Author's Note

Last Chapter She was jerked out of her mind set and glanced worriedly at Athram, who returned her look identically. Kyia beat Athram to the open door and was nearly plowed over as he joined her. There were three rogues trying to get down the stairs at the same time, two holding something heavy between them. One of them was yelling commands at everyone to get out of the way and clear the hallway. She recognized him as Jeff. He finally reached the bottom of the steps and motioned for the other two to pass him. Amber walked swiftly by them, followed closely by Heimdall carrying a teenaged boy. Kyia could see his blood smeared tunic and cringed. His face was turned in towards Heimdall's chest, but as Heimdall hefted him into a better grip, his head fell to the other side. With a look of pure horror on her face Kyia realized who it was.

"Arkitec!" Athram yelled hoarsely.

Chapter 14

Athram was gone from the doorway so fast Kyia was left stunned in his wake. It finally registered in her brain that it was Arkitec! The bloody mess in Heimdall's arms was Arkitec! She followed Athram into the hallway and walked along side him. Amber had began to cry, tears cutting though the dirt and grime and blood on her face from a shallow knife wound in her cheek. The look on Jeff's face was that of the highest form of torture. A loved one was dying in front of him. Heimdall's face was grim, his lips tight as he strode into the furthest room from the stairs, Amber, Jeff, Kyia, and Athram at his heals. He lay the boy out on a raised granite table. Kyia realized where she was.

Looking around herself she noticed four healers, a healer bending over each patient. Hiram gave it away. He was the strongest healer in Asgard, almost as learned as the palace healers. The direly injured rogues were in that room. The tables they lay on were soaked with crimson blood. All but one were asleep, their faces peaceful. The one conscious rogue's face was contorted with pain as a healer examined his shoulder, where a wound gushing blood resided.

Falora spotted them and came straight over.

She waved a finger threateningly at them and scolded, "I thought I told you two to-" Her face changed rapidly as she caught sight of her son laying unconscious on the granite table beside her. The look of grief on her face and the pain in her voice made Kyia want to cry.

"Oh, gods, Arkitec," she croaked, tears brimming in her eyes as she took in his blood soaked tunic, his pale face, his shallow breathing.

"He's alive, Falora, but he needs help now!" urged Heimdall, taking the older woman's hands in his own larger ones.

Falora placed a hand over her mouth, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Where did you find him?" she croaked, tearing her eyes away from her son and resting them pleadingly on Heimdall.

"Under that damned pine tree," Heimdall replied viciously. He hesitated before adding, "Falora, the snow's near black where we found 'im. He's lost a lot of blood. I don' need to be a healer to know that much."

"Hiram!" Falora cried. "Get over here! Arkitec's hurt!" She was crying as hard as Amber, then, as she screamed at the head healer. Hiram looked over his shoulder at her, irritated.

"Falora, he can't be hurt that badly," he said dismissively and turned back to his patient.

"Oh, really?" cried Falora angrily. She stomped over to him, grabbed him by the neck of his robe, and yanked him over to Arkitec. Even if she was having a crisis, she still demanded respect and acknowledgement. "Look at him, Hiram!"

The healer's eyes widened and he shook his head, taking in the sight. "Gods."

"Help him, Hiram," Falora whispered, a new wave of tears washing over her, her former anger gone. "Please."

"Everyone out," he said to the small group. "Now! Falora, you too. I think you're done for the day." With that he called the other healers over and Heimdall ushered them out, blocking their view. The last thing Kyia saw was the glow of several different gifts combining over Arkitec's lifeless body. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought of what might happen if Arkitec didn't make it.

Falora managed to collect herself enough to be reminded that Kyia, Athram, Amery, Nolan, Craft, Rodney, and Cade had to go back to the palace. She summoned enough composure to send Jeff and Amber with them with orders not to leave them unattended until they reached the palace gates. The pages protested that they were capable of protecting themselves, but Falora wouldn't hear any of it. Kyia knew, deep down inside herself, that Midwinter would be one she would never ever forget.

The next two weeks at the palace were nearly unbearable. Kyia had never seen Athram, usually silly and amusing, so depressed. Rodney and Craft were no better, though Kyia believed Athram was taking the accident the hardest. They had no way of getting news from Asgard Hall without endangering one of the rogues. Kyia had even gone as far as to ask Aylwin if he'd heard from Amber.

"Kyi, eat something!" Amery snapped thrusting a spoonful of mashed potatoes in Kyia's face. "You going on a hunger strike is not going to help Arkitec! Eat it!" Kyia eyed the potatoes warily and shook her head. "Fuck's sakes, Kyi!" Amery swore loudly and slammed the spoon down onto her plate. Mashed potatoes flew everywhere and Rebar groaned as a particularly large blob caught him between the eyes.

"I'm just not hungry, Amery," Kyia said quietly. She was telling the truth. She hadn't had much of an appetite the past two weeks, the anxiety from Arkitec's condition overriding her primary needs. Amery was worried about her, and about Arkitec, but he had a tendency to get angry rather than anxious or depressed.

"Amery, leave her alone, she'll be fine," Rebar said softly, wiping the potatoes from his face and flicking them onto his own tray.

"No she won't!" Amery thundered and stormed out of the mess hall. Only their table noticed. Kyia looked nervously after him.

"Don't worry, Kyia," Amira said reassuringly, laying her hand of Kyia's from across the table. "Amery will be fine, Arkitec will be fine, everything will be fine." Kyia had decided to tell Amira about Arkitec and the rogues. Amira had wanted to involve the Lord Provost and round up the bad rogues, but Kyia stopped her, explaining that eventually the Aesir Rogues would be rounded up, too.

Kyia smiled at her friend and nodded, though she definitely didn't feel like smiling and she didn't believe that everything would be fine. Something would always be wrong.

Finally Market Day came and Athram was the first one out the palace gates, closely followed by Rodney, Craft, and Kyia. Amery and Nolan lagged behind a bit with Amira, who'd insisted on coming with them to meet "the infamous Arkitec" as she put it. Cade had opted not to go, even though he was curious about Arkitec's current state. Curiosity was basically as far as his concern went; he'd never been close to Arkitec and had really only come to Asgard occasionally. They almost ran all the way to Asgard Hall. Athram breathlessly muttered the password through the bars of Yggdasril to where they knew Heimdall and Odin would be standing on the other side. Kyia's apprehension as the lock popped open and the chain began to unwind itself from around the gate was indescribable.

The gates were pulled open and the group rushed through onto Bifrost.

"How is he?" Athram demanded of Heimdall, who shrugged and motioned at the rejuvenated mansion at the end of the stone walkway. Athram trotted up the steps, shoved the door open. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw before her.

Black.

Curtains, rugs, decorations, clothes. All black. Kyia stared wide-eyed at the display of mourning before her, disbelief prominent in her mind, tears rising in her throat.

"Fuck!"

It was Athram's angry cry that brought Kyia out of her reverie. Her eyes locked on the older boy as he kicked a bucket and threw himself to his knees. Kyia was the first to jump to action. She rushed to Athram's side and knelt beside him. Tentatively she touched his arm and waited for him to look up at her. When he did his face was blank and a single tear slid down his cheek. He'd just lost one of his best friends.

"He's gone, Kyi," he whispered, for her alone to hear. Kyia shook her head, though deep down she had a dreading feeling. Asgard Hall wasn't shrouded in black for no reason. Kyia shook her head, still refusing to believe Arkitec was dead.

"No, I'm sure Arkitec's fine," Kyia whispered reassuringly, though the black surrounding her told her otherwise. From the moment they'd walked in the door and Athram had collapsed on the floor up until that single moment Kyia hadn't heard anything except Athram, hadn't seen anything except Athram. His bloodshot, blue eyes locked with her own ocean blue eyes was all she'd seen.

Shod footsteps echoed on the hardwood steps to their right and Kyia tore her eyes away from her distressed friend's. Falora was descending the steps, garbed in black like the rest of Asgard Hall. Her eyes, though, were dry. Confusion hit Kyia. If Arkitec was dead his mother, of all people, should be falling to pieces over it.

"Dears, what are you doing on the floor?" Falora asked in a tone of voice to match the confusion on her face. "Athram, my boy, what's wrong?" Her strong, but gentle, hands helped Athram to his feet and she pulled him into a hug. Athram buried his face in the older woman's shoulder and hugged her tightly around the waist. Looking around herself, Kyia found the other rogues were going about their own business, though there was no laughter, banter, shouting, or smiles. Only sombre faces and a quiet din of voices. She could even hear her own breathing, could hear the blood pounding in her ears, could hear the shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor. Asgard Hall wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Now, dear, what's wrong?" she heard Falora question Athram.

Athram's muffled reply was barely audible. "He's gone."

Falora pulled back and looked quizzically into Athram's depressed expression. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. "Rufus? I never knew you were on familiar terms with him? I didn't even know him very well, though it's a terrible thing losing him."

"What?" The disbelief on Athram's face bled through into his voice.

"Arkitec's alive?" Kyia blurted, just as surprised as Athram.

"Oh, my dears!" Falora sighed. "You thought this was all... No! Arkitec will be fine. He's still a bit sore, but he'll be fine. It's Rufus who we lost. He went last night in his sleep, the poor man."

"Who died, Athram?" a voice asked from the stairs. Kyia turned and caught sight of Arkitec standing halfway up the stairwell and lunged forward. The stairs flew out under her feet as she sprinted up them and hugged Arkitec tightly. She felt the older boy's arms fall around her shoulders and squeeze her.

"Now, I know you thought I was dead, but you have to remember," Arkitec began, "That I was stabbed in the chest just two weeks ago. So, uh, if you wouldn't mind loosening your grip just a tad."

Kyia drew back immediately. "I'm sorry!"

"Its alright. I'll survive," He said as he hugged Athram.

"Arkitec! You know good and well who passed and you'd better be counting your lucky stars it wasn't you!" Falora scolded.

"Mum, he was a roaming rogue, he was never here," Arkitec reminded her as he descended the rest of the steps, Athram and Kyia on either side of him.

"But he was here when he died," Falora said. "He died defending this house. You'll be good and respectful, Arkitec."

"Yes, mum," sighed Arkitec. He was dressed in black, like the rest of Asgard Hall. Kyia suddenly felt exposed. She and the other pages were the only ones wearing white.

"You'll all be coming to the funeral?" Falora asked the group of pages still standing, stunned, at the door. Rodney and Craft nodded absently.

The funeral was held in the very rear of Asgard Hall. The vast, walled-in property not only had the large house and shed, but also a private cemetery. The raised tomb stones varied from weathered to brand new, though the engravings on all of them were as clear as day. A chill ran through Kyia as she read some of the engravings, and calculated the ages of death. It terrified her how young some of the dead were. A rogues life was obviously nothing close to easy. A hole was already dug on the right of two more graves that looked fresh, their tombstones new. Kyia tore her eyes from them and focused in on the open grave.

The Aesir rogues were lining up on either side of the grave, organizing a line from the open gate to the grave. She stood by Arkitec and Athram, who hadn't left one another's sides, as the deep depressing music began and a glimpse of the black-clad men appeared. There were six of them, three on either side of the simply, but carefully, crafted coffin holding Rufus' body. As Kyia looked up and down the line she stood in, and opposite at the rogues across from her, she saw genuine grief on many of their faces. To Kyia, Rufus was simply a dead rogue, but to some of the people surrounding her, Rufus could have been someone to them. Their friend, companion, acquaintance, comrade, son, father, brother, cousin. Some of these rogues had been there when he died, many had been there when he fought. They'd seen him live, and now they saw him dead.

The ceremony was spectacular enough for any knight. Rufus was honored as a hero, a brave man, a good man. It was presided over by Deitrich himself. Arkitec explained softly that the highest ranking rogue present presided over the funerals of their fallen men because priests of the Black God weren't normally rogues. The grief hit Kyia like a punch in the stomach as Rufus began to be lowered into his eternal resting place. People were crying. The grief was not so much for Rufus, but for the people he'd known and affected. She realized in that moment, that grief wasn't meant solely for the deceased, it was meant mainly for their friends and family.

She trailed Arkitec and Athram back to the house solemnly. For once the sharp witted pair of blonds were quiet, heads bent as they followed the rest of the procession back through the door of Asgard Hall. A tear slipped down her cheek, only one. A tribute to the dead, the Black God, and those Kyia realized she would have to kill.

Author's Note