I'm late this time, I know. Sorry, it's been a rough week and this chapter has been a thorn in my side since its conception. :'D

Jens: Dude, Lou is the best XD Kai and Cole rely on each other mutually, you're right. Thank you for your review!

Off to Sleep

Pain greeted Kai's head and chest like an old friend when he woke. He took a breath and found the movement excessively unpleasant.

Fragments of sights, sounds, feelings after he'd been struck with that arrow trickled back to him: the numbness and breathlessness. The screams. The thunderclap of pain which sent him to his knees. The hands which grabbed him, carrying him from the stage even as he faded… Had he been carried to safety by his soldiers?

"Hey. He's waking up."

Kai opened his eyes blearily, confusedly, and blinked at the semidarkness in front of him. The room smelled faintly of cedar smoke and perfume. He realized he was staring at a low, wood-planked ceiling.

He was not in Sheshin Keep.

Detecting movement in the corner of his eye, he turned his head, only to find half his vision obstructed by his own bare arm. He tried to lower it. Finding himself unable to do so, he craned his neck upward.

His hands were tied to a pair of bedposts.

Oh, no- His struggles only tightened the ropes. Oh God, please, no-!

A second voice, quieter than the first: "Get him some food."

"Shall I open the '27, too?"

"You will do what I say, and you will do it quietly."

"Yes, Elder."

Footsteps, and the first man was gone. Sent from the room on some small errand, just like Senzo just before Overlord-

Kai's chest rose and fell with short, rapid breaths which sent shooting pain all through his body. He jerked the ropes. They tightened around his wrists with each tug, bringing on a new pain. But pain didn't matter, pain was temporary. He had to get out of here before something worse happened.

Balling his hands into fists, he pulled against the ropes with all the strength he could muster- which wasn't much, but he had to try anyways, even if it hurt his ribs, even if he broke his wrists in the process. He wasn't safe here, wounded, restrained, alone with this- this stranger-

"Lord Kaytake." Footsteps approaching him. "Please, stop struggling. The knots will only tighten."

"Get away," Kai snapped. He did not stop- if anything, this man's approach spurred his panic. "Get away from me!"

"Calm yourself, Kaytake."

"Don't come any closer!" Kai's voice rose to a desperate pitch as the man loomed over him. "Stop right there, dammit! Please-!"

"Lord Kai Kaytake!" the man thundered, and Kai immediately froze. "You will control yourself, or I will be forced to gag you."

Panting, heart beating so fast it seemed ready to leap up his sandpaper-dry throat, Kai kept his silence. He stared into the man's pale, sharp blue eyes and focused on breathing in a way that wouldn't hurt his chest so terribly.

"Why am I here?" he asked as steadily as he could manage. "Why…why am I in a bed?"

"Because even if we are your kidnappers, we are not savages," the man said. "You're injured. Please don't struggle." The man took a glass of water from the bedside table and raised it meaningfully.

Kai struggled through the pain to raise his head. The man supported Kai's neck with one hand and brought the water to his cracked lips. He couldn't drink fast enough: it dripped down his chin, wetting the bandages on his throbbing chest.

The man took away the glass when it was half empty. He set it down on the bedside table and grabbed Kai's left wrist. Kai shrank back; the man raised a dark eyebrow, but did not let go. In a moment, the rope around Kai's hand loosened marginally.

Kai jerked it again experimentally but the man, with a stern frown, tightened his grip on Kai's wrist until he stopped. Finally satisfied, the man went to the other side of the bed and did the same.

"Don't pull on it," the man said, "and it won't hurt you."

Kai pulled one last time, just to prove that he could. "So I'm valuable to you alive and in one piece?" He grimaced and swallowed, for all the good that did his still-scratchy throat and voice.

"At the present, yes."

"What are you? A bounty hunter? Mercenary?"

"I am not a sword for hire." The man looked offended that Kai would even consider it. "I follow my oaths, serving only one master."

Kai registered for the first time the man's hair. Cut short, nearly to the roots. "You…you're a Priest?"

"Yes."

"Out of uniform?" Kai eyed the man's pedestrian coat and trousers. "What does a Priest want with me?"

"Not a Priest," the man said. "The Priests. All of us."

"You worked under the Southern Lord Rector," Kai guessed. Though the pain in his ribs remained as intense as when he'd first awakened, his head was clearing. Through the haze he dredged up a name: "Lord Rector Loiel. The one who died trying to assassinate Regent Julien."

The man tilted his head in assent.

"So what are you doing now that he's dead?"

"Exactly what we were doing before he died."

"Which is…?"

"I'll be asking the questions, Kaytake. Let's start with this: Who was your green-eyed friend in the plaza?"

So they had seen Cole. Kai kept his expression carefully neutral as he tried to figure a way out of this. He searched his fragmented memory of screaming citizens in the plaza. Had Cole been one of them? Hosts. Cole's grip on reality was tenuous enough already. How was he faring now that Kai was kidnapped, wounded and, for all he knew, dead?

"There was a Blessed in the plaza during my speech?" Kai asked. "I'm flattered."

"Don't play that game." The Priest pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. The fireplace, only a few paces behind him, cast his sharp face in shadows.

Kai said nothing. Eventually the Priest sighed and fished into his pocket. He pulled out a chain, on the end of which dangled a gold pendant just a little larger than a coin. Kai knew what it was even before he saw the etched crown of roses on one side, and his heart plummeted into his gut.

Cyrus' Diadem.

"Give that back," Kai whispered.

"Ah, so this is important to you."

"It's nothing," Kai said, too quickly. "Sentimental value. Please give it back."

"It looks new," the Priest said, watching as the Diadem swung slowly on its chain. "Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift from my mother. She gave it to me when I came home. Be careful with it."

"You're terrible at this, Kaytake."

"Yeah, well, you'll have to pardon my lack of wit today. It would help if I wasn't currently suffering from an arrow wound in my-" Kai cut himself short and cowered as the Priest raised his hand to strike him. He instinctively tried to wrap his arms around his head- and only succeeded in tightening the ropes again.

But the blow never fell. The Priest deliberately lowered his arm. "Interesting," he said, and leaned forward in his seat, seeming to search for something in Kai's face.

"W-what?" The ropes dug into Kai's skin, deep enough to cut off circulation. He forced himself to relax, but kept his eyes on the Priest's hands- and on the Diadem, its fine chain woven between his fingers.

The Priest stayed quiet for a long, agonizing moment. "Nothing," he said, and stood to loosen the ropes again. Kai's skin prickled and burned as blood flow resumed through his hands.

"I apologize, Lord Kaytake," the Priest said as he leaned back into his chair. "You're right. You've been through a lot today. My acolyte, Iri, might be a little while before he comes back with your meal, but in the meantime… Here, I'll make you a deal." He held out the Diadem again, so it dangled before Kai's face. A taunt. "Answer my questions. Then you can have this back."

"No."

"You're in no position to defy me, Kaytake."

"Then why are you trying to bargain with me?" Kai asked. "Why are you offering me chattels in exchange for the betrayal of my realm?"

"Because, unlike Bishop Siara, I have no desire to hurt you."

Siara? The name sounded familiar.

"You would do well not to test me," the Priest warned. "I don't want to hurt you, but I have my orders. I will if I have to."

"Do your worst, Priest." Gritting his teeth, Kai laid his head back on his pillow. "I assure you, there is nothing you can do to me that has not been done before."

"Now, see, that's one of the questions I wanted to ask," the Priest said. "I will not press you with questions regarding the South's plans. We have spies on your side, so there's little you can tell me that I don't already know. What I don't have, however, is information about you."

Gooseflesh rippled up Kai's arms.

"And not just you," the Priest said. "The whole West is a mystery to us! You made a number of brave announcements in your speech today. That's why you're still alive right now."

"So you meant to kill me?"

"Before you could finish your speech, yes. The risk of the South actually banding together and forming a militia because of you was too great."

"I'm flattered that you think me capable of that."

The Priest smiled wryly. "You also mentioned the West, and the Overlord's unexpected death. Siara decided that, if you were telling the truth, the information in your mind was too valuable to waste, even on a dramatic assassination."

"And so you Priests shot me in the ribs, then kidnapped me. That way, the crowd, thinking me dead, would still unravel, and Siara could have his information."

"Actually, shooting your ribs was an accident. The arrow was dipped in a poison that put you to sleep when you were cut. Siara meant to shoot your shoulder, but when your regent pushed you…"

"Ah. That was a risky move on your part."

"You're very lucky. If the arrow hadn't lodged in bone, it would have pierced your lung. You might have died."

"I'm a fair hand at avoiding death."

"There are some that would kill for that power- no pun intended."

"It's not a power. It's luck."

"You don't actually believe that."

No, Kai did not.

"You killed the Overlord," the Priest pressed on.

"I never said that."

"But it was implied in your speech."

"Was it?"

"My patience wears thin, Kaytake."

"So what if I killed him? He was just one man."

"One man who came back from the dead after over six hundred winters of silence. One man who overnight and singlehandedly destroyed the West." A beat, and then: "One man who, as our Scriptures say, can only be defeated by one who has taken the power of God."

Kai did his best to maintain a neutral face. He had known from the start that, eventually, someone would make this connection. And the worst part was, technically, they weren't wrong: he had taken God's power to defeat Overlord. Or, rather, he had been given a medium to tap into that power. He didn't possess it any more than he possessed the ocean. He had simply been gifted a cup with which to draw from its vast waters.

If only this power was as effective at cutting ropes as it was at repelling demons.

If only he still had Moonsong, so he could use its powers to get into this Priest's head and free himself.

"I don't know what to tell you," Kai said. "I didn't take Mena's power. If I had, would I be here right now?"

"A fair point. So you're a liar?"

"Overlord is gone."

"Gone?"

"Dead. I'm sure of it. I saw it happen."

"If not by the power of God, then how?"

"By the power of the Blades." He hated to lie about something this important, but there was no other way out of this situation: he couldn't tell the Priest that he had used the power of the "Retired" God to defeat Overlord. Doing so would damn himself and the entire South. And possibly the West as well.

"But Beun's Blade was still here during the time that you claim Overlord died."

"What Scripture says that all the Blades need to be present for Overlord to die?"

The Priest had no answer.

"There were three Blades in the West: Lei's, Mena's, and Nen's," Kai said.

"Who wielded Mena's Blade?"

Kai supposed there wasn't much point hiding at least the broadest details. Especially if, as the Priest had said, there were already spies in Sheshin Keep. "The green-eyed man you saw in the plaza."

The Priest blinked, seeming genuinely surprised by this. He took a notebook from his pocket and made a note. "Who is he?"

"Prince Wu's grandson."

"So, the Blessed bloodline might still have some life in it…" The Priest shook his head. "This could change things, if you're telling the truth."

Kai knew he wouldn't get an answer if he tried, and so didn't bother asking what these "things" were. "You say that you have spies," he said. "And yet you did not know about the green-eyed man?"

"We knew that there was a Blessed…with you." He said it hesitantly, glancing at Kai's wedding earring, and Kai knew, with a sigh, exactly what the Priest was thinking. "But we did not know who he was."

"Well, now you have at least some small picture of it."

A beat of awkward silence.

"So," the Priest ventured, "your current story is that you, along with a Blessed and…"

"The Western Lord, son of Terol Keith."

"…and…Lord Keith…killed the Overlord using your Blades."

"Yes."

"And what of the Overlord's body?"

"I didn't exactly bring back his head on a pike."

"That's the problem."

"You don't even know what Overlord looks like, so how would you know I killed him, even if I did bring back the body?"

"So at last we come to the heart of the issue. We need proof that you actually killed the Overlord. Who, aside from your fellow Blade-wielders, witnessed his death?"

"Two women. My wife, and Coleman's."

"…Ah. And they are the only witnesses?"

"Yes."

"This is the first I've heard of your wife. She didn't come back east with you?"

"Because of the plague. Lord Keith put the whole island under quarantine. I don't know when I'll be able to see her again. Or…" He faltered.

Or if I'll ever see her again.

The Priest sighed, putting away his notebook. "I'm sorry to say, things don't look good for you. You could have lived- and maybe even become the next King!- if you truly had ascended to godhood by taking Mena's power to defeat the Overlord."

"But I didn't."

"But you didn't. Which either makes you a liar or a madman."

"Why not both?"

"I'll leave such judgements to my superiors." The Priest paused, cocking his head. "I think Iri's finally here with your food. Took the boy long enough. Ah, here, you kept your end of the bargain." He slipped the Diadem over Kai's head just as the door flew open.

A man strode in bearing not a tray of food, but a bow. A long, graceful thing, which he wore unstrung on his back. Middle-aged, with sandy hair barely long enough to tie back from his face. Kai recognized this man immediately, even in civilian clothes: a steady hand praying over citizens; a quiet mouth whispering in the ear of his Lord Rector; a hard, intent pair of eyes downcast behind reading glasses as he read Scripture in the Southern Temple.

A man perched on a roof in the plaza, aiming a poisoned arrow at the descendant of a Patriarch whose bloodline he had sworn to honor above his own life.

Josi was right, Kai thought ruefully. The plaza was too dangerous. If I get back alive, I'll never hear the end of it.

"Bishop Siara." The Priest bowed, touching his third and fourth fingers to his forehead.

"Javan," Siara replied offhandedly. His eyes went directly to Kai. "Anything?"

"Nothing conclusive yet."

"What about the green-eyed?"

"Wu's grandson, allegedly."

"The son of that damned maverick, Lou. Of course." Siara sighed. "Kaytake. Did your green-eyed friend have anything to do with the Overlord's defeat?"

Kai hesitated. "He was incapacitated just before I dealt the final blow. But, yes. He played his part in what happened that day."

"But neither of you took Mena's power?"

"…No."

"All right." Siara set his mouth in a thin line. "We proceed as planned."

"You received word from the Lord Rector, then?" Javan asked.

"Yes."

"What plan is this?" Kai asked- he couldn't help himself this time.

"It's none of your concern," Siara said. "Javan, continue questioning him. He has damned himself; you might as well get as much information out of him as possible before the execution."

"Oh, I was wondering how I was going to die. A public hanging once the South has been razed?"

Siara was stone-faced. "Yes," he said. "You will answer all of Javan's questions timely and truthfully, or I will hear of it."

"I wouldn't dream otherwise, Siara." Kai's deliberate omission of Siara's honorific was not lost on them. Javan raised an eyebrow. Siara scowled, but turned away without acknowledging the insult.

"That settles that," he said to Javan, hiking the straps of his bow higher on his shoulder. "If I'm not back by daybreak, move immediately to a new location."

"Yes, Bishop."

And he left without looking back.

Javan stood by the door, lips pursed.

"Where is he going?" Kai asked.

"He's fulfilling an order from the Middle Lord Rector himself," Javan said. "Do not ask again." He opened the door. "I'm going to see what's taking Iri so long with your food…"

When Garmadon opened his study door and saw Vara inside, he breathed a small sigh of relief: he hadn't been sure she'd listen to his request to meet him here. She did not look happy about it, though, seated by his desk with her back turned to him. She did not acknowledge his presence.

His eyes drifted, as a matter of course, to the lock-box on his desk, and to the open bottle of wine beside it. He touched the key in his coat pocket.

No turning back. He motioned for his two Guards- trusted men who had been in his service since the beginning, with hair nearly as gray as his own- to follow him into the study. They did, looking a little surprised, and shut the door.

"Hey," Garmadon said to Vara. "Thank you for coming."

"What do you want?"

Garmadon stood still for a moment. He realized he was fiddling with his key and quickly withdrew his clammy hand. He cleared his throat.

Words did not come, so he went to his chair on the other side of the desk. A physical barrier between him and his Aida, to compliment the ever-present invisible one. Not for the first time, he wondered what had happened between them. Where was the daughter who had been so vulnerable with him nearly a week ago?

She had hope, then, Garmadon thought. She thought I could change. That I would end the war.

Well, he would end this war. Just not in a way that anyone had anticipated.

It's better this way. He closed his eyes, steeling himself. This way, everyone gets what they want.

When he reopened his eyes, Vara's steady, cool gaze made him flinch. He turned to the window, to the thick and snowy woods on the sloping hill below the keep. On clear days he could see all the way to the eastern coast. But today was overcast.

"It's so quiet," he said finally.

"I wonder how long it will last. Will we be able to hear the South's screams from here?"

Garmadon had spent too many years in politics to let his eyes betray him, but inwardly he winced. "Where did we go wrong?" he asked. "When I gave you that picture of your mother, and we had that talk, I thought we were getting somewhere. How did we take so many steps backward? South aside, is this because of Deniel?"

"Not really," Vara said, and looked away. "Though, I don't like it. He should not be in jail."

"The High General doesn't trust Deniel," Garmadon explained. "Maybe he's innocent, maybe he's not. I'm sorry, Vara. I've postponed his trial until after the war, but I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

Vara scoffed.

"I'm trying to protect you, Vara."

"I don't want your protection."

Garmadon set his mouth in a hard line. Vara shifted her body away from him, nose still upturned as though she'd caught a bad smell.

It really was quiet. Not a footfall disturbed the quiet within the keep. Not a breeze stirred the trees outside. It seemed as if the entire world held its breath.

Ever since Lloyd died, he thought heavily, it hasn't been the same.

"Someone very desperately wants you dead," Garmadon said. "And possibly me, too. You are my only heir, so the only logical conclusion I can draw is that they want Deniel to take the crown instead of you. Whether Deniel is in on this plot, or if he's being unwittingly used, I cannot say. But I wholeheartedly believe that it is best to err on the side of caution and keep him behind bars until more information is found. Our lives are at stake."

"Are you afraid of dying, Garmadon?"

A long pause. Garmadon reached under his desk and pulled a hidden catch, retrieving a sheet of paper and his small vial of opaque liquid. He left the vial to the side by his wine, and glanced over the contents of the paper one last time. This was it, the culmination of all his careful planning, written and rewritten painstakingly by candlelight the night before. No longer would he be used by the Priests. No longer would he have to bear his daughter's hatred, or his wife's fear, or the grief of his son's death.

I won't see him again, Garmadon thought. Not even in the afterlife. But at least I will be freed from this burden.

Garmadon dipped his pen, but hesitated above the paper.

Eventually he set the pen down and folded his hands on the desk. "No," he said. "I have no fear of death. I am, however, afraid for my legacy."

Vara's expression for once shifted to something besides anger. "What is that word?" she asked.

"Ah…" It was easy to forget that there were still some common words in this language she had not heard before. "It…well, a legacy means how people will remember you once you're gone. I wouldn't mind dying if it was for something worth being remembered for."

"And how do you think people will remember you?"

He gave her a tight, tentative smile. "These are uncertain times. If I were to leave suddenly, and not come back, I don't want you to look back on memories of me like a black thread in the tapestry of your life. In the same way, I don't want this country to see me as the King who decimated the South, and who failed in his duty to fight the Overlord. I…I don't want to be remembered as the one who hurt your mother."

"But that is what you did," Vara said. "You are the one who hurt my mother, and the entire South. You are the King who failed to fight Overlord," she snarled. "And more than that, you left your daughter to grow up in his hell."

This time, Garmadon could not control his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Finally, steeling his jaw, he picked up the pen again and signed the paper with a steady hand. A heavy, resigned half-peace kept his heart from thundering so violently it fell from its place under his breast. Still, he felt his pulse in his fingertips as he held Vara's cold stare.

"I didn't know," he said, and folded the paper into careful thirds. "No one knew that the Overlord would come back. At the time, the West was the safest place for you to grow up. When the Overlord came back I tried to fight, but we didn't have the Blades of our Patriarchs. Only a tenth of my soldiers returned from their attempt to take the West back. And the Overlord only allowed that many to survive, I'm sure, as a warning for me not to try again. Know this, Vara: I wanted to fight back. I wanted to save those who had survived Overlord's massacre in the West. But my advisors-"

"Your advisors do not rule this country," Varasach interrupted. "You do."

"A good leader listens to his advisors."

"A good leader knows when his advisors are wrong, and chooses the better way for those that follow him." She gestured out the window. "The South is begging for mercy! Are you still going to do this? Murder their children, burn their homes? And for what? To assert your dominance, to remind them that you have ultimate power over who lives and who dies? To fill the survivors with fear, make them all fall to their knees before your awesome, godlike power? If you let the West's fate become the South's as well, what does that make you?"

Garmadon blinked, at a loss for words, and shook his head. "I…"

"No," she cut him off. "If you use your power to make people afraid, then you are not the King. You are Overlord."

Garmadon stood sharply. Vara immediately, audibly snapped her mouth shut and cowered, red hair falling over her face.

This display of submission was all too familiar to him: wide, fearful, downcast eyes; trembling lips; body frozen with terror as she braced herself for the inevitable, merciless fall of his hand. Kaeli. Misako. He'd grown used to it, in much the same way that one learned to live with chronic pain. But to see this haunting look in the eyes of his own daughter…

I tried, he thought despairingly and, to safely release his frustration, pounded his fists on the desk. Vara jumped. I tried, I tried, I tried so damn hard to change!

Everything he ever did after Kaeli, he'd done for Lloyd. Lloyd, his small, pink-skinned babe. His treasured son who never outgrew that beautiful spark of laughter in his eyes, who never lost his brightness, his enduring love of life- or even of his broken family. Not even to the day he died.

Everything Garmadon did after Kaeli, he did in the hopes of cutting his temptations from the picture, both metaphorically and then, after careful consideration and under great secrecy, literally. Everything he did, he did it so he could be there, really, truly be there, for his child, and so he could never hurt Misako again.

After all, no harm done in his wife's eyes if her abusive husband couldn't take her, or any other woman, into his bed again.

He'd hoped that would be enough to sate the vast, deep waters of his guilt. When it wasn't- when he felt in his heart the depths of his depravity, of the severity of his crimes toward the First King, he dedicated his life to hounding out the heathen believers of the Retired God. If he got them all- if, after all these generations of secrecy and bloodshed, he finally cleansed the land of its religious infidelity- maybe his soul would be freed from this insatiable guilt.

But clearly, he thought as his daughter cowered in her chair, it was never enough. Some men are beyond hope.

Unclenching his fists, he rounded the desk and knelt by her. He could feel her terror as she kept her eyes on her knees, waiting for his physical retaliation.

Never, he thought. Though he moved slowly, she still flinched when he touched her hair. Despite what you've been taught all your life, Aida, you will never have to fear my hand. He ran his fingers gently through her curls, swept them gently back behind her ear. She did not pull away, but he knew that was more out of fear than anything else.

"So, this is my legacy," he whispered shakily. "It is nothing short of what I deserve, but I had hoped that there would be something…"

Vara kept a white-knuckled grip on the arms of her chair and did not reply.

It had been foolish- selfish, even- to ever hope that she could feel anything but hatred for him. Friendship- the mutual building of trust, of loyalty, of true love- was a luxury he'd never possessed in his life. Except, perhaps, with Lloyd. But even their relationship had been so deeply rooted in lies, shadowed by the ghosts of Garmadon's vile youth, that he found no joy looking back on memories of his son's affection: only guilt, which haunted his every waking moment.

Well, what did I expect?

This hope that he'd clung to. This…this fantasy that he would somehow find redemption if he made things right with his daughter. There was no redemption for a man like him.

Garmadon planted a gentle, lingering kiss on the top of Vara's head. Then, with weak legs, he stood and went back to his chair. He lit his sealing wax and let it melt, drop by drop, onto the folded edge of the paper. He blew out the wick and pressed his seal- Mena's Tree- into the wax. Then he picked up the vial.

"How…how are your burns?" he asked.

"Um…" Vara recomposed herself with a deep breath, but she still couldn't look him in the eyes. "Better. I do not feel them much, if I'm careful."

"Good," he said, spinning the vial contemplatively between his fingers. He pulled the stopper and considered counting the drops, but instead just tipped the vial and poured about three-quarters of it into the wine. Then he closed the vial and set it and the signed paper in the metal box. He locked it and, after weighing the key in his hand for a moment, slid it across the desk to Vara. The sound of metal on wood drew the Guards' eyes to his hand.

It was risky, doing this in the presence of these Guards who would inevitably realize what was happening and try to stop him. But their attendance was necessary, if his plan was to succeed.

"The box is yours, Vara," he said. "It will remain in my study for now. But keep the key on your person, as close as you keep your mother's locket, until the time is right. Do you understand?"

Vara nodded hesitantly. "Wh..when…" She took another deep breath. "When is the right time?"

"Lou will tell you," Garmadon said. "Don't mention this to him yet, please. But he will know the right time."

Vara took the key and placed it in her pocket.

"Don't lose it," Garmadon warned her. "This is very important. I know you don't want to, but I need you to put it on the chain with your locket. Not for long!" he assured her when she opened her mouth to protest. "Only until tomorrow. Do it now. Do not let it out of your sight, even for a minute. Do not give it away."

Vara looked ready to object, but her visibly lingering fear won over. She did as she was told.

"Thank you," Garmadon said softly, when she was done. "You may go."

His daughter sprang from the chair and, eyes on her feet, without a parting word, retreated from the study. The Guards shut the door after her.

Garmadon had known these particular Guards long enough to recognize that, though they remained professional in their posture, they were shaken by what they had witnessed.

Garmadon sighed. He stood, taking the bottle of wine in one hand. "I'm going to bed," he said.

"My King…" said Hal, standing with one arm slightly raised, as though he intended to bar the door. "If I may-"

"No, Hal, you may not," Garmadon said. He smiled wanly at the pair. "Despite all reason, you have been loyal to me for countless winters. I ask you to trust me, one more time."

"If you are trying to subvert the Lord Rector, I promise there are better ways," the second Guard, Jirel, said. "I've said it before, if my King will pardon my boldness. If you were to resist, we would be with you. I know many who feel the same way."

"Thank you," Garmadon said. "But it's too late for that. My mind is made up. If you try to stop me, I will have you cashiered."

"Do you think we give a damn about our uniforms?" Jirel snapped.

"No," Garmadon said. "I know you don't. That's why I chose you as my witnesses. Please, don't let me down. The future of this country depends on your testimonies." He placed his free hand on Jarel's shoulder. "If I am your King, honor my word one last time."

Jirel looked ready to object, but Hal raised a hand.

"Hal!"

"I suppose your mind is made up," Hal said, ignoring his partner.

"It is," Garmadon said.

"And…the girl?"

"It is all written in the document in the lockbox. I am not fleeing. Quite the contrary: this is the most powerful thing I could do against the Priests."

Hal's jaw flexed as he considered what was undoubtably the most important decision of his life.

"I am prepared to drink this here and now if you don't let me through," Garmadon said. "But if it's all the same to you, I would very much like to enjoy the sunrise tomorrow."

Hal's hand tightened on his sword.

Then he sagged in defeat.

"Thank you," Garmadon whispered. He touched Hal's arm. "I told you it was medicine. Neither of you made any assumptions beyond that. You simply followed your King's orders."

Hal bowed weakly, a hand on his breast, a hand on his sword, but Jirel remained indignant.

"Stand outside my room," Garmadon ordered. "Don't let anyone in until the ninth hour of the morning tomorrow. I apologize for the long hours, but I don't feel well; I'm off to sleep, and I don't trust anyone else to watch over me tonight."

With Hal and Jirel following in quiet defeat, Garmadon made the familiar trek to his bedroom. In the doorway, he turned briefly back, one side of his mouth raised in a small, weary smile. He raised his bottle in salute.

"Goodnight."

I was listening to the Child of Light soundtrack while editing this last night and of course the final song, Off to Sleep by Coeur de Pirate, started playing while I was working on those final few lines. It just about broke my heart, so I had to work it in. Doesn't help that I had some residual angst already in my system from finishing Stranger Things 3 a few hours prior.

Thank you all for your continued support. Comments and reviews are appreciated. Have a good one, and I'll see you in two weeks