Flame 009: Thanks for your compliments! And yeah, StoneByrd's stories are pretty wicked.

Avalyn Claire: That's an excellent question! I'm actually not sure when he'll open it. I've written a few different instances where he did, but it's never felt exactly right. I guess we've just gotta wait for the right time. But don't worry! If Jay doesn't open it by the end of the story, I'll let you all know what Nya said.

Thank you all for your reviews! For future reference, guest reviewers, don't get nervous if your review takes a few days to show up: I have to log into the site and manually approve them before they're available for public viewing. They didn't get lost in transit. :)

Oh boy, you guys. Oh boy. That's about all I can say. Enjoy~

With Blood on your Robes

Deniel was accustomed to people walking past his cell at all odd hours of the day, so he thought nothing of yet another set of footsteps until it stopped outside his cell. He heard the jangle of keys and looked up from his book, expecting to see a Guard coming with his meal or to change the chamberpot. The Lord Rector entered instead, mouth set in a grim line.

"Lord Rector." Deniel pocketed his book and stood, bowing with his third and fourth fingers to his forehead.

"Den," the Lord Rector replied, indicating that their conversation would be informal. "Come with me."

He straightened. "Am I being released?"

"Not officially, no." His grandfather gestured urgently. "We don't have much time."

Deniel looked his grandfather up and down, wary as he remembered the spy Kyle's suspicions. The bloody robe in his wardrobe; the precise knife wounds in the horse Zak had stolen. "What's going on?"

"This place isn't safe anymore." He took Deniel's arm and pulled him toward the door. "We need to get out of here."

Deniel didn't like the hard look on his grandfather's face. He jerked himself free and took a step back. "You're not answering me. What's going on?"

The Lord Rector turned back, eyes darting nervously. "The South planted explosives down here," he said. "The entire keep is going to fall. We need to get out."

Explosives! How had the South managed that? It didn't seem probable, especially when Deniel considered the number of Guards he had seen patrolling the dungeon these last few days. They couldn't all be Southern plants like Kyle: sneaking one fake Guard into the King's Keep was one thing. But an entire squadron?

"Is the keep evacuated?" Deniel asked.

"No. There's no time. We must leave, now."

"No time?" Deniel scoffed. "If you know there are explosives, then you must know where the fuse is. If the line is cut- or the soldiers left here to light it are stopped- then there shouldn't be a problem."

"There is no time."

"No time, my ass! Tell me, at least, that the Blesseds are out."

The Lord Rector hesitated.

Deniel stared at his grandfather. "Un-" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Unbelievable. I didn't want to believe him."

"Believe who?"

Deniel shoved past him and out of the cell.

"Den- Deniel!"

Snatching a lamp from the wall, Deniel ran to the next cell over and pushed the door open. Two small wooden crates sat in opposite corners of the room.

No.

He ran to the next and found the same. He remembered the crates he'd seen upon his arrest several days ago, littered about the halls and inside open cell doors. Crates which the Guards hadn't questioned.

Oh, no.

"Den!"

How many people were in on this plot? High General Santi? Derek? The entire Priesthood? He didn't want to believe it.

"Deniel!"

He quickly checked two more cells. More of the same. No fuses, but maybe that was only necessary for a few crates: once they blew, it could start a chain reaction. If the buckling of the Keep's foundations didn't kill everyone inside, the subsequent fiery collapse of the mansion itself certainly would.

Oh, Hosts, he had to find that fuse!

Upon leaving the second cell Deniel came face to face with two Guards he did not recognize. One man with an odd scar across his forehead snatched his lamp from him before he could react.

"Den." The Lord Rector stood just behind them, breathless. "Please, child, calm down for a minute so I can explain."

"You did this," Deniel whispered. The gravity of the situation, of suspicions whispered in the dark corners of his mind at last coming to terrible, bright light, nearly shook him to his knees. He backed away from the two Guards: they followed, cornering him against the cold stone wall by an open cell door. "Why?" After a moment of silence, he asked again: "Why, Grandfather?"

"Do you know the story of Vara's heritage?"

"She's the King's daughter. You can't do this to her! She's the last living heir to the-"

"The last young Blessed, yes. The daughter of a slave and a whore in the West for much of her life. Good riddance." The Lord Rector spat to the side. "She admitted shortly after her arrival here that she cannot even have children. Even if she were to take the Crown, the Blessed line may still end with her."

"There are rumors about other Blesseds. Prince Wu's line may be alive in the South."

"You are too young to remember the trouble Wu caused. He allied with our greatest enemies, a people so secret and dangerous that you could never begin to understand the threat they pose to the Known World. We cannot risk having a loose cannon on the throne. The green-eyed boy residing in Sheshin Keep was, to the best of my knowledge, assassinated this morning. The only other Blesseds are here, in the King's Keep, and they will die this very hour."

Deniel tried to dart around the Guards. The scarred man's shorter companion grabbed him roughly by the arms and shoved him into the open cell. Deniel rubbed his smarting bicep and snarled, "I know what you want from me. I swear by Mena and all his Hosts I will never take that crown."

"Don't be so short-sighted, boy. The Blessed line has been corrupted; what happened with Prince Wu and his descendants is proof of that. We have a unique opportunity to better our world and change the course of human history!"

"Believe me, grandfather, when I say that I am not the change you want."

"Put aside your storybook romanticism for one moment and listen to-"

"No."

"Listen to me! If you stay here, you will die, too, and then where will our country be?"

"My life doesn't matter one iota in the grand scheme of things," Deniel said. He gestured fiercely with his hand. "Look into my eyes, Lord Rector Waren, and hear me well: I will not play your game. I will not- I will not- be your puppet. I pity the Blesseds for the way your kind has treated them, and I have no desire to fill their shoes after you murder them."

The old man's jaw worked as he considered this. "This is your choice?"

"It is."

"All right." He turned away, but not before Deniel saw the grief in his grandfather's eyes as he ordered: "Lock him up."

The Guards did not share the Priest's remorse as they shut and locked the door, then followed him away from the cell.

Deniel peered out through the bars. "Don't do this to me," he said.

The Lord Rector paused in his steps, but did not look back. His voice wavered. "I must, Den."

"You misunderstand me, grandfather," Deniel growled through his teeth. "Don't do this to me. If you're going to have me killed, at least have the decency to do it yourself."

The Lord Rector finally turned, incredulous.

"Take that Guard's sword," Deniel said. "If you mean this- if you truly believe that this is what is best for our country- take that man's weapon and kill me yourself. Look me in the eyes as you do, as my blood stains your hands and your Priestly robes. And when you leave this place, you go outside, look up at the stars, and tell the First King that you won."

By the dim light of the Guard's lantern, tears glimmered on the old man's face. He opened his mouth to speak, shaking his head weakly.

And then he turned, leaving hurriedly with hands clenched at his sides.

Deniel watched the Priest and his entourage silently, one hand on the bars. As they faded from view, so did the light, until he was left in total darkness, with nothing to ground him but the stone, and the quiet dripping of water somewhere far away.

Plink.

Feeling the walls, he sank to the floor and drew his legs to his chest, breathing shakily, and waited.

I can't keep this up much longer, Grayrose thrummed.

Varasach stepped lightly, muscles taut, keeping one hand on Lou's arm as they crept down the long, dim hallway toward the dungeon entrance.

You must, Vara said. Please, Grayrose. We're almost there.

Somehow she could feel the Amulet's fatigue: it was nearing the end of what it could manage without more moonlight. But it obeyed her and pressed on: it knew, as they all did, what would happen if the Lord Rector found them.

They passed the open doors of the kitchen, busy with the sounds and smells of many hands preparing breakfast. Still, she cursed these hardwood floors: the carpet upstairs was much easier to quietly run across, and she worried that Peran's heavy boots would give them away.

Garmadon lay slung over Lou's shoulder, unconscious. His cheeks and lips remained pale, but she'd take this over the blueness of when they'd first found him convulsing on the floor, broken wine glass beside him. Poisoned by- God help them all, poisoned by his own hand.

Can't think of that now. Later.

Lou motioned with his free hand to a door near the end of the hall, guarded by a single man. So that was the dungeon. The Guard, of course, did not see them: he slouched against the doorframe, fiddling with the hem of his gloves.

Just a little further. Perhaps once they were on the other side of that door, they would be safe.

Can you really trust him? Grayrose asked.

Lou? Varasach looked at him. His attention was on the Guard, no doubt considering how to get past the man. Why are you bringing this up now? You're the one that can sense when someone wants to harm me, and you said he was trustworthy.

That was before I realized he was Implanted. He used a spessartine Gem on the Priest. He can hide his true thoughts from me if he wishes. No one with good intentions would have that monstrosity under their skin.

You are just looking for an excuse to hate him. He was Overlord against his will, once. The Gems were put in him during that time. Be honest. What has Lou himself done to warrant your suspicion?

He is a Blessed. He saved Garmadon.

He also saved my life, Grayrose, and more importantly he is helping me defend the South. Do not forget that. We cannot live our lives mistrusting everyone we meet.

Zak?

How do you know that? Varasach was alarmed for a moment before realizing her error. I…right. You were there.

Garmadon stirred and moaned softly. Lou and Varasach froze; Peran walked into her, nearly knocking her to the floor. She caught herself and glanced nervously at Lou. The Guard straightened, a hand on his weapon. Not good.

Lou closed his eyes briefly and breathed deeply in. On the exhale, Garmadon quieted and slipped back into unconsciousness. Lou looked to Peran and Varasach and raised a finger for quiet, then motioned them closer to the wall.

A moment later, the Guard leapt with alarm and drew his sword, dashing away from his post and past them with wide eyes.

Lou grabbed Varasach's arm and pulled her, with Peran following, to the door. He opened it just wide enough for them to slip through. Lou went last, and shut it gently behind them. Varasach noted how his hand trembled as he lowered the latch slowly to stifle the sound. Sweat beaded on his brow as he looked around. They stood on a small landing at the top of a spiral stone staircase lit by torches.

Lou nodded to Varasach: they were safe now. Grayrose quickly and gratefully lowered the shield.

"What was that?" Peran asked. "Why did the Guard run?"

"Auditory illusion," Lou whispered back, pressing one hand against the wall to steady himself. He looked ill. "I made him think someone was screaming in the kitchen. Are you all right, Vara?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I'll be fine. Something about the air, I think… Let's just get off these stairs. Quietly, though. Peran, did you encounter anyone down here earlier?"

"Except for the Guard you just scared off, no."

"Good. Come on."

Varasach glanced back at the grim wooden door before following Lou down the stairs. Though the staircase was wide enough for two to walk side by side, Peran walked behind her. She kept one hand on the stone wall as she descended, one step at a time, all the while cursing her slowness.

But then again, the last time she'd been down here, she had to be carried by her Guards. At least now she was out of the wheelchair.

Lou let out a sharp breath. He reached for the wall to steady himself as Garmadon slid from his shoulder- Peran dashed around Varasach and narrowly caught the King in both arms.

"Lou?" Varasach grabbed the back of his vest as he slumped forward. "Lou!"

But what could she do with her small strength? Lou's knees buckled, and he slipped out of her grasp and tumbled down the half dozen or so remaining steps. The noise of his rolling body and his pained, surprised shout echoed loudly around them.

"Lou!" Varasach rushed as best she could to where he lay prone at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you okay?"

Lou pushed himself shakily onto his elbows, and then to his knees. He touched his forehead; his hand came away bloody. "I… Damn." His voice was strained. "This place was made from vengestone."

"What does that mean?" Peran asked. He eased Garmadon's body to the floor and then crouched, examining Lou's head.

"I can't use my Gems."

A solemn silence followed his proclamation.

Silence.

Silence-!

Varasach gripped the Amulet in her good hand and searched her mind for its presence. She felt nothing.

"We…we have to keep moving." Lou waved Peran's hand away. Blood dripped down his temple and he touched it again, looking perplexed. "It's been a long time since I've had to deal with pain." A wry chuckle. "Of course this happens when I need these cursed Gems most. Your Amulet isn't here either, eh?"

Varasach shook her head

"I did not anticipate this." Lou wiped his hand on his trousers. He glanced around. They stood in a large, circular torchlit chamber with a number of halls branching out from it. "If no one heard that, there's a chance we might be alone after all. Pray to whatever god you serve that it stays that way."

Varasach did, with much anxiety, as Peran helped Lou to his feet. The Blessed hissed and doubled over, a hand on his ribs.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Peran asked as he offered his hand to Varasach. She accepted and came unsteadily to her own feet.

"I have to be," Lou replied. "I…damn. Would you give me Garmadon?"

"I can carry him."

"You're the only one who can protect us right now."

"Oh," said a familiar, softer voice. Varasach whirled and saw the Lord Rector exiting a hall toward them, a Guard on each side. The old man drew a knife from his pocket. "That makes my job easier."

Lou took Varasach by the shoulder- his grip was weak- and pushed her behind himself. "So you didn't learn your lesson the first time, Waren?" His voice was firm. "I will kill you."

Waren's tight smile showed no teeth. He spread his arms in challenge.

Lou stood still and scowled.

"Heh." Waren glanced about the room. "The foundations of the King's Keep are made from a stone which inhibits your ability to use your Blades? Or are they not Blades." He pointed with his long, wicked barbed knife to Varasach; Lou pulled her close behind himself. "Your mother's locket. It has the abilities of a Blade, doesn't it?"

"It's mine," Varasach snapped. "You cannot take it."

"I wasn't going to take it from you, child. It is a relic of the Third Age, and I have no want nor use for it." He gestured with his knife. "High General Peran. It's been a while. What did you do to the King?"

Peran's jaw flexed.

"Did Lou force you to help him escape after you failed to mete out your revenge? You should come with me, Clouse. With my help you may get your revenge not only on him, but on all the Blesseds."

Peran hesitated, glancing sideways at Varasach.

"I heard what happened to your son," the Lord Rector continued. "My condolences. I know how hard that must have been, losing your last link to your childhood sweetheart- who died because of Garmadon, might I-"

"Don't go there," Peran said quietly, shaking his head. "You played just as big a part as the King in that fiasco."

"So you won't join me?"

"With all due respect, Waren, go fuck yourself."

The Guards tensed.

The Lord Rector blinked. Then he sighed and motioned with his free hand. His Guards immediately drew their swords. Peran drew his as well- and then dropped it with a startled cry as the Lord Rector's knife cut clean through his palm. He gripped his hand close to his chest; blood spurted on his gray coat.

"Put them in three separate cells, far apart from each other," the Lord Rector ordered. "The bastard can stay with her father."

"Don't touch her," Lou hissed, eyes flashing, teeth bared with the ferocity of a wild dog as the Guards took him firmly by the arms and pulled him away from Varasach. He struggled against them to no avail. "If you harm a hair on her head, I will kill you all. She will be your Queen, Lord Rector. Treat her with respect!"

"She is not my Queen," the Lord Rector said. "She will die here, along with the rest of you condemned green-eyes. Then, at last, our land will be freed of its vices. The plague will end; there will be peace again."

"Do you really think committing murder will abolish the plague? Or is that just the bullshit you spoon feed your followers so they will help you get the Crown?"

"His…his grandson," Peran said with effort. The barbed knife still jutted from his left hand, trickling blood. He gripped his sword in his off-hand now- Varasach wasn't sure when he'd picked it back up- and had sidled close to her.

The Lord Rector's face darkened. "Not my grandson," he said. "He's chosen his side. He will die with you."

"So, even your own blood can see the madness of this plot!" Lou exclaimed as he was dragged down a hall by the Guards, into darkness. Varasach leaped after him, but Peran quickly blocked her path, shaking his head severely. "You kill the South! You kill the sick who may have survived this plague, had they only been given access to Cyrus Borg's medicine! You kill the oldest, purest bloodline left in the entire world, and all of our people's history. All for power- the oldest and most dangerous vice known to mankind. You think you are freeing the world? You are destroying it."

"Can't you move any faster?" the Lord Rector snapped. His Guards quickened their pace, but Varasach could hear Lou shouting long after he faded into the darkness.

Varasach trembled in Peran's shadow. The High General gritted his teeth.

"I came here to bring her home," Peran told the Lord Rector. "I knew you would hurt her, one way or another. But I never thought you would go this far. Killing your own blood, too?" His mouth trembled. "I would give anything to have Analis and Makeri back. How- Damn you, how can you do this to yourself?"

"Do you think this is easy for me?" the Lord Rector asked. And then there were tears in his eyes. He howled with frustration, gripping his thinning white hair in his hands as he turned from them, struggling against himself for a few shaky breaths before pulling another knife from some hidden sheath on his person. With wet cheeks he pointed it at Peran and Varasach. "Do you think I feel no pain? That my heart, my very soul is glad for the things I have done?" He gestured behind himself, at the hallway he had come from. "I just left my boy to die, and I can't do anything about it."

Peran followed the Lord Rector's hand, quiet for a long moment. "There was another boy," he said softly, "wise beyond his years, who told me the surest way to know whether you are walking the right path- walking in the truth. If I'd only listened, he'd still be alive today. Do you know what he told me?"

The Lord Rector just stared, face contorted in anguish and rage.

"He said the right path makes your heart shudder with fear. But as you walk it, your soul is completely at peace." He smiled grimly. "Telling, isn't it?"

Brisk footsteps broke the silence; one of the two Guards came back down to the central chamber, looking at the Lord Rector questioningly.

"It's about time," the Lord Rector snapped. He turned, hiding his face from everyone. "Lock them up."

Cults. Gotta love them.

There's a little touch of a poet inside me who is entirely too pleased with Deniel. Writing his thoughts and dialogue gives me a certain creative liberty that I've never had with TG before. Cole comes close sometimes, but he's missing that bright-eyed, hopeful romanticism which Deniel shamelessly shows off like a favorite hat.

Oh boy, you know you're in trouble when you look back and realize nearly every character you've ever written is either a hopeless cynic, or dead. I love you, Den. Watch yourself. And rest easy, Lloyd and Akins. You are missed and loved.

If you're confused by these references to Peran's past, don't worry, you probably can't blame your memory: Peran has stoutly refused to let readers know the truth about his past and this mysterious Analis. All the flashbacks I wrote didn't make the cut, either, so I started writing a prequel novella like two years ago explaining exactly what happened, but he dug his heels in the dirt and refused to budge, soo... Yeah, maybe you'll get to know why Peran hates everyone someday. Sorry.

Thank you all for your support and your reviews. We've only got a few chapters left: one written, one almost written, and then (for real, probably) the epilogue. However many chapters that will take. :P Special thanks, as always, to Kira Vulpes! She has done a phenomenal job cleaning up after me as I snowball recklessly down the hill toward this finale.