AUTHORS NOTE: I apologize in advance, but this chapter is going to be a bit short. I'm running low on writing time for today, but bear with me; I'll make the next one extra long for all the readers out there : )

-Jakkani

BOOK TWO: AESIR

The bandits fumbled with their arrows as Gentry and Tyrion charged them, their blades in hand, Gentry screaming his war cry. The arrows were loosed, making a sound like birds taking flight, hissing as they glided past Tyrion's head, and thumping into the wood of the tree trunks near them.

The first bandit's arm was lopped off in an instant as he knocked his arrow; his severed limb falling to the ground as he screamed wildly, clutching at his bloody stump. The other three pulled and knocked more arrows, but Gentry ran between them, a whirlwind of steel, cutting them down as fast as he could get to them. The leftmost archer held his splintered wooden shield up, to no avail; it was cleaved in two along with his head, an explosion of blood and bone and brain that stained the white snow.

Tyrion, on the other hand, dropped his blade, and was now fumbling for it in the snow.

Gentry impaled the downed man who'd lost his hand earlier, finishing him as the other two loaded their arrows and loosed them. Tyrion found his blade in the snow, and pulled it out, walking towards the archers with shaky legs; one of the arrows they loosed landed in Gentry's leg. He fell to the ground in pain, clutching at it, frowning behind his eye patch, cursing to himself as he used his sword to cut the feathered shaft off.

They pulled and knocked another two, pointing it square at Gentry's head; but Tyrion tackled one from behind, cutting his bow clean in two, as the other seemed to just realized he was there. He ran for his life, into the woods, faster than a rabbit. The last bandit scrambled on his back in the snow, looking up at Tyrion with wide fear filled eyes, knowing what was to come next as Tyrion pointed the sword at his chest, it's point hovering right over his heart.

Gentry grunted from somewhere behind him. "Finish him, you fool!"

I have to.

A tear ran down the mans cheek as he stared up at Tyrion. "Please, I have a family!" He had a foreign accent.

Someone's father. Someone's brother. Someone's husband.

Tyrion dropped the sword in the snow, cursing to himself at his weakness. "I can't kill you." He ran his hands over his shaved head, his eyes beginning to welt and turn red with tears. "Just…go." His voice was shaky and uneven as he waved him away.

The bandit looked at him for a moment in disbelief.

Then he flashed a sinister smile behind his matted beard, pulling a glinting piece of steel from his boot in an instant, and tackling Tyrion to the ground before he could react. The man was on top of him, sitting on his chest, but Tyrion grabbed his wrist, so for the moment he could do nothing but struggle to free it. Tyrion knew that this wouldn't last long; he was a scrawny boy, with little to no arm strength, and all that was keeping the dagger at bay was strength by adrenaline. He heard Gentry screaming somewhere in the back of his mind.

His body was so heavy, and his lungs could only expand so far with his weight on him; his mind froze with cold blue panic as he ripped his wrist free from Tyrion's grip. The blade came down as Tyrion flailed his hands wildly; the dagger punched into him somewhere between his ribs. Something inside of him broke; something inside of him wouldn't work. He pulled the blade out of Tyrion's body, lifting it again, but Tyrion caught it; the point came down slowly as he struggled, poking his sternum at first, impaling him slowly. Tyrion screamed hoarsely as the steel pierced his lungs.

All the weight was suddenly off him.

Tyrion opened his eyes to see the bandit on the ground beside him, being stabbed over and over again in the face and neck by Gentry. He, too, struggled at first, much like Tyrion, pushing at Gentry's face and trying to grab the knife, but his hands slowly stopped moving as the stabbing continued. Then, Gentry collapsed on top of him, unconscious from lack of blood.

The edges of his vision blurred. He rolled over onto his stomach in the snow, which was a horrible idea; his blood began pouring out and pooling beneath him at an alarming rate. He vomited into the snow, crawling towards Gentry. He seemed to crawl for hours before he reached him, shaking Gentry's unconscious form.

"Gentry." He coughed the words out, crimson blood dribbling down his chin. "Gentry, wake…wake up…" He rolled him over and weakly slapped his stubbled face, to no avail. He was dead, or near; his eyes were glassed over and lifeless, staring at Tyrion in a death snarl.

He didn't have enough strength to cry; he laid his head on Gentry's chest, closing his eyes. The pain began to spike as the adrenaline abandoned him, unbearable pain. He was on the edge of consciousness, knowing that he was going to die here.

He could see his own body, young and beautiful and dead. He was flying, away from the filth of his flesh, to be free.

Far off in the distance, he heard the words,

"Vendai le lorei? Valana va lorei!" followed by footsteps in the snow.

A hooded ranger, wearing a green cloak, ran out of the woods and shook Tyrion's shoulder. He didn't respond.

Hey…hey! Leave that alone!

He wanted to leave his crippled body behind on this earth. But the voice persisted, flipping him over in the snow, ripping open his shirt to reveal a blood-stained chest, pumping his heart and breathing into Tyrion's lungs through his mouth. He continued pumping his heart, although it was slippery and sticky all at once, and breathing through his mouth, desperately trying to bring back his spirit to his body.

He is so annoying. Why can't he just leave me alone?

A dozen other footsteps sounded through the snow. More hands began stroking his head, wrapping bandages around his limp body, and sticking their hands into his wound. He could feel his body being repaired, the veins being reconnected with some type of magic, his heartbeats slowly returning, the blood and bone returning to their rightful place.

He flashed red anger. No! NO! I don't want to go back!

He came back.

He wheezed, suddenly alive again. He coughed more and more blood out, and then laid on his back in the snow, motionless, the relief of unconsciousness taking him.

He could almost see Arthas, frowning in disappointment at his brother's weakness.