and drunk. I am full, but not nearly as drunk as I wish to be. These women fear me. They don't fear the Royal Albion Army, they fear me. Captain Saker. Because whenever the Royal Army does something questionable, I take the blame for it. I keep its name clean by tainting my own. For my King and country.

And now, I've past the point of no return. The invasion and slaughter of this village proves that I've become the monster everybody thinks I am. I have become the dreadful Captain Saker, I've become the stuff of nightmares.

It's anger, at myself and at the world, that makes me force the girl, Heather, to bed with me later at night. I drag her with me to one of the caravans and force her on her back. She cries, but knows better than to struggle, and makes it easy for me to undress her. I take her, before her body is ready for me, and it's hurting her. I don't face her, because I don't want to see her tears. This is no place for tears.

I am a man without honour, they say, so why should I be honourable?

I take her, several times, as the anger, the resentment to the world, is drained from me, into her, and when I've finished inside of her for the third time, I force her to stay with me, even though she doesn't want to. I forbid her to leave, and tells her that I will kill her if she does.

So she stays.

I smell her hair, touch her skin, whisper her name. Heather. I can feel her body tremble beneath my touch, and I hear soft sobs. I've broken her. She can't be older than twenty, and I took her against her will, took her and broke her.

I am a man without honour, they say, so why should I be honourable?

The girl falls asleep, but I stay awake. I feel her heavy breaths beneath the arm I have placed around her. They are steady, soothing. I inspect her body, inspect the damages I've caused. She's bruised and reddened, and small, red drops of blood are spilt on the sheets—hers, not mine. I immediately feel remorse. No, I wasn't even nearly as drunk as I'd wished to be when I started this, and now, it's all gone. I'm more awake now than ever, and I feel the bitter sting of guilt. I feel no anger towards this girl. I had no reason to punish her. So why did I? Why did I let my anger go out on her? This girl has done nothing to me, and I broke her.

Slowly, I lean to put my lips against the sleeping girl's ear. "I'm sorry, love."

I leave her in the caravan, and make sure she won't freeze, and then head towards the tent again. The storm is roaring all around me, but the Dwellers' Camp is strategically located leeward from the wind. The lads are almost crawling on the floor of the tent, drunk and miserable, and when dawn approaches, at least half of them is asleep in their own vomit.

I smoke a cigar while watching the sun rise from behind the scattering clouds. Morning on the Mistpeak Mountains is one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed; calm, slow, poetic even. I could stay here forever.

—:¤:—

Five days pass before Major Higgs sends a troop of men to help us over the gorge. Five days of occupying the Dwellers' Camp. The Major sent a message with the men, with a formal apology to Sabine and the Dwellers, but I think there's no apology in the world—not even from the King himself—that would make them forgive us for what we did, for what I did. I don't blame them.

The village we leave behind is drained, robbed and skinned, and more than one woman carries the child of some of my men. I don't know if Heather is carrying mine, but I didn't lay a finger on her again. I just watched her from a distance. As I leave the village, her name is on my lips, longingly. Heather.

The men Major Higgs sent are nonchalant and scornful, and they make me want to rip their heads off. Cheeky little bastard. They belong to the Swift Brigade, marksmen. But they apparently think it's a very amusing thing that they had to come and save Captain Saker and his men.

Amusing indeed, is my bitter thought, that we had to be saved by you.

I even tell them so, but sarcasm is clearly something that's escaped them. I'm glad to be rid of them, once we reach the Capital. It feels nice to be home, to be able to relax, but for me, that feeling doesn't last long.

Because I am the scapegoat. I am the one to take the blame. I am the one who taints my own name to protect the name of the Albion Royal Army.

I'm called in to see the Major, and from what I hear, he's furious. In annoyance, I light a cigar and heads over to Major Higgs' office. The small man stands by the window when I enter. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"It's a marvellous country we live in, don't you think?" he says.

"Aye." I stub the ash from the cigar onto the floor. "It is."

The Major sighs and turns with his hands on his back. "James, the Albion Royal Army is the pride of this nation. Its honourable soldiers risk their lives every day for the good of this country."

I nod. "Aye. We do."

"So why am I hearing bad rumours about the Royal Army?" the Major then continues. "Bloodshed, robbing… raping?" He looks at me, his squinty, black eyes staring.

"You told us to take the village," I say and shrug.

"Yes," he chuckles. "I told you to take the village, not befoul the name of the Army. There's a certain difference there, Captain."

I clench my jaw, almost to the point where I bite my cigar off. "They didn' want to co-operate."

"Spare me the details," he sighs. "I don't care what you do, even if you raped half the country! What I am concerned about, is what was done in the name of the King?"

"Nothin'," I growl. "I told 'em it was me. Captain Saker."

"Well, obviously, you didn't make it clear enough!" Major Higgs then barks. "Because now, the Mistpeak People is going against their King! Because of you!"

"I did wha' you ordered me to do!" I bark back. "I took the village! I waited for you to send men to help us over the gorge! I followed orders!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," the Major spits. "You haven't had any problems taking the blame for our blunders for years, so why should this be any different? You're just a scum, the lowest of the lowest, the worst of the worst, and somehow, you made it into the Royal Army. You should be glad you're not wiping my behind instead of fighting with the real soldiers!"

I can feel the blood rush through me, the adrenaline, the testosterone. Anger rises. My limit is reached. I cannot take anymore of this. I have been the scapegoat for far too long and taken far too many hits for the King and for the Army. I suppose I was the perfect candidate for this; big, bold and brutal. Born and raised by scum and thugs. There was no question I would easily come across as a man without honour. I would easily persuade people that the horrible things were my own doing and not orders from my superiors. And I did it, again and again, and told people it was my own doing. I was the monster behind the deeds. I was a man without honour and I defied the orders of my superiors and broke my vows to protect this country. But now, I've had enough.

I am a man without honour, they say, so why should I be honourable?

I strike the Major down, hard and brutally. I break his body. He won't be able to walk when I am finished with him, if he will still be alive.

When I am done, when the Major is nothing but blood and brain spread across the floor, I take my jacket off, hangs it on the chair and put the cigar out in the dead man's blood on the floor before I leave the office. I walk away from the Capital, from my King and my country, from my vows and my oaths. I made the choice myself, and now I'm a lawless man, an outcast. A disloyal man. A deserter. A rapist. A murderer. A monster.

I am a man without honour, they say, so why should I be honourable?