Hey, guys! Sorry about my absence. I didn't drop off the face of the planet, and this story isn't over. I actually got this chapter back from my beta, like, a week ago, but I've been so busy that I haven't had time to finish working on it until now...

For now, my updating schedule is going to be a bit sporadic, so apologies in advance for that. But by mid-October I should be able to finagle a way to level out and get this stupid thing updated once a week again. XD I'll try to keep you updated on my profile, okay?

And I haven't forgotten about the Ties that Bind! Life's just crept up on me and kicked my shins pretty hard this month. I have half of chapter 4 done, and am tempted to publish it as it is, but we'll see... :/

OH! So I've been working on some poetry lately. You can find my stuff on Deviantart. My ID is CupOTea16, if you're interested. :) I hope to publish at least one poem a week. They're relatively short and don't take longer than 15-30 minutes to put together, but eh. You might enjoy them.

Oh! I recommend going back and skimming chapter 115 before reading this. It's been a while since we've seen any Zane, and I want to make sure none of you are lost. :) My apologies.

Riot

Burning buildings crumbled; smoke curled toward the dark night sky as bits of hot debris fell to the snow, letting up hissing steam. Men and women coughed and shouted as they rushed to douse the fires with buckets of water. Peran's soldiers had already arrested those associated with the riot. Though they hadn't done so in time to save these homes.

"Where are the wounded?" Iam asked Peran as he and Zane neared the General.

General Peran, dressed in his crisp gold and red uniform, pointed east. "They're in the Temple," he answered.

"How many dead?" Zane asked.

"There weren't many, all glory to the First King," Peran said, riding between Zane and Iam's horses. "So far, five of my men have sustained injuries of varying severity. The wounded civilians who fought for our side are in the Temple as well. But all the wounded rioters are being tended in the prison." After a moment he added: "My men arrested over twenty. A few fled into the woods, but we'll be watching for their return."

"Good," Zane said. He looked up and down the empty street again with a slight shake of his head. So much damage… "Was it an organized attack?"

"Not from what I've gathered so far, my lord. It seems more like a…crime of passion, so to speak."

"Well then, what set them off?"

Peran was pensive for a moment before answering, eyes as gray as storm clouds. "An infant died of the plague this afternoon, apparently," he explained at last. "The father- a former soldier from Lord Keith's guard, I've gathered- blames you for not getting Cyrus' Nurses here sooner. He was stirring up the people tonight, trying to get them to storm the Sheshin Keep and force you to recant your decision to secede from Ninjago." His next words were underscored with scorn. "Because he believes Garmadon could have saved his child."

"And what do you believe, Peran?" Iam asked softly. "If you don't mind my asking."

Peran looked to Zane with a slight, weary smile. "I think that it's no fault of ours that the infant died. Our Lord Zane is doing a better job of caring for the plagued than Garmadon ever did."

Iam seemed sated by this answer, and sat back in the saddle of his horse, blue eyes distant and thoughtful.

"Thank you, Peran," Zane said quietly. "Your words encourage me."

Peran dipped his head. "We should not be wasting time here. There is work to be done. And be on your guard, my lord. Not all who wander these streets tonight will be cheered by your presence."

No one needed to say more. Zane sighed inwardly and urged his horse to keep pace with his General and Cyrus' lieutenant.

This was the beginning of a long night of interrogating the rioters, consoling the people, and rehoming those whose houses had been burned. All were important duties, and Zane would keep at it with Peran and Iam until the work was done, as he knew he should.

But why are men so destructive? he thought frustratedly. A tattered Southern banner rippled in the frigid breeze between two burning shops. All of this because a child died…

Zane knew that wasn't strictly true. There were a dozen different problems that had built up over the past few weeks: the sudden and quickly-spreading plague which killed hundreds across the country each day. The death and disappearance of most of the ruling class. The Guards' increased brutality after Garmadon's poisoning. The secession of the South, and the prospect that Garmadon may very well massacre the South for that secession. The migration of thousands of people in and out of the South. Many of those Southern migrators were from Cyrus- followers of the Way. And though at the present these people remained fairly reticent with their beliefs, people were talking: word of these people's newfound religious freedom would surely reach Garmadon soon.

Put succinctly, that father's rage had popped the cork off a bottle that had been building up pressure for far too long already.

They passed to the next street, and Zane pulled up short in surprise at the sight before him.

I should have foreseen this, Zane thought, tightening his jaw, unable to stop staring. I should have found a way to prevent it.

Peran continued toward the sight as if he were unaffected. But Zane felt sick to his stomach as he dismounted and handed his reins to one of his General's men standing nearby.

The ten or so bodies of men laying in a row on the road had no shrouds yet. Women wept as they knelt beside friends, fathers, and husbands. Others- particularly the children and other men- just stared as if frozen by the cold.

Two of the bodies were burnt, clothing mostly or all gone. Others looked to have bled to death from serious wounds, and others still were a mixture of burnt and bleeding. The stench from the burnt ones was terrible enough to make Zane want to pull his scarf over his mouth and nose. But the people needed to see his face; they needed to see that he was here, for better or for worse.

Zane finally managed to avert his eyes from the sight, but his eyes found something profoundly more gruesome instead: a dead woman and two children, laid on the opposite side of the street from the men's corpses. The children- a girl of hardly three winters, and a boy of maybe twelve- had been badly burned; likely they had been caught inside of one of those burning buildings. Neither looked as bad as the two grown men or the dead woman who lay beside them, but that made it all the more heart-wrenching to witness as the mother and children were reverently covered with a white blanket by a pair of Southern soldiers.

"Those supporting your cause set fire to the houses of the King's supporters, Milord," another of the South's solders explained. He was a young man in his early twenties with blond hair and soft brown eyes. "That mother went into her home to rescue her three children." He pointed up the road. "She managed to save one. The boy's burns are being treated in the Temple."

"Brother against brother," Iam murmured. He'd stayed on his mount and walked it slowly at Zane's side. "Father against son." His eyes wandered to the smoky sky, and he exhaled, moisture floating from his lips. "War is a heavy thing, my lord. I hope you're prepared for its burden on your heart."

Zane tightened his jaw. People were beginning to notice their presence. They crowded around, a thousand questions on their tongues.

"Lord Zane, are we going to war with the King?"

"What will happen to the South?"

"The plague, Milord! Will it-"

Numbly, Zane answered each question with the most honest answers he could give: mostly variants of "I don't know" and "I'm so sorry." At last Peran intervened and gently pushed the crowd back, assuring them all that Zane had no intention of letting the South suffer such a tragedy again. That they had no need to worry about Garmadon. No, at the present Lord Zane had no intention of issuing a draft to fight the King.

The list went on. Eventually Zane climbed onto his horse. Peran noticed and dismissed the people with his condolences, then remounted his own horse.

"Where to now, my lord?" Peran asked.

Zane had to swallow before he could speak. "To the Temple," he said. "My Blade has some power… I can help the wounded." I have to be helpful somewhere.

Peran nodded. "Let's go."

"You stay here, Peran," Zane told him. "Help your men. Iam and I can go alone."

Peran looked at Cyrus' General, then nodded again. "Whatever you command, my lord," he said, and moved his horse back toward the people. Already he was issuing orders to his men.

Iam sighed- a heavy, remorseful sound- and lifted his reins in one hand. "After you, my lord."

On the wide bridge crossing the River Lokai stood four Southern soldiers, two bearing torches. As Garmadon and the Southern Lord Rector watched, the tallest soldier withdrew a flask from his uniform and passed it around. They talked amiably, just out of the King and Priest's earshot.

"I still don't think you should go alone, My King," the Lord Rector said. His narrowed, yellowish-amber eyes seemed to glow in the distant torchlight as he observed the four men. Disdainfully, as if they- and every other man of the working class- were worlds beneath him.

And, in a sense, Garmadon supposed that was true: aside from the King, the three Lord Rectors were arguably the most powerful people in all of Ninjago.

"Do you doubt my ability to take care of this?" Garmadon asked.

"Of course not, My King," the Lord Rector replied tightly. "But…I would very much like to pay the fool boy Zane a visit myself…"

Understandably, the Southern Priest remained vexed about his humiliation at Zane's hand earlier that week.

"You failed to collect a dead man for me six days ago, Loiel," Garmadon said, a warm satisfaction filling him when the Lord Rector's eyes narrowed further: using the Priest's real name- to his face, no less- was an insult that might have gotten him beaten, had he not been the King. "It is enough that I let you come this far. I must go on alone."

Loiel's narrow face pinched sourly, and his hand lingered on his sheathed sword, but he held back any further argument. "At least take your horse, My King," he said. "I will fetch it for you." They had dismounted and left their horses down the road a ways as to not attract the attention of those sentinels.

A cold wind from the south rattled the trees, and Garmadon inhaled deeply, smiling. There was a hint of smoke on the breeze. "Hurry," he said. "It would be best for me to make my journey down the highway while all of Zane's soldiers are detained at the…party your men prepared in Sheshin."

The Lord Rector smiled knowingly. It looked more like a sneer. "I am only doing my duty, My King," he said, and crept silently into the trees to fetch the King's horse.

Garmadon stood as well and ran a hand through his graying hair, smoothing it; he could not very well intimidate those soldiers looking like a vagabond. Still smiling, he set a hand on the pommel of his sword and strode from the copse.

The loud crack of branches underfoot made the solders' heads turn, and the one quickly pocketed his flask and raised his torch, squinting in the darkness to make out Garmadon's face.

"Good evening," Garmadon said before any of them could speak. He stepped up onto the bridge. "Such a fine evening… Cold, though, for you Southerners, I'd suppose." He nodded to the tallest solder. Garmadon noted the extra gold cord on his shoulder, marking him as a lieutenant. "Oh, don't look so worried. I won't tell your General about that drink. You all deserve a little something to keep you warm."

The four men stared, at a loss for words.

Garmadon clapped his gloved hands together, a sound that echoed hollowly in the wintery air. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, will you let me pass?"

The lieutenant finally found his voice. He was a man in his late thirties, with a short, peppered beard and dark blue eyes that, to his credit, did not waver as he addressed the King he had so brashly sided against. "We have been commanded not to let any Guards or officials of the King across the border," he said.

"No?" Garmadon feigned a hurt frown, tilting his chin downward slightly. "Well I don't hear anything of the King himself in that command."

"I cannot allow it."

Garmadon nodded slowly, foggy breath escaping his lips as he exhaled. "What if I took out my sword and asked again? Would you let me through?"

"I'm afraid not." The other three men had shuffled back, gladly allowing their superior to do the talking. They kept their eyes on the woods across the bridge as much as on Garmadon- likely they expected the King's army to be hiding nearby. Because what King in his right mind would come out here all alone?

Garmadon drew his sword. "Well, I have to pass someday," he said. He looked at the other three men. "What are your orders, lieutenant?" His pleasant smile turned sinister. "Do you really value your Lord's safety over your own? And what of your men? Will you die in a futile effort to protect your so-called ruler?"

The lieutenant's eyes wavered, but he said nothing.

Garmadon sighed. On the exhale he drew his sword, the six small gems in its hilt glittering in the torchlight. "You see these?" he asked. "What are they?"

"Um…emeralds," the lieutenant said, looking less confident with every passing second.

"Yes." Garmadon pointed his blade at the man, who drew his own sword. "Emeralds represent the strength of the First King and his children. Our green eyes are a physical affirmation of this promise of strength. Now, answer me truthfully. Do you really believe you can fight a man who has been gifted so?"

One of the soldiers behind the lieutenant surprised Garmadon by pulling out his sword and stepping toward Garmadon. "You cannot cross," he said. A young man with bravado that greatly eclipsed his intelligence.

Garmadon ran the boy through with his sword.

"What-" The solders' expressions shifted from horror to rage as their comrade's body crumpled silently on the bridge.

"I've had enough," Garmadon said tiredly, swinging the sword easily in one hand toward the lieutenant's head. The bearded man blocked the attack with much more effort, jaw firm despite his wavering eyes- he had no wish to die tonight.

That's a shame, Garmadon thought, feeling not a hint of remorse as he flicked the lieutenant's sword away and drove his blade through the man's heart. The lieutenant jerked sharply and fell.

The remaining two soldiers died quickly. Torches sizzled and were snuffed out in the snow. And as Garmadon stood over the bodies, cleaning his sword on the lieutenant's cloak, he heard the Priest approach.

"I though you said you would wait for me…" the Lord Rector said.

"Am I still here?" Garmadon asked.

A pause. "Yes, My King," came the reluctant reply.

"Then I don't think you should complain." Garmadon sheathed his sword and turned, taking his reins from the Priest. "Wait here."

"When will you return?"

Garmadon mounted and turned to the Lord Rector with a heavy, impatient sigh. "Whether I return in one hour, or one week, you will stand at this border and wait."

"Without question, My King," the Lord Rector intoned with a bow.

Garmadon nodded in satisfaction and dug his heels, red with the blood of the Southern soldiers, into the black horse's side, galloping down the silent highway.

The sun was beginning to rise by the time Zane, Iam, and the General made it back to the Sheshin mansion. Tired and hungry, he, Iam, and Peran headed to the kitchen for breakfast, and though the hour was early, the cooks gave them what they had ready: some hot rolls and hastily-prepared sausages.

"I'm sorry, Milord," the head cook, a plump woman with graying hair braided down her back, said. "I'll send more later."

"No, this is fine," Iam assured her, taking his plate from the counter, along with a large cup of hot tea. "I'm going to take a nap when I'm done with this." He smiled at the woman. "Just make a substantial lunch for us."

"Yes," Zane agreed tiredly, taking up his own plate. "Thank you. This is enough for now. Good night."

They left the kitchen and sat in the dining area with relieved sighs.

"Mmm…" Iam groaned, stretching his legs under the table. "I'm not built for these all-nighters."

Zane and Peran grunted their agreement and went to work on their meal. The sausage was a little salty for Zane's taste, but the bread was hot, and felt good in his cold body.

The night had been long and hard. Zane had spent most of his time helping the wounded in the Temple. It was a gruesome job: Several were burned. Others had sword wounds, or broken bones. Or all three. Many were women and children. Too many.

Zane set down his fork and rested his elbows on the table, planting his face in his hands with a quiet groan.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Peran asked.

No, Zane thought. "Yes," he lied. "I'm just…tired."

There was quiet for a long moment before Iam spoke. "Tonight has affected us all," he said gently. "All we can do is move forward and do our best to avoid the same situation in the future."

"But it's my fault!" Zane exclaimed, uncovering his face. "The fires were caused by men supporting me."

"You did not tell them to start those fires and hurt those families," Peran said. "They did it of their own accord. And from my information, it was the Garmadon-supporters that instigated the fight to begin with."

"Well I'm not exactly innocent either," Zane argued.

"What do you mean?"

Fingers drumming the table, Zane spent a minute considering the question, and surprised himself by his answer. "I was asked by Misako to find a cure for Garmadon's illness. But when I was unable to do so, I…ran away. I made the brash choice of seceding from Ninjago to run from my problem, and as a result have plunged all three realms into chaos."

He looked across the table at Iam. "I may not have started the riot that burned those homes and wounded all those people, but you can't tell me that I didn't put the spark in their hands."

Peran looked down at his plate without a word of objection, but Iam kept Zane's gaze for a long moment, nodding slowly with thought. Or perhaps understanding.

"So what do you suggest we do?" Iam asked.

"I don't know," Zane admitted dully. "You could start by deposing me."

Peran's head shot back up. Iam raised an eyebrow.

"That's a bit drastic," Iam said. "Don't you think?"

"Not any more drastic than anything else I've done," Zane muttered.

"Who would we replace you with?" Peran asked incredulously.

"I don't know. Cyrus. Yourself. Misako. Anyone with actual experience leading people." Zane averted his eyes at last from Iam's. "We all know I don't do well under pressure. I'm losing myself."

"So you will quit instead?" a soft voice asked, and Zane turned his head in surprise.

Varasach sat across the room in her wheelchair, a blanket draped across her legs. But as they watched, she stood, leaving the blanket on the seat, and walked toward them with careful steps.

"You say that the South has seceded because you are running from Garmadon," she said, reaching out for a chair as she teetered.

"Vara." Zane stood and ran to help her. "What are you doing here? Where is Josi?"

"She went to fetch something, I think. Um, thank you. I am fine." She took a step to the side, dodging Zane's touch. Then she paused, staring into his eyes with a slight frown. "You are not fine, though. You are scared."

Zane stared back, surprised by her intrepidity. "And you aren't scared?" he asked.

"No. Should I be?"

Zane opened his mouth to say yes, but hesitated. She reminded him a bit of Lloyd, with those wide and earnest green eyes.

They're about the same age, aren't they? Zane realized. Lloyd was her age when he… When I failed to heal him.

Varasach was eighteen winters, and stood only a few inches shorter than Zane. Physically, a woman in her prime, but still a child in her mind. Or so she appeared: at moments like these Zane began to doubt his theory that she was mentally retarded.

"You are scared of Garmadon, but that's not why you made the South secede," Varasach said gently, but firmly. "You were scared of your failure to heal the King." She lifted a finger of her good hand and pointed at his chest. "And now, after getting the South into this mess, you are trying to run away again. Because of…what?"

Zane's frown deepened. "I'm not running," he said. "I'm facing the truth: I am incapable of leading the South. I'm stepping back so that someone more competent can stop the bloodshed that I could not."

He turned to where Peran and Iam still sat wearily in their chairs, watching the exchange. "I have no intention of running away. I will stay, and do what I can to undo the messes Garmadon, Kaytake, and I have created. But I want to do so under the jurisdiction of a wiser man- or woman."

The two men at the table exchanged a glance, but remained quiet.

"I don't think you should give up," Varasach said. "You should-"

"It is not your place to say, child," Zane snapped. He pointed to her wheelchair. "Go. Leave us to our meal."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. But he could not take them back now, so he softened his frown and touched her arm. "The cooks are almost done with breakfast. I'll have something brought upstairs for you."

"No." Varasach jerked her arm away, regarding him sadly. She shook her head and turned from him, shuffling back toward her wheelchair. As she walked, a sharp, heavy feeling settled in Zane's stomach, as if he'd swallowed a cold knife.

"There is a saying on the Dark Island," Varasach said when she was comfortably situated in her chair again. "Micha nande a'chaji; chomi micha te'te phik'ko to micha wrynt. It means, No matter how far I run, I will have to face what I have done." When Zane still said nothing, she continued. "Your good deeds, even those unnoticed by others, will eventually be rewarded. But when you mistreat others…" She tightened her mouth and gripped her chair's wheels, moving for the door. When her back was turned to them and she was under the open door's frame, she spoke one last time. "…you must prepare yourself for the same treatment."

Zane stared at the empty doorframe after she was gone, lips parted. The knife refused to budge from his stomach. And try as he might, he could not dismiss her words.

"My lord," Peran said. "Pay her no heed. Finish your meal and rest."

Zane closed his mouth. "Yes. You're right." He chuckled tiredly as he shut the large doors, then returned to his seat. "That girl has a way of getting under your skin…"

"I think she's sweet," Iam said, taking a large bite of his bread. He seemed to swallow it without chewing. "Very…I don't know. She's so mature, but at the same time… Heh. She reminds me of one of my brother's children."

Peran stood stiffly and scooped up his plate. "I'm going to my room," he said, bowing to Zane. "My lord." Pointedly ignoring Iam, Peran rounded the table and left the room.

Iam's eyebrows rested low over his eyes. "Mmm," he grunted. "Speaking of children is a sore spot for him, it seems…"

Zane said nothing. He sank into his chair and resumed his meal, wishing he could blot out every memory of this night. The cold, smoky air, the dead mother with her children… He'd met the mother's surviving child in the Temple, and the image of the boy's burnt face, wet with tears as he grieved his lost family- his father had also died, apparently- stuck with him more firmly than he liked.

"So what are you going to do?" Iam asked.

Zane looked up slowly, annoyed at having to talk again when all he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, however unpleasant they were. Maybe Peran was onto something… I should take my food with me to my room. "Pardon?" he grumbled.

"You were talking about stepping down before Varasach interrupted," Iam said. "What are you going to do?"

Zane rested his elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. I'll give it more thought after a long nap."

Gooseflesh ran up Varasach's arms as she wheeled away from the dining area: though the mansion was far from cold, and she had been on Ninjago for several months, she had grown up accustomed to far warmer- and more humid- weather on the Dark Island.

And you don't have an ounce of fat on your bones, Kyle had once affectionately told her as he wrapped his cloak around her shivering shoulders. Your body is well adapted to the Dark Island. But here… A lopsided grin. You've gotta be more careful.

The abrupt memory caused Varasach to pause, emotion swelling in her chest.

Bring him home, Father, she prayed. Bring them all home. Kyle, and Cole, and Chedva, and all the others. This was a prayer she found herself reciting more and more often as the days passed by without any word from Kyle and the others.

After a moment of quiet- and a deep breath- she felt a little better. She continued wheeling down the main hall. The room she shared with Josi was at the end of an adjoining hall just ahead and to her left. That's where Josi had gone to retrieve something she'd claimed to have forgotten.

Though, Varasach reflected ruefully as she passed the staircase that ran up to the second floor, Josi snuck out of the dining room just after Zane entered. That can't be a coincidence. It might be a while before Josi decides to return for me…

Why had Josi left her there in the first place? Was her newfound bitterness toward Zane so great that she'd abandon Varasach to avoid even being in the same room as her adversary?

I wonder if Josi wants to go home. Varasach thought, then paused. Where is my home? Her entire life, "home" had been the Dark Island. Then she'd come to Ninjago and lived in Cyrus' keep. And now she lived here, in Sheshin, with a Zane who had changed so dramatically from the man- or, Nindroid- she'd first met months ago on the Dark Island.

Zane has built his foundation on something other than God, Varasach realized with little surprise. Like how I used to be with Kyle. But Zane's world has changed, and he is unwilling to let go and cling to Him instead.

Her rumination was interrupted by the fluttering of a bird's wings overhead. She looked up, half expecting to see Josi and Kyle's raven, Jema, to be flying in the rafters. The black bird was reclusive and shy, and Varasach had seen very little of it since Kyle's disappearance. But maybe now it was recovering a bit and had returned?

A light chirp immediately told Varasach that this was not Jema.

A tiny black bird with a narrow, streamlined head watched her from its perch atop a bracket that supported a blue tapestry. It made eye contact with her and tilted its head, twittering again.

Varasach smiled. "Hello," she said. "How did you get in here? You should be outside." She held up her hand, offering for the bird to fly down to her fingers. "Though, I cannot blame you for coming in: it's cold outside."

The muffled, heavy sound of the front doors opening, then slamming shut, cut Varasach off. Shouts arose, then were cut off suddenly. The bird alighted and disappeared in the direction of the now quiet entry room.

In the dead silence that followed, Varasach breathed softly, allowing her hand to fall on her lap.

Josi. Varasach had to get back to their room. The doors opening at this hour was not uncommon- Zane and his generals had come this way on their return from the town- but those cries stuck in her mind as soundly as a bad dream in those moments immediately after waking. Not only that, but something in the air suddenly left a bad taste in her mouth. In the kitchen, Zane had smelled of smoke and blood. But this new scent was much, much worse. Like death, and hate, and every form of malign Varasach could bring to mind.

Whatever had just entered the house, Varasach wanted no part of it.

Hands shaking, she gripped her wheels and continued down the hall quickly. Her turn was just ahead. If she could make it there before-

Not twenty paces from Varasach the double-doors of the entry room flew open. Her hands clenched the wheels so hard that she jolted to a halt, palms stinging from the force as she stared at the source of her acute uneasiness.

Gray-haired, with an aged- but not by any means decrepit- face and broad shoulders, the man examined the room from top to bottom with scowling green eyes. A black and green cloak hung from his shoulders, and in his right hand he held a bloody sword. Varasach stared at it, and then at his wandering eyes, unblinking, unable to breathe.

Help me, she prayed, mind riffling through her options. She could turn around and go back to Zane and the General- if this man did not catch her and run her through with that sword first. She could also try to reach Josi. But that would mean going toward this man to reach her turn, giving him an even better chance of catching her. She could also scream, but that would not get anyone here in time to save her before this man killed her.

Help him, His voice whispered in her soul, making her pause. You can help him.

The man finally seemed to notice Varasach sitting there, and he gave a start, his scowl giving way to alarm, and his booted feet carried him back a step. Mouth opening and closing wordlessly, the sword slipped from his fingers.

Varasach too, attempted to find her voice. When it came, it was a small squeak.

"...Hello," she said.

Her greeting seemed to jolt something in this man, and he blinked, snapping his mouth shut and lifting a hand to his forehead as if he'd just experienced a spell of dizziness. He looked around confusedly, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time.

"…Your eyes," the man said at last, his attention back on Varasach. "Hosts…he hates you. He…he hates everyone. He especially hates my- Misako. But he saw you, and-"

"Garmadon!" a voice barked behind Varasach, startling them both. Varasach turned her head.

The man- the King Garmadon that everyone seemed so afraid of, Varasach realized- looked around Varasach at the speaker, who stood a distance behind her.

Garmadon's confused expression gave way to a sneer. "High General Peran," he said, drawing out the vowels longer than necessary. "Your loyalty is so fickle. Why aren't you in the Middle?"

"You should know why," Peran snapped, striding down the hall with a fierce glare that made Varasach glad she was on his side. "Your Queen commanded that I come."

"Before Zane's rebellion," Garmadon asserted. "After he turned, you should have come back to me. Why didn't you?" His face pinched in mock sympathy. "Is it because of Makeri?"

These words seemed to set fire to Peran's eyes. He drew his sword and strode quickly toward them. "Varasach," he said. "Come this way."

Help him, the voice said again in her mind. Help the king.

Varasach hesitated, staring at the man with the green eyes.

How? she responded. How can I help this man?

"Varasach!" Peran said sternly. He'd reached the landing and was coming toward her and Garmadon. "Come-"

In the short time it took for Varasach to gasp, Garmadon crossed the distance to her. He kicked her chair with a foot, pushing her away from Peran, toward the door. Varasach recovered and stopped herself. She moved to stand from her chair. Though, what she would do once she was up she did not know.

Not missing a beat, not looking back to see what Varasach was doing, Garmadon faced Peran. Their swords clashed.

"She's mine," Garmadon hissed.

Peran replied with a wordless shout. Southern soldiers began to congregate in the hall, attracted by the noise. They all set their hands on their swords, but did not engage: naturally, they were awaiting orders from their General. And he seemed to be handling things well enough on his own so far.

Aside from that, Peran was too busy fighting to give orders. He and Garmadon moved too fast for Varasach to catch much of what happened- but it was very noisy, and their feet moved with such intricacy that they almost appeared to be dancing. She cast another glance at the hallway, hoping Josi would appear and save her.

And, through all of that commotion, God's voice still spoke to her. Help him… Help my child…

Varasach continued to ask frantically what she should do, but He only responded with those same words.

With a loud clang Peran's sword was at last knocked from his hand, and he swiveled, grabbing a wooden end table in both hands, flinging it into Garmadon's face. Upon impact the King staggered back with a pained bellow, bleeding from a gash above his left eye. He swore and raised his sword to strike Peran. The General had been backed against the wall, and his searching hands found nothing more to strike Garmadon with.

Help my child, Vara.

"S-stop!" Varasach cried, standing at last.

Garmadon froze with his sword at Peran's throat. The General's sleeve had been cut and oozed blood only a shade darker than the dye of his uniform. His gray eyes stared at Varasach with alarm- for her safety more than his own, she guessed by the way he subtly shook his head and motioned with a low hand for her to get back.

But Varasach stood her ground. She clenched her hands to hide her tremble and took an unsteady step toward the men. About a dozen soldiers stood at a distance, murmuring uneasily amongst themselves- some from the top of the stairs, some from the threshold of the entry room, and others still from down the hall, closer to the dining room and kitchen.

"Leave Peran alone," Varasach said. Again her eyes flitted between Garmadon's hard green eyes and the blade, stained red. "Please, don't kill him."

Garmadon said nothing. He only stared unwaveringly at her face- at her eyes- with an expression that bordered on curiosity. Then something that almost looked like...fear.

From the corner of Varasach's vision she saw Peran make another motion with his hand. Immediately the soldier nearest Varasach ran toward her, hand outstretched to grab her, and she tensed slightly, unsure whether to run to him or stand her ground.

Garmadon released his stare and threw Peran's head into the wall. The High General slumped to the floor. As he fell, Garmadon leaped for Varasach and wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her over his shoulder. Varasach cried out and struggled against his grip, but, of course, could not get free. Her cries were muffled by his cloak.

"Get back!" Garmadon bellowed, striding toward the door. The soldiers, clearly hesitant after their General's defeat, obeyed, choosing to instead help Peran, who had not risen from the floor.

Garmadon carried Varasach into the entry room, then paused, looking back. "I demand an audience with Lord Zane," he said loudly. "I will be back at noon to negotiate the terms of your surrender."

He spun without waiting for a reply and strode back down the hall he'd entered from. He stepped over a pair of dead soldiers and threw the massive front doors open with one hand. Cold air blew past the King and his captive, seeming to make Varasach's blood freeze as she was carried down the steps.

"Brace yourself," Garmadon said, and stopped, bending to slide Varasach from his shoulder. "On the horse. Quickly, girl."

"What?" Varasach stumbled dizzily as the excess blood drained from her face. Garmadon righted her with a too-firm hand on her shoulder and pointed to the horse.

"They'll follow us, girl. Get on."

Varasach had never mounted a horse without Kyle's help, and that was before she'd lost most of her strength to her various illnesses. "I can't," she said, on the verge of tears. "Why are you taking me?"

"No time for that right now." Garmadon let her go and unbuckled the saddle, letting it drop to the ground. The horse pranced and nickered, but the King shushed it, running a hasty hand up and down its neck before lifting Varasach onto its back. He leaped up behind her and gathered the reins in one hand. "You can't ride, can you? Ah, no matter. Grab his mane, girl. It won't hurt him. Hold on tight; his back can get a bit slippery when he moves fast."

Shivering, Varasach reluctantly did as she was told, grabbing a fistful of the horse's black hair. Her hand with the missing fingers had considerable trouble grabbing anything, so she just pressed it to the horse's neck to steady herself, relying on her other hand to hold as much mane as possible.

"On, Faris!" Garmadon spurred the horse with a shout, and it shot down the road. As they passed the gate Varasach noticed four more bodies lying on the cobblestone path, barely visible in the predawn light. Varasach's eyes moistened, and she pressed them shut.

…Help him, Vara.

I will try, Varasach said reluctantly. But please, help me, too.

Welp. Poor Varasach can't seem to catch a break, huh? Poor girl.

I...can't think of much else to say. I am suddenly struggling to keep my eyes open, so I'm gonna go to bed now. Thank you all for reading! Have a great week, and God bless. :)