35

Ætharr had pushed his troops through the march, desperate to reach Æthelly as fast as he could. Roaveen's words had left a strong mark upon him, and he knew that Ibos had planned something truly sinister. So he had made sure that Craterus and the others were alright, he had left Ben and his other wounded to heal in that fortress, and he had taken his fit troops on a rapid march back to the capital.

Not even the death of Lanvor had kept him for long. At any other time, the death of that most loyal and deadly bodyguard would have devastated Ætharr, but he had more pressing issues. The fate of his family was suddenly placed into terrible jeopardy, he just knew it.

Sensing the dread and urgency in their Ealdor, the troops, as urged by Lt. Rojo, put their entire efforts into the race back home. Very little time was given for meals, rest, or other such things. The Calador troops had been trained for moments like this, and Ætharr's concern put them all the more on edge. It was rare that Ætharr ever showed this kind of panic or uncertainty.

At last, when they came in sight of Æthelly, their darker fears were confirmed. Smoke billowed from the capital, into the otherwise blue sky. A voice called out something, but the words were lost on the Calador forces.

Ætharr had felt his legs almost give way under him, and only the greatest of efforts had kept him from collapsing in shock. Roaveen's taunts echoed back to him, and he suddenly felt every victory he had had against Ibos mean nothing in comparison to this.

Immediately, his thoughts turned to his family. Were they safe?

Not even bothering to give a command, Ætharr rushed forward, sprinting to reach Æthelly for answers. Behind him, Rojo ordered the troops forward, while in front of him, Ætharr saw several vermin fleeing the city. Rojo noticed them and began a pursuit of them.

Meanwhile, Ætharr entered the charred, broken gates of Æthelly. Buildings were still on fire, and bodies lay scattered, without any prejudice to age or gender. Soldiers were laying out dead to be identified, while the wounded were being taken outside of the city to escape the smoke. Ætharr, almost on impulse, turned around and yelled for Rojo.

The one-eyed marten approached him, "Lord?" He stared aghast at the damage laid to Æthelly.

"Organize crews to put out the fires. And help organize aid for the wounded and arranging for the dead."

Rojo nodded and turned to go, even as Ætharr heard someone give out a yell.

"Father!"

Ætharr whipped around to see his daughter Nuala and son Lorcan rush over to him. Both were unhurt, and they wept as they ran towards him. Relief filled Ætharr as he embraced both children, tears pricking his own eyes.

"What happened?"

Nuala, carrying a healer's kit, explained about the attack that had engulfed Æthelly. How they had fought, how Judos and Rosheen had been wounded, and...

But Ætharr stopped her before she could continue, "Where is Rosheen?"

Still weeping, both of them led their father to where two soldiers were carrying a stretcher out of the city.

Wounded in several places, Rosheen seemed on the cusp of life and death. She had lost a great deal of blood, so Nuala explained, and Ætharr felt his blood run cold. He stood stock still as Rosheen was carried past him. More stretchers were being carried past, and Nuala hurried to help treat people.

Ætharr felt tears flow down his face, and he almost didn't notice another familiar looking form being carried past.

Judos was as grievously wounded as Rosheen was, motionless but still breathing, so a soldier explained. Ætharr looked upon the wounds inflicted upon his old friend and merely nodded in understanding. He knew that he had a duty to these people, but he had to know where his other two sons were.

Telling Lorcan to help with bringing out the wounded, Ætharr rushed forward, calling out his other sons' names.

He received a response immediately. Once again, relief surged through Ætharr as he carefully embraced Ædelmær, who was limping from a heavily bandaged leg. He too had been weeping, and was all the more shocked upon seeing his father.

Looking into his son's face, Ætharr had one more question to ask "Where is your brother?"

Closing his eyes tightly, Ædelmær turned and gestured behind him. There were no more stretcher-bearers behind him. Just a list of bodies and those who were combating the fires.

Ætharr already knew, though. He knew when Ædelmær was unable to speak about it, or unable to look at his father for shame and grief. But still he ran forward, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

It was a sight of such horror that only one who has lost a child could understand. Ætharr simply stood and stared at the body of his eldest son. The arrows had not even been removed from his body. Even for one so battle-hardened and scarred as Ætharr, it was the more horrific thing he could ever imagine.

Ætharr felt himself go back to the worst moment of his life, when his father had been murdered before him with arrows. Now however, he did not see his father, but instead saw Ædron in his place, dying. He had been taken before he had barely entered the beginnings of adulthood. And in such a way.

His legs buckling beneath him, Ætharr slowly extended his paw and stroked his son's forehead. He had seen his son born, had held him in his paws that day, and had watched him grow up. All that hope, optimism, and love, for nothing. Brought to an end by an assassin's arrows.

Ætharr stood up, swaying as though heavily drunk. Even now, at the very lowest he had ever felt, something told him that he must do his duty as Ealdor. He had the wounded to care for, his grief must wait.

Tears going unceasingly down his face, Ætharr walked out of Æthelly, where the wounded were laid out and being treated. Rojo was organizing the troops into squads to put out fire. Upon seeing his Ealdor, Rojo looked shocked, "My lord..."

Ætharr slowly shook his head, "You have tasks to carry out, Rojo." His voice was hoarse with suppressed grief.

Rojo nodded, but then spoke again, "My lord, we have captured all the survivors of those who attacked..."

Ætharr paused, saying nothing, but everybeast present could see the rage build within him, as if it were his very blood that grew hot and animated every part of his body.

After a moment, Ætharr spoke again, and though he did not yell or snarl, it was terrifying to listen to, "Where are they?"

Rojo pointed to where several vermin knelt, bound and guarded. They glanced up at Ætharr with terror in their eyes.

Ætharr spoke again, "Have you finished questioning them?"

Rojo glanced quickly at the guards, who fearfully nodded, stepping away from the prisoners. Instead of taking his battle-axes, Ætharr took a falchion from a nearby guard. Brandishing the heavy blade, he approached the prisoners with patient fury. Even as they cried and begged for mercy, Ætharr killed them where they were, his eyes filmed over with wrath, sobs of rage and grief accompanying every breath. None said anything about it. Most were too terrified to even gaze at the butchery. The Ealdor's bloody-mindedness became clear as the body of Ædron was gently carried out of the city, along with the rest of the dead.

Half-covered in the blood of the Vireos, Ætharr dropped the falchion and turned to Rojo, "The Vireo dead shall be thrown to the crows. No resting place shall be granted to them."

Rojo nodded, "Anything else, my lord?"

Ætharr slowly shook his head, "Just take care of any damages done to buildings. I will personally provide compensation for proven damages. And prepare funeral pyres." It was the closest he came to referencing his son. The crack in his voice upon mentioned the pyres further betrayed his devastation.

As Rojo headed off to carry out the orders, Ætharr turned to where his surviving children stayed with their mother. All three had stared in horror at their father's revenge upon the Vireo prisoners, and they looked at him fearfully through their tears. Their reactions brought fresh grief to Ætharr, and approached them slowly.

Kneeling by them, he looked at Rosheen. She had woken up, and was drinking an herbal potion offered to her by Nuala. Mother and daughter had grown so alike that Ætharr, for a brief moment, thought that he was hallucinating the image of Rosheen being tended to by her younger self.

Seeing Ætharr, Rosheen gasped in shock and relief, and she began to cry. Leaning in carefully, Ætharr grasped her paw, even as his own trembled with emotion.

"Ætharr," Rosheen began, still very weak from her injuries, "How did..."

"I received word of it," Ætharr said, not wanting to explain. The look on Roaveen's face became the image of a gleeful devil in Ætharr's mind, laughing at the misfortune that the Ealdor was going through.

Rosheen looked at her children, "Where is Ædron?"

Ætharr did not know what to say. Neither did Lorcan, Nuala or Ædelmær. Rosheen saw the looks of grief upon their faces, and her eyes filled with her own tears. She wept in utter silence, and yet this made her grief all the more terrible to witness. She looked at Ætharr, and both knew what the other was thinking. Both were thinking of their child, who had been so young with such promise. They thought back to when they had first brought him into the world, when they had assumed he would succeed them as ruler of Calador. There were no words needed, for what words could have done justice to what had transpired? It was what hundreds- no, thousands- of folk went through in time of war, but nothing truly prepared one for when one's own children were killed.

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Ætharr participated in the extinguishing of the burning buildings in Æthelly, and he learned the full account of what had happened from what the prisoners had said and what those inside Æthelly had witnessed. He felt as though a great part of him had died. He couldn't stop thinking of his father, even as he prepared the pyre for his son.

The funerals were taking place in the late afternoon, even as the sun was setting. A red sun. Ætharr cursed that sign with all his might, even as he gently laid the body of his eldest son upon its final resting place. Even in death, Ædron gripped the sword he had used in the fight. So he would go to the afterlife, welcomed by his ancestors, even as he waited for the rest of family to join him. It brought Ætharr little comfort as he lit the funeral pyre.

Judos would live. The doctors had been successful in keeping him from succumbing his wounds. Ætharr had been reassured by those who had witnessed his son's death that there was no way he could have been rescued. Judos had acted as far as he could to keep Ætharr's children safe. He had not betrayed his oath; it had simply been out of his power in the end.

This information did little to assuage Ætharr's rage and grief. However, despite all the anguish he felt, he couldn't muster any righteous fury towards Judos. The otter had nearly died doing his duty. Even now, Ætharr could not fault someone for that.

That night, even as the pyres burned (for they would take a few days to completely burn out), Ætharr went to see how Judos was doing. Rosheen had risen from her sick bed and had insisted on attending the funeral of her son, but Judos had been deemed too wounded for that. He was still busy regaining consciousness, and he needed long rest to recover.

Ætharr found him lying in the large building that was set aside as the Infirmary of Æthelly. It was, at present, filled with the wounded, so Ætharr had sent for more healers and doctors from outlying areas around the capital.

The otter was awake. He noticed Ætharr's presence, and was taken aback by how Ætharr had seemed to change. The weasel looked ill, as though he had not slept in days. His rapid march home, coupled with what he had had to deal with for the last six hours, had already been making their effect upon him.

"How do you feel, Judos?" Ætharr quietly asked, in a voice that seemed numb, deadened.

Judos blinked rapidly, as he remembered the image of two arrows piercing Ædron, as well as the thump that the young weasel's body had made when it had fallen to the ground. Beginning to weep, Judos gazed at his old friend, "I'm sorry, Ætharr. I'm so sorry! I failed you and Rosheen..."

Ætharr shook his head, "No. You did your duty for as long as you could, and longer than anyone else." If Ætharr meant it kindly, the emotion was not carried across. It sounded to Judos as though Ætharr was bereft of any more emotions.

"Where are your other children?" Judos asked.

"They are sleeping. Ædelmær will recover. Lorcan and Nuala are exhausted, and deserve some rest," Ætharr replied.

Judos looked at him with concern, "You should rest too. You have much to grieve over."

Ætharr did not respond at first, merely nodding slowly in understanding of what Judos was saying. Finally, he looked up, "You're right. Get well soon, old friend." Standing up, the weasel went to go see the other wounded in the Infirmary, as he knew it was his duty as Ealdor to honour. Those who were awake offered their condolences to their Ealdor for his horrific loss. Even those who had themselves lost family members on this terrible day showed grief at Ætharr's situation. Sadly, this display of sympathy only made Ætharr feel worse, and he was glad when he had finished and was able to go to the Hall.

Rosheen had been moved to the family's private quarters of the Hall at her own request, as she wanted to be close to her surviving children. She lay in a special bed to accommodate her wounds. Ætharr heard her soft breathing and knew that she was asleep. He moved on, past the huddled forms of his two sons and daughter, to the farthest part of the Hall. Shunning his own bed, Ætharr sat against the wall, his paws gripping one of his axes. He suddenly felt no urge to sleep anymore. He sat up, and listened to the silence of the night, save for the occasional crackling of the funeral pyres. The sound of fire reminded Ætharr of how cold he was.

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At some point in the night, Ætharr had fallen asleep, though he had suffered from visions of his son and father until he had forced himself to awaken multiple times. He knew that it would be a long time before he would be able to sleep properly again, if ever. The same thing had happened after his father had been murdered. And even after he had overcome his nightmares, they would return occasionally, never quite gone.

All weariness left him when Lorcan tentatively approached him, explaining that several important figures were coming to offer their condolences. Among those figures of Calador were Horal, Ptolemy, Ulric, and Ætharr's beloved cousin, Ædall. Ætharr thanked his son for the information, and told him to get something to eat.

Meanwhile, he remained where he was, unable to find the will to get up. He could see Rosheen, still sleeping, so he decided to leave her as she was. His children had all woken and were eating in the main area of the Hall. He didn't feel hungry.

He saw Rosheen stir, and look at him. She, too, was weary from her grief and injuries. Ætharr sat where he was, looking at her blankly. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do or say.

Rosheen decided that for him. Softly, she spoke his name. After a moment of finding will to do so, Ætharr stood, and walked over to where his wife lay.

When he had sat beside her, Rosheen asked him a question, "How did you know we were under attack?"

Ætharr sighed, "It was all planned for a long time. I was sent out to defend the borders, even as diversions would be sent my way. Roaveen the Badger Lord is an ally of Ibos, and when I defeated his army, he hinted that you were in trouble."

Rosheen frowned, "But why? Roaveen had no way of knowing that Brownhide was successful in his attack upon us. He very nearly sabotaged his own side's attack."

This had puzzled Ætharr too, and he had thought about it during the night. Now he offered his ideas in a voice dripping with cold contempt.

"I think Roaveen was just doing it out of pride. He was ashamed that I had defeated him so thoroughly, and wanted to get me the only way he knew how. Or maybe he truly does not care how many vermin die, regardless of what side he's on. He's helping Ibos defeat me because I'm the greater threat. I have three other tribes as allies. If he crushes that, Roaveen can easily turn against Ibos. Why have we rarely seen the hares in combat? He's letting Ibos use his forces against us, and when Ibos has run out of use, Roaveen will destroy him, laughing at his triumphs."

Rosheen shook her head, "So he's either very cunning, or made stupid by his emotions."

Ætharr shrugged, "Either way, he is an enemy of Calador."

Rosheen nodded, "A powerful one. Salamandastron is said to harbour an army of almost two thousand hares. And they are supposed to be among the fiercest fighters born."

Ætharr said nothing. He knew about those figures, and he knew the legends of Salamandastron. Armies had gone there and broken themselves upon that beach and mountain.

He looked back at Rosheen, "Are you feeling well?"

Rosheen nodded, "I'll be alright, I just need more rest. The doctor said I also need a daily dose of medicine, can you help me, please?"

Slowly and carefully, Ætharr took a spoon and gave Rosheen the prescribed medicine. After thanking him, Rosheen went to sleep, and Ætharr sat beside her, as if guarding her from foes that only he could see.

He did not leave this position for hours, even as creatures came in to speak to him. Ulric, the oldest of his theigns and the first to have arrived, came in with a moving speech of how the creatures who had slain his son were cowards, and that he would swear vengeance against he who had sent such assassins. Ætharr accepted Ulric's condolences, disguising the fact that he wished to be left alone. He still felt empty inside, as though he had used up his emotions the day before.

Creatures came in, asking if compensation was still to be given. Ætharr shamed them by coldly asking if they doubted the word of their Ealdor, and repeating that any damage as was evident would be paid for. He would have a few scribes go round and make records of what had been burned. Others offering their sympathies were curtly thanked and offered something to eat for their journey to see him.

The sun made its journey across the sky, until Ætharr noted from the window's light that he had remained sitting beside Rosheen's bed for nearly the full day. She had only woken once, whereupon Ætharr had given her another dose of the medicine as was required. She seemed comforted that he had chosen to stay with her, neither one speaking about the reason why they needed the other's intimacy so badly at this moment.

It was at the beginning of sundown that Ædelmær came in from the other room, "How is Mother?"

"She's still sleeping, son," Ætharr responded. He hadn't given much thought to the other children over the course of the day. He had listened to them in the other room as they had received guests and had accepted sympathies. But what Ætharr had noticed more than that was the absence of Ædron's voice.

Ædelmær looked at Ætharr, "Father, if you're feeling hungry, dinner is in the other room..." His voice trailed off as he looked anxiously as Ætharr's blank stare met his eyes.

He said nothing. There was a very strange light in his eyes, like he was thinking the idea over. But the look on his face seemed to be offended that Ædelmær would inquire after his father's health. The young weasel stood on his bandaged leg, looking awkward and embarrassed for his venture. Yet he stayed, as though hoping for the answer he wanted.

Ætharr's face softened, and with a sigh, he slowly nodded, "That's a good idea, Ædelmær. Thank you."

A small smile of relief came to Ædelmær's face as he waited for his father to get up and the two of them walked into the main hall.

Shunning the head of the table, Ætharr sat between Ædelmær and Nuala, with Lorcan across from them. All four tucked in, saying little. It was, however this moment together that was all the comfort required. A sign that the living needed caring for, and Ætharr knew that his children needed him now more than ever.

Even as he ate contentedly, a fire of rage burned deep within him. It was a fire that had begun burning the day his father had died. It was the fire that had helped him burn a path across the vermin lands in his quest to regain what had been his. The fire of vengeance would burn hot once again before his days were ended. And to protect his remaining children, as well as avenging his eldest son, Ætharr of Calador would bring an end to his enemies once and for all.