Happy New Year! Sorry for the long wait! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! It's decently long-Yay! I Hope you all enjoy! I would also like to thank each and every one of you for reading this. That means you. Yes, you! I'm talking to you! Thank you! This story has gotten so much attention despite the short chapters and my lack of updating for months on end I'm astonished! Thank you, darling reader, for putting up with me and having faith in this story! I hope it outs well in the end.
Arella had slowly walked towards the stables, not wishing to incite the perspiration that covered her fair complexion in a glistening film by increasing her stride. The sun had risen, and had seemed to become perfectly parallel with the Earth. The fire that was alight with Heaven's grace scorched the lands, faint wisps of white mere slivers within an endless field of blue. Indeed, for all the war and death this land seemed to attract, the skies were most beautiful, and appeared to stir not. Only when the gentle winds caressed the cerulean skies and brought refreshing yet stinging cold from the world above did the occupants of the arid lands find rest.
It was a cooling breeze that had swiftly flowed across Arella face, as if a pebble in a gingerly flowing stream. Despite the heat of the desert, the whooshing air had stung her face with traces of sand and dried tears. She had fumbled to keep her hair tame via tucking the wild strands behind her ears, yet a few had always slipped her notice. It was an annoyance to feel the tickle of the very tip of her own hair touch her skin, and it was something she intended to fix. Either her hair, or the wind dried tears that had felt tight against her flesh, which she had simply wiped away.
The young woman had made her way towards Kafka's stall, the mule extending its lips, hoping for treats that the woman simply did not have. The woman had smiled sullenly, a fragile hand caressing the mule's snout before running along its neck, the short fur rough on her skin. Kafka had snorted, ears flicking back and forth as the mule stayed still, enjoying the affections.
"Oh, Kafka...what do I do?" Arella questioned softly, pondering as the mule's ears flicked in her direction, intent on listening-if only due to the animal recognizing it's own name.
For several moments Arella had remained silent, hand subconsciously brushing against the mammal's rough hide, forehead touching snout. Kafka's nostrils had flared, though it did not move, did not pull away, dark eyes staring, briefly blinking.
"Father is gone, Kafka. He is gone. We...will not go home. Cannot. I do not know what to do." A frown had molded itself into her features, brow furrowed with unease and confusion, "If I accept the position of a maid...I do not know if I can continue to take care of you. You are all I have left of home, Kafka. All I have left of Father. I must wonder...would God be so cruel as to take my friend away as well?"
The sound of soft footfalls had alerted the woman to another's presence, and she had turned around upon hearing the quiet clearing of a man's throat. Arella's eyes had fallen upon an Islamic man, barely recognizing the man as her friend, Akeem smiling sheepishly through a slight beard, curly brown hair escaping his headwear, making it appear as if the man had griffin wings.
"Akeem?" Arella questioned, brow furrowed at the man's sudden appearance and amiable appearance, for his dark eyes shined with warmth.
"Arella, my friend! I did not mean to pry...but if you wished, I could oversee to your mule for you. I shall be staying here for quite sometime, after all." The young man smiled underneath his beard, which had shifted from the movement.
"What? Oh, Akeem, no. You do not have to do that. You have already done so much." The woman stammered, the Muslim simply chuckling.
"My oath still stands that I will help you, Arella, and help you I shall! I do not believe you should shoulder these burdens alone. You are a strong woman, yes, but you need to...to do what is best for you. Do not worry about Kafka. I shall watch over him." A smile had been permanently molded upon the man's tan face.
The blonde sighed deeply, pausing in thought, "Then your father's favors to the healers would be wasted were I to leave their services. I do not think that is fair."
"Ah, Arella, they are good friends. Do not feel guilt. But if I may ask, to whom may you serve? A noblewoman?"
"The Princess of Jerusalem." The young woman answered, Akeem's face falling.
"By Allah...Sibylla? Princess Sibylla of the Holy City? My friend! You would be most foolish to deny that position! I have heard wonders of her beauty! You must be truly blessed by Allah himself!" The man stammered and stumbled, pitch increasing in excitement.
"I will not be learning as much as I am if I were to exchange services. I want to help others, but how can I help the sick-or at least learn of all the medical techniques-if I am not working under the healers?" Arella questioned, frowning as her hair had once more broke free and danced in the breeze.
"Tell me, Arella, do you know much of birthing children?" Akeem questioned, the woman looking upon him strangely, nose scrunching
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Do you see? You shall never learn that whilst staying with the healers, Arella. You will simply be cleaning up the messes. If you serve as a humble maid, you can care for Princess Sibylla when she is ill, or perhaps her son. Perhaps even the Leper. I am sure he has plenty a humble servant standing until called upon with his illness."
"Hmmmm..." She had lightly bit her lip, scorching heat suddenly gone, "I do see your point. King Baldwin did say to-"
"Pardon? The Christian King informed you of this matter? Told you? Arella! You cannot object to this proposition! To do so is madness!" The man flailed his arms about foolishly, as if to emphasize his point.
"He informed me, yes, but-"
"No, no, no buts! You must go! You must accept the position as a humble maid! That is the equivalent of rejecting the Sultan himself!" Akeem silently simmered, eyes more white than colored, Arella falling silent once more in thought.
"Very well. I...I shall go. Though I do not know how to act in front of those of royal blood-which you have painfully seen. Please, Akeem, do take care of Kafka. He is all I have left of Father." The woman had frowned softly, looking at the pack mule, Kafka's ears twitching once more at the mention of its name.
"Do not fear, my friend. I shall. You have my word." The Islamic youth smiled gingerly, eyes alight.
The blond had smiled at his words, "Thank you. I know that is not to suffice, but thank you, Akeem. Thank you for everything you have done. I am proud to call such a fine young man a friend. I only wish that I do something as meaningful to you in the future, and gain the privilege of having you call me friend."
"You already have that honor. Now go, and live on for your father. I may not have known him, but I believe you would swell pride to his chest were he to see you. May Allah bless you, friend." Akeem beamed, sweltering air hopeful and jovial with youthful optimism.
"And He, you." Arella whispered, approaching Kafka and gently stroking his snout and neck, the young woman promising to return whenever possible.
Smiling, the young woman had made her way towards the Royal Palace-if getting lost in the process more than once. It did not help that her mind was reeling and churning over her possible future, heart fluttering in nervousness, stomach in a knot. She was a wretched mess when speaking with superiors. She never did quite know what to say, nor when to speak or how to act just so. Yet her earlier conversation with King Baldwin appeared...laxed. Comforting, even, that a person had existed underneath the iron mask and glittering, golden robes. He was not just a man that lived by the title of King, but was also a person. It was so odd to think of those that ruled anything but imperfect and flawless, never stepping out of line and always saying the correct thing. She would never have expected such a powerful man to talk about something as irrelevant as dandelions. Perhaps Sibylla was just as such. Wearing a mask, if not being seen by the naked eye, but underneath, being...normal. No, a person. One that likes to talk about silly things and makes mistakes.
The thought had even crossed her mind that she and the Princess could be...friends. But did Royalty have friends? True friends? Or was it all just arrangement and manipulation?
Arella was so deep within her thoughts that she was now walking blindly, and had failed to notice the gleam of armor before colliding with a solid mass, the woman releasing a surprised yelp as she had swiftly regained her balance, startled.
"Oh! Ser, Knight! I-I apologize! I was not..." She had stammered, though was silenced by the man's quavering voice.
"Oh, my lady, please. I was the one foolish enough to go stumbling about on sore feet. I did not mean to startle you. I apologize, truly." The man spoke swiftly, voice deep yet soft, a pleasant tone.
"I...that is all right. Though truly, it was my fault, Ser Knight." Arella mumbled, realizing the man was barely affected by the encounter, posture worn and weary.
"Please, my lady, do not use that title. I am hardly a man of honor anymore." The man spoke, tall and normally fair tone reddened from the sun, sporting hair of fire and stormy eyes. Thick stubble had grown upon his face from lack of grooming, eyes tired and metal plates upon his hands cracked and covered with dried blood and grime. Arella had noticed a sword lay safely sheathed, and a shield weigh down his arm, the face scared and riddled. An accent had flared within his voice that she was not accustomed to hearing, and upon seeing a double headed black and gold eagle, had realized the man must have hailed from a respectable family in Germany.
"You...are from Germany, are you not? The two headed eagle?" Arella questioned, the man looking perplexed before briefly looking at the face of the shield.
"Ah. Yes. Adler. My family would train eagles for hunting, or so I am told. Silas of Regensburg, my lady. Once a loyal Knight of the Grand Duke, once a loyal Knight of Country...and now, I pray a Knight of God." The young man had bowed briefly, a frown creasing his features. It appeared as if he were not much older than Arella herself.
"Arella. I hail from France. I...take it you are dishonored?"
"Dishonored, yes. I should have been executed, but I was spared out of blind loyalty."
"So...you have come here to regain your honor?" Arella questioned, the man simply nodding.
"Yes. I am told that all men who fight within the Crusades shall gain passage into Heaven. Regardless if that is true, I wish to prove myself worthy. I believe everyone comes to this city for a reason. I am not sure if I would be here if other circumstances were to occur." Silas muttered, shifting in uncomfortability, the man no doubt having walked the many grueling lands to get the Holy Land.
"I have heard Jerusalem could cure one of any ailment, and that God answers all prayers. He did not answer mine, nor did he save my father." The blonde pierced her lips together, eyes falling downcast.
"Ah. I see. My father is still back home. He is a good man, if firm. You have my sympathies for your loss. I cannot imagine losing my father." The knight replied, "You sound close to your father. Did he raise you?"
"Yes. My mother died when I was young. The few memories I hold of her are precious." Arella's lips lightly tugged upward in a smile.
"You are fortunate. I never knew my mother. In truth, I should not have even been a knight. I did not deserve that title. My mother was a slave in Rome, I was told. Seraphina was her name. German knights are very poor, so my father could only afford to set one of us free. My father wanted my mother freed, but my mother wanted me freed. My father did not want me, but he followed through." Silas spoke, chuckling as his canines glistened, "I remember Father used to beat me everytime I would cry or show terror. He had no idea how he could have had a son that was so shaming. He knew no other way, and tried to beat the fear out of me. But I do not hold any ill will. He learned there are better ways in overcoming fear within a child. Father...he told me he was proud. Proud of me for doing something so foolish. Proud of me for doing something that was right. I do not know if I am worthy of being proud of."
"May I ask what it was?" Arella questioned, the man clearing his throat.
"I...suppose. But it is a long story, I do not wish to bore you. It involves nobles, affairs, and other...scandalous...dealings." Silas had cleared his throat, face flushing, "And no, I was not the father of the child. I...I never would do that to her-even if I wanted. It was not my place."
The woman had looked upon the fallen knight, perplexed, yet eager to hear a story as the man sighed deeply.
"Very well. You wish to hear a tale? I shall tell you of my pride, and shame..."
"Stop! For the love of God, stop this madness!" Silas cried, breaking lines as he approached the gallows, hair clinging to his forehead from perspiration as he raised his hands. His reflective eyes looked at the very people whom he had called friends, but now, looking at the people that he had known all his life, they seemed like strangers.
"Have you all gone mad?" Silas asked softly, glancing from face to face, his unsteady hands slowly falling to his sides.
"Have you lost your minds? What madness has claimed you all?! This woman-our Duchess-you all knew her since she was a babe! And you watched that babe grow into a girl-and-and that little girl grow into a beautiful woman! You cannot end her life like this! Surely any of you-one of you-feels the slightest wrench of guilt in your chest? My Duchess, our Duchess, she is innocent!"
"You speak lies!" Eamon roared, his voice booming with authority. "You say that she is innocent yet her womb is soiled with the Blasphemer's seed!"
"The child is an innocent, my lord! Tainted it is in origin the child is pure in soul! You dare damn a child yet to leave its mother's womb?"
"The child is guilty of sin as much as its blasphemer parents! Would you allow the Devil's spawn to be unleashed into this world? That man is Lucifer incarnate! You have seen his desecrations!" Eamon hissed, Silas throwing up his arms in fury.
"Then cauterize the sin itself! Kill the man! Kill the man that started all this madness and prevent him from spreading the taint!" Silas spoke in frustration, pointing in accusation at the Necromancer tied to a stake, the man lifting his head up weakly. The man's face was swollen, his eye cut and bleeding with cracked lips as his chest heaved up and down slowly, his breath raspy and soft.
"Why cauterize the sinner and not the sin? The man is guilty of necromancy and the Duchess his accomplice!"
"Then I fear I am as guilty as sin itself, my lord! For it was I who allowed this travesty to occur! Not the bone conjurer! Not m' lady! But I, Silas Adler, a once noble knight that had sworn loyalty to the Grand Duke of Bavaria!" Silas spoke, his voice strong as he stood against many, looking at the sullen Duke.
"I apologize, my Duke, for you had spoken so highly of me, and honored me as your own son. Now, however, I fear I have dishonored your trust by failing your daughter. Surely you do not wish this death on your daughter, my lord? But you want blood shed for this crime, yes?" Silas asked, the crowd roaring in rage as they threw stones, rotten fruit and vegetables at the knight, the stench staining his armor as he shielded himself with his hands.
"Stone him! Bring your stones upon the chaff like the Wrath of God himself!" Eamon roared, raising his arms in an almost divine manner, feeding the frenzy.
"What are you doing, Eamon? He wishes to speak!" William hissed, watching with horror as the knight was knocked to the ground from a blow to the head. He could hear the Duchess' cries over the roars of the crowd.
"Silas! Silas!" Anaya shrieked in terror, the mob running out of fruit and stones as they approached the man, Silas now struggling to crawl away. The mob was only fed from the sight of blood running down the knight's temple, the lifeblood coating his fiery hair.
"Stop! Stop all of you! You are killing him!" Anaya screamed, tears pouring down her face as the woman struggled to break her bonds, flailing desperately as she looked towards her father. She didn't understand! Why wasn't he doing anything?!
"Stop them! Tell them to stop, Father! He is dying!" Anaya cried, pleading as she struggled against the Executioner's grip.
"What are you doing, Eamon? Call them off! Call them off, brother!" William looked at his King desperately, his eyes wide in terror.
"When have your eyes been clouded by such darkness that I could not see them?" William asked, Eamon glancing coldly at his younger brother.
"Sinners deserve no mercy." Eamon spoke, a collective gasp coming from the crowd upon seeing the gleam of a sword drawn.
"Back! Back I say!" Silas roared, keeping the crowd at bay with his blade, the knight swiftly spitting blood into the dirt as he struggled to keep his footing steady.
"If it is blood you want..." Silas paused, his breath in short, swift gasps as he glanced at all the former friends and familiar faces. He didn't understand. How could they so easily become savages?
"Then it is mine you shall have, and not the blood of innocence!" Silas spoke, his blood dripping on the ground as he looked at the crimson liquid, taking his time to steady himself.
"I care not what you do with that man, but let my Duchess go." Silas glanced at Anaya, the woman shaking her head as tears gently fell down her cheeks.
"Silas, no..."
"What say you, my King? Your niece alive and well whilst the guilty lay cold and dead."
"And risk that abomination from escaping? My niece is far from innocent as you claim, knight. You are saying that she has taken no part in necromantic practices?" Eamon prodded.
"Aye, my liege. The only one guilty of desecrating corpses is that man! As for failing to inform your counsel of dark magic I have no excuse! That man and I are the only ones who should shed blood today!" Silas admitted, the crown beginning an upstart again.
"Enough!" Eamon's voice echoed throughout the area, the crowd quieting to a fuming rage.
"You shall get your wish for death, knight. However, your lying to defend my niece is further proof that she was involved in the dark arts, as were you!" Eamon hissed, Silas' eyes widening in shock.
"What you speak of are lies, you wretched old man!" Silas cried in rage, stabbing his sword into the earth. "Your tongue is tainted black with poison!"
"May God damn your eternal soul, liar!" Eamon hissed.
"No! As God as my witness, may He strike me down if any blackened lie ever stained my tongue!" Silas cried, falling to his knees upon his sword, as if in prayer.
"As God as my witness..." Silas whispered, feeling blood trickle down his open palm as he sliced his hand upon the steel edges of the blade.
Silas paused, watching the blood run down his blade, his steel eyes watching the liquid run down his hand and drip onto the ground.
"As God as my witness I swear that this woman is innocent!" Silas cried. "And that the blood shed on this blessed blade is from a man whom is truly guilty." Silas paused, sucking in air as he clenched his bloody palm shut.
"End my life, m' Lord! For this man-this Knight of God, Knight of Country, Knight of Honor is willing to die so the truth shall live!"
"Mercy, my King. Mercy is all I ask for your niece and her child. That is all I ask. Kill me however you see fit-I care not for an honorable death or if you parade my corpse around Regensburg with shame. Let not my family name be damned for my actions, no! For this was my choice and mine alone. Just as it is my choice to ask for death in order to birth the truth." Silas spoke softly, his eyes downcast, refusing to meet the Page's eyes rimmed with tears and confusion.
"Berend, go inside. You need not see your cousin in such a state." A man spoke, ushering the young boy away from the crowd.
"But Uncle-"
"No buts, little cub. Now go." The man urged, pushing the reluctant boy away. The man then turned at attention to his Duke before turning his gaze to the King.
"Do you think me a fool?" The King asked darkly, a twisted snarl molding his face as his eyes narrowed on the knight. No one dared breathe. Not even the faintest of whispers birthed among the crowd.
"Begin the executions!" Eamon ordered, the crowd cheering as fear reflected in the knight's steel eyes.
"SILAS!" Anaya cried in terror, being forced to her knees.
"NO!" Silas wrenched his sword from its earthen cage, his steps faltering to a stop. With a look of shock adoring the man's face, his sword clanged to the ground upon seeing the axe cleave the woman's head from her shoulders.
"No...ohhhhh, no!" Silas grieved, his breath in struggled gasps as the knight fell to his knees, a heart-wrenching sob racking the knight's body as sorrow filled his soul.
The crowd cheered upon seeing the woman's head roll onto the ground, Eamon smirking as the Executioner beckoned the axe back, like the scythe of the Reaper. Some of the hair that had been cut refused to leave the sharpened edge, held by the thick blood that dripped from the axe. The slaying was fit for an animal.
"A just slaying." Eamon spoke, looking at his brother, noticing the Duke had cast his gaze elsewhere. He couldn't even look at the spectacle of blood.
"You murdered my child like a beast!" William hissed weakly, tears running down his greying beard, the Duke leaning against the wall for support. He wasn't sure whose sorrow was worse.
"O Holy Father and Son in Heaven, may you have mercy on these poor souls. May you have mercy on us all." The man whispered softly to himself, watching helplessly at the dismay of his son from within the crowd.
"Light the Necromancer aflame." Eamon ordered, the Executioner nodding as he was handed a torch, his mask as black as death, his eyes showing no remorse as he approached the man bound to the stake. The Necromancer lifted his head to look at the man, his eyes red with silent tears, his electric green eyes staring at the man's hidden in shadow.
"You have the eyes of envy, Demon Whisperer." The Executioner spoke, his voice deep and grave, the Necromancer staring at him, unblinking.
"You speak truly, good man. I envy...to be with those whom you have murdered: my love and child, now dead in its mother's womb." The man spoke, his voice steady with a sort of calmness of one who had already accepted his fate.
"Death...is fleeting, of that I know. But after? I have heard many things in Hell, my friend, many things...have seen many things that no mortal man should see: Lost souls, spirits that lie, spirits that haunt-demons. They are all the same. I only pray that God will allow me some form of mercy and let me be with them-even for a second. Burn me, if you wish. It will only give me but a small taste of the flames in Hell." The Necromancer muttered, the light of the flame reflecting in his eyes.
"May the Lord have mercy on you, for you shall find none here." The Executioner spoke, the flame flickering in withheld rage as the Necromancer's lips moved in silent prayer.
"No, do not touch that man! Do not touch that man!" The Executioner paused as Silas approached, his stride swift yet numb, face alight with rage and sorrow.
"Halt, Adler! Your death shall come in due time. No need to hasten it." The Executioner spoke gruffly, turning to light the stake ablaze before being run to the ground, the flame dying as it hit the earthen soil.
"Enough! I said enough, damn you!" Silas bellowed, the tip of his blade keeping the black masked man pinned, the cold steel of death pressed against the man's neck.
"You have lost your mind!" The man shouted, the Necromancer raising his head to look at the knight. Silas' breath was swift and heavy as he glanced at his tied antagonist.
"Perhaps I have, I know not." Silas replied, his steel cold eyes rimmed red as he hastily wiped them, sword arm shaking.
"Forgive me, but I shall not fail again." Silas whispered softly, and in one fell stroke swung at the Necromancer.
The crowd gasped as the man fell to the ground, the bonds severed from the dual edged blade.
"W...Why? Why show me mercy?" The man asked, getting up, blood covering his body from torturous beatings, his movements stiff.
"Ask me not, but take your leave. You and I are no longer welcome here." Silas spoke, turning toward the enraged crowd as several knights made their way toward the pair.
"Go." Silas ordered, pushing the man away.
"Go! Go and live for your child!" Silas hissed, the man looking at him with respect and admiration. The hostility that once existed between them had vanished.
"May God have mercy on you, friend."
"And He you."
The man took off fleeing, the guards not even bothering to pursue. The knights unsheathed their swords, Silas looking back to see the man long gone. Content that his ally was safe, Silas slowly lowering his sword.
"Do as you wish with me. I will not fight you." Silas sighed, sheathing his sword, his former brothers bounding his arms as he was led toward the gallows.
"Hang him in the gallows!" Eamon roared, the crowd cheering, several knights pushing the rioters back as they tried to strike out at the traitor.
Silas hung his head down low, not daring to meet his father's eyes from within the crowd. He didn't feel worthy to look the other in the eye.
"Why, Eamon? Has not enough blood been spilt? Was the death of your kin not enough?" William asked, his voice grave, wrath hidden within.
"They were your kin, not mine, William. Nor is that chaff yours." Eamon responded coldly, watching several of the rioters throw various objects at Silas, hitting several guards in the process.
"You truly do have darkness in your eyes." William spoke darkly, his eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, arms outstretched.
"Stop! Halt your actions!" William's voice echoed, strong and commanding, the knights pausing to look at their Duke. Silas raised his head, lips moving in silent prayer as he looked the man, the scene reminding him of The Rapture from the Bible.
"My good people, that man by law should be put to death for high treason, as you all know. However, that man is not our enemy, no. Our enemy, I fear, is one of our very own! The enemy of the People-every man, woman and child be it noble or peasant-our enemy is the very one whom had sentenced our Duchess to death and framed this knight!" William paused, the crowd seething like an ocean, digesting the words, testing for deceit.
"That man that you have bound, however, will not go unpunished. Ser Adler, you are found guilty of high treason and allowing the Satanist to run free. As punishment, you shall be sentenced to death!" William ordered, the crowd cheering. Silas was sullen as he failed to hide his shame, his heart breaking upon seeing the horrified and hopeless expression of his father.
"However," William paused. "Due to this young knight's dedication to my daughter I believe a lesser punishment in is order. What say you, knight?" William asked, Silas looking up at the man, mouth agape.
"I...but my Duke...I have failed both you and your daughter. My life should end with hers. I believe death should be my punishment." Silas stated, his father shaking his head and releasing a long sigh, raking at his eyes with his nails.
"My beloved child had asked mercy for you when you were attacked, and you returned that gesture of kindness in order to save her life. I believe I would be properly honoring my daughter by sparing your life." William spoke, clearing his throat.
"As an act of mercy bestowed upon by my daughter, you, Sir Adler, are now exiled!" William spoke gravely, the knight's breath stilling before slowly exhaling, voice shaken.
"E...Exiled?" Silas asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper in disbelief. The young man's limbs felt heavy, as if he had just fought a battle in plate armor.
"B-But my Duke...I-I cannot. I have only ever left Bavaria once to travel to Rome at your behest and only on several occasions had left Regensburg." Silas quivered, knees buckling underneath him.
"Your statement is true, but I shall not allow your father to share the same grief as I. He is a good man, and has served me for many years until you had taken his place. You should be proud, for you have served me with the same vigilance, honor and loyalty as your father before you."
"Then...will you allow me one last act of mercy, kind Liege?" Silas asked, shrinking into himself, feeling embarrassed and vexed. He was in no position to ask for more, yet it was something he needed.
"What is your desire?"
"M...My family. I wish to say good-bye." Silas spoke softly, William nodding.
"What in God's name are you doing?!" Eamon hissed, no longer willing to watch from the sidelines. How dare his own damn brother interfere with his plans!
"I cannot bear to end the life of one who is the last link to my daughter. He himself is like a son to me." William admitted, his voice low and grave like a dying stream.
"Fine, then. Let the boy go. Both he and the Maleficarum will be hunted like animals before the might of my army."
"You shall do no such thing. The slaying of my daughter and grandchild shall not go unpunished." William hissed, Eamon grunting in response.
"Such a petty threat. Kill me on battle, if it pleases you. I know you cannot end your own brother's life just as you could not watch the axe cleave the head from your daughter's shoulders. You are too much a coward." Eamon spoke, calm, yet a detectable poison underneath.
"Only cowards murder innocents in cold blood."
"We shall see." Eamon replied, eyes cold and calculating as he took his leave.
William turned his attention back to the knight, Silas' father approaching from the crowd. The man pushed weakly through the rioters with a heavy heart.
The father approached his son, grey eyes faded with color studying every feature on his flesh and blood, mouth slack in disbelief. His eyes shone with tears not yet fallen, face gruff and beard unshaven.
Silas looked upon his farther, eyes red and swollen from a blow to the face, lips pierced into a sullen frown as blood lightly touched his lips.
"Forgive me, Father." Silas spoke softly, casting his gaze elsewhere as tears began to fall down the older man's face, the floodgates breaking.
"Do not ask for my forgiveness. You need not ask." The man, Carl Adler spoke, a soft sob escaping as his gruff hands clasped over his son's shoulders.
"Your eyes are broken. It pains me." Carl spoke, pain in his voice upon finding the light that had filled the young man's eyes had extinguished. His will to fight, to survive, was gone.
"I tried, Father. I truly did. Oh, do not judge me. Do not judge me!" Silas whispered desperately, beginning to sob as both men embraced each other as strong as a father and son could.
The pair parted, regretful and hesitant as the father clasped his kin's shoulder.
"The right of judgment belongs to The Lord, not I." The father spoke, lips pierced together in a facade as he tried to smile.
"I am afraid, Father." Silas admitted, the older man producing a weak laugh.
"Son, without fear we cannot find courage." The man spoke, his hand retreating to his side.
Silas sighed, sorrow in his eyes as he spotted the young Page, standing hesitantly at the edge of the crowd.
"Come, Berend. Say farewell to your cousin." The old knight spoke, the small boy approaching them slowly.
"Are you really leaving?" Berend asked, Silas nodding slowly.
"I fear I am, child."
"But...who will train me? You will come back won't you, Silas? Regensburg is your home!" Berend cried, dismayed and confused by his cousin's sudden departure. Silas paused as he looked off to the side, lips pierced into a thin line before looking at the boy.
"If...God wills it, Berend. I pray that He does." Silas answered, tears slowly falling down the Page's round face.
"Come to me. Shhhhh." Silas sniffed, kneeling as the boy ran into his cousin's arms, sobbing loudly.
"You will be an honorable knight one day. Someone who can correct the sins of the past, and restore our name to its former glory."
"Like you." Berend spoke, Silas faltering as the man began to cry silently, shoulders heaving.
"No. Not like me. Not like me, Berend. You must restore what I have destroyed. I apologize for my mistakes."
"What mistakes?"
"Nothing, Berend. Do not pester your cousin."
Silas briefly pulled away, patting the Page's head as he smiled sadly, wiping his eyes.
"Live well, little one. Perhaps our paths may cross again."
Suddenly, the guards apprehended Silas, the man beginning to struggle in terror as he fought back.
"No! No, not yet! It is too soon!" Silas cried, Berend running after his cousin, reaching out for him only to be plucked from the ground by a knight.
"Silas!" Berend cried, tears streaming down his face as he struggled against the knight's grip.
The father watched helplessly as his son struggled to break free, shaken hands covering his eyes, the man unable to bear the scene before him. The knight screamed to be released, begged to be able to stay with his family and shouted curses at the man that murdered his Duchess.
"...and that, my lady, if how I ended up here." Silas spoke slowly, sullenly as he heaved, "But, I can only go forward. Anaya is dead, and I cannot save her. Not now, not ever."
"I am sorry..." Arella frowned deeply, "You loved her a great deal."
He chuckled slightly, "So much that I dared not touch her. I was so terrified of...ruining her. Of shaming her, giving her less than what she deserved. I was of lesser blood. I was always told lesser blood should never taint greater blood as a boy. Perhaps that was why. They anticipated romantic feelings. But what did my stalling, my obedience to duty do? Send her to another man and get slaughtered like an animal." Silas' voice had now flooded with taint, wrath barely hidden.
"I have dreams, still. I think it is of what could have been. Or maybe it is what I always wanted. Sometimes...I see great, big, gently rolling hills with golden yellow flowers, whole fields of them. And on the edge we have a tiny, humble cottage. And we are poor, oh, so poor. But we are happy. And sometimes, sometimes I see my son-not even three winters-and he always plays in that field, Anaya watching until I come home. It is odd, I think, how that simple dream gives me peace. It makes me happy. Perhaps you shall see your father in your dreams? I hope seeing him makes you content."
The tall man smiled towards the young woman, Arella returning the gesture, "Thank you. I am glad you find some sort of peace. Hopefully I will be as lucking and find some as well. May I ask you a question, Silas?"
"Of course. What do you wish to hear?" He questioned, head cocking as he gave her his attention.
"How does one act around nobles?" The questioned rolled from her tongue, the girl hungry for an answer.
Silas paused, as if in thought, though his head lightly rocked with amusement, "Respect. Respect them, and they shall respect you. Respect and friendship is earned, not given. Remember that, Lady Arella. Now, may I ask one of you? Do you have an opinion of my actions?"
"I...I think you did what you thought was right. You followed your heart." She replied after some thought, the man breathing deeply.
"I see. I have never told anyone that tale before. It feels like a weight has lifted. Thank you." Relief had washed over the young man's face, "Please, if anything from my tale, learn from my mistakes. Know your duty, but do not be bound by it so that you forsake the ones you love. It may save them."
Arella had remained quiet, digesting his words, "I shall. Thank you for telling it to me."
"Good." A soft chuckle escaped the knight, "Now, if you excuse me, I am going to rest lest I amputate my own feet and never walk again. Farewell, my lady."
The woman smiled, nodding, "Fair thee well, Silas of Regensburg."