A/N: Woo another chapter! :) Thanks to those who have expressed interest and review! Yes, they are all in pretty bad situations, but it will eventually get better.

Chapter 5:

A/N:

abcd = Dreams/visions
"abcd" = English

The enveloping darkness surrounding him was fading. Ron could see a faint light in the far off distance and it was rushing towards him like an oncoming train. It hit him in a blinding flash and when his eyes adjusted Ron found himself standing with his family in Kings Cross Station. The bustling crowd of Muggles around them.

His family all looked so much younger, and they were alive. Ron saw all of their school trunks, minus Ginny's, piled up on the trolleys. It was the first day of term, of his first year at Hogwarts. Ron remembered the day well, it was the day that he met Harry Potter. He glanced around, and sure enough he saw the familiar head of black hair in the crowd.

Ron had forgotten how small Harry was back then. The hand-me-down clothes only made him look smaller as they hung on his skinny frame. Harry's big green eyes were once again covered with broken glasses and his scar covered by his mop of ebony hair. He looked vulnerable and lonely, but a bright spark of hope shone within his emerald eyes. Ron had never seen his friend look so alone before. But Harry was alone before he came to Hogwarts, his family hated him.

He watched as Harry shyly made his way over to them and politely asked how to get onto the platform. Ron never would have guessed that this was Harry Potter the vanquisher of Voldemort. No one expected Harry to be so normal, so shy.

A great wind picked up in the station and Kings Cross began to crumble, washed away like a chalk drawing in the rain. Colours swirled before him before beginning to settle into a new scene. The first definite thing Ron saw was a fire, its flames flickered in the flurry of colours. Then the surroundings were set and Ron could feel the warmth of the fire touch his cheeks.

He was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Hermione. It was late at night and they were the only students up. Hermione's cheeks were slightly flushed as she laughed, her chocolate eyes sparkled in the light of the fire. Harry's green eyes glinted in amusement as he chuckled along with her. Ron himself was laughing with them.

He remembered this night. Harry had kissed Cho Chang and Hermione had just accused him of having an emotional range of a teaspoon. This was back when their lives hadn't gone to shit. A night filled with fun and laughter, where they could just let go and forget all of their worries. A pang went through Ron's chest. Nights like this were taken for granted, he would give anything to have them back.

The wind picked up again distorting the surroundings, breaking them down until they were nothing but swirling colours. He was holding onto a rail, the wind was chilling his fingers but excitement surged through his veins. Then his view materialised and with it came a deafening roar. Before him was a sea of red and green but the main focus was the match. The Quidditch World cup between Bulgaria and Ireland.

Beside him were Harry and Hermione screaming themselves hoarse as they supported their chosen teams. His family were here too and it didn't even matter that the Malfoy's were in the viewing box with them. Ron was leaning out of the Ministry box to get a closer look at the game. He caught Harry's eyes and they both wore identical grins.

Harry's grin was the last thing Ron saw before the memory changed once again. A Christmas at the Burrow appeared in his vision but was gone as soon as it had come. Many more memories swam past him so fast that Ron barely even recognised what they were. The assault of memories became dizzyingly unbearable. Ron wanted to scream, he wanted them to stop!

He felt like he was on fire and at the same time like he was covered in ice. Freezing drops of sweat rolled down his burning forehead. Ron's muscles ached and his injuries throbbed in pain. Nausea bubbled away in his stomach. Somewhere in Ron's mind he realised he was laying on a soft feather bed, the sheets drenched in sweat.

Ron's eyes fluttered as he struggled to open them. He let out a groan as the bright light assaulted him and immediately shut them again. Ron felt a cold hand on his forehead and he tried to shy away but his body wouldn't cooperate. With a struggle he tried to recall his last memories. They sluggishly came to him in disjointed flashes.

"Harry," Ron slurred as he remembered his last memory before he fell unconscious.

His eyes fluttered as he tried to look at Harry, who he assumed was with him. All he saw from amidst his hazy fevered vision was Harry's glowing silhouette.

"Hermione? Voldemort?" Ron tried to ask.

Harry shushed him and Ron felt something being pressed to his lips, so he drank. It was disgusting, whatever potion it was, and he struggled to keep down. Just being awake had drained whatever little energy he had left and Ron could feel himself being pulled back down into the land of dreams. He felt Harry pressing a cool cloth to his forehead which provided some relief as he slipped off into more fevered dreams.

Like before, Ron was surrounded by the dark. He could vaguely see shapes just out of his reach. They were moving in a distorted and sluggish manner. Ron took a step forward to try and discern what they were. As his foot touched down there was an almighty smash and he instinctually ducked as a broken basin flew overhead.

Ron felt the familiarity of his wand clenched in his hand as he looked up at the scene revealing itself to him. The darkness was slowly receding to show Hermione crouched in fear underneath the basins as the great troll loomed over her with its club raised high. He saw chunks of broken wood, stone and porcelain being thrown, in an attempt to distract the troll, by Harry who was still cloaked in darkness at the edge of his memory.

He watched in a somewhat detached way, as their first trial played out. This start of the Golden Trio's friendship and setting a precedent of dangerous adventures throughout their school years. Hermione, who cowered in fear under the basin's but lied to the teachers to protect them. Harry, who selflessly and recklessly acted on instinct to stop the troll and save Hermione while using unorthodox methods. Then there was himself, who finished troll off by knocking it out with a simple spell.

As Ron gazed at the aftermath of the troll incident he noticed an odd clicking sound coming from behind him, and a cool breeze against his exposed skin. He spun around to find the ground beneath his feet was no longer the stone of the castle, but dirt and where the bathroom wall once stood was the open forest before him.

Harry was standing beside him, a lantern held in his hand, and Hagrid's dog Fang was cowering behind them. The trees around them were covered in thick silky webs. What had Ron's attention however were the thousands of beady eyes staring down at them in hunger. Harry was talking to Aragog but the words washed over Ron as the many Acromantula crept forward on their many legs, eager to have a bite to eat.

Even in a memory long past and after all that Ron had gone through, the Acromantula still sparked an intense fear within him. Had he and Harry known the nest that they were walking into before they set off, would Ron still have gone? He and Harry had mainly gone into the forest seeking answers to try and help Hermione. At that time, was Hermione important enough to Ron for him to brave a large nest of Acromantula?

As that question whirled around his mind the Acromantula disappeared and the forest around him seemed to grow younger until it resembled an entirely different forest. Ron's breath misted as he exhaled and he watched as a light blanket of snow settled on the ground.

There was a splash of water and Ron turned to see an iced-over pond behind him. There was a hole in the ice, freshly cut, with a pile of clothes sitting by it. The inky water rippled in the night beneath the ice as it was disturbed, by Harry as he struggled to get to the surface.

The sword of Gryffindor lay at the bottom of the pond. The sword that Ron won the right to wield after he went in after Harry to save him. The sword that he had used to destroy the horcrux in Slytherin's locket. The sword that Harry had bound to his blood, as if it was his by rights.

A luminescent orb smashed into the ice in front of him and Ron jumped back in shock, his wand raised in alarm. He felt his friends appear around him as more and more glowing spheres crashed down around them giving off mystical light in the darkness of the Hall of Prophecies.

Ron was running, he had no clue of who he was running with. All he saw were the masked Death Eaters and flashing green spells. His own wand moved of its own accord, firing back at Voldemort's minions. Then Ron was hit with a spell, his memory glitched and the next thing he knew was being assaulted by a living brain. Its tendrils seared into his flesh as the physical manifestations of thoughts, imparting painful knowledge, and Ron struggled to get it off.

His hands struck the wall beside the bed as Ron's arms flailed about in an attempt to dislodge the brain in his memories. Ron emitted a pained groan as he became aware of his reality. In a reaction of reliving the memory, the faint scars left from the brain stung against his flesh as though the brain still had hold of him.

A cool hand pressed against his forehead, providing some relief from the fire burning within him. Even as the heat was unbearable an icy shiver wracked his frame. Ron's throat felt sore and parched as though he had been talking nonstop for quite some time. Once again he tried to open his eyes to examine his surroundings, but the light was too bright and caused a stabbing pain behind his eyes. All he caught sight of was Harry's outline sitting beside his bed, tending to him.

It was then that Ron noticed that the pain of his injuries had lessened and that his clothes had been changed. With his mind a little more lucid in his fever, Ron wondered where he was. Had Harry found Hermione and they were now inside the tent? Before Ron could dwell further, something was pressed against his lips to drink. He recognised it as the same potion as before, and drank it without question letting it take effect.

"Voldemort's got Sirius," Harry's desperate voice echoed through the dark void Ron was suspended in.

Ron couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything.

"Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam," Harry's voice answered some unspoken question.

Ron thought back to this day. The day the war really started, when the last of their childish innocence was shattered.

"How're we going to get there?"

"Get there?" That was his own voice, it sounded so young and innocent. He hadn't sounded like that in years.

"To the ministry to rescue Sirius!" Harry shouted as if it was obvious.

"Harry. How did Voldemort get in without anyone seeing him, or Sirius for that matter? The ministry would be full of workers," Hermione's frightened voice echoed around through the dark.

Ron nodded, Hermione was always the voice of reason in their group. She was mostly always right. So why didn't Harry listen to her? They could have avoided the whole fiasco! Sirius wouldn't have died!

The conversation continued around him, but Ron let it wash over him. He already knew how it went, he'd been over it so many times in guilt. It wasn't just Harry that had felt guilt about Sirius' death, they all did. For letting Harry go, for not trying hard enough to stop him. For being disposed of so easily in the Department of Mysteries and not being there to help Harry and Sirius.

But Harry was so stubborn. He had been so sure of himself and would have gone no matter what. Ron knew that if Harry had gone by himself he would have surely been captured and killed.

The conversation around him faded away and was replaced by sobbing. The heartbroken and angry cries resonated around Ron, tearing into him. They were Ginny's tears but they caused him pain too.

"Go away Ron," Ginny weakly voiced.

"Ginny," Ron's voice pleaded.

Ron thought back to this conversation. It was the day of Dumbledore's funeral, the day that Harry had dumped Ginny. Ron had found her by the Black Lake crying her eyes out. If it had been anyone else but Harry Ron would have punched them.

"I don't know what he's doing, but he'll go off by himself. Harry's stupid like that. He will need you and Hermione. He's always needed you and Hermione. Don't let him go by himself Ron, or he'll fail."

Ron remembered the intense stare that Ginny had levelled him with when she said that, the tears were still glistening in her eyes. And Harry had tried to go off on his own, sneaking away in the middle of the night. Harry would never have gotten anywhere without them. Ron had been so glad that he was on the lookout for something like that.

There was a flash of red in the darkness and a flaming scrap of parchment floated past his view and into the distance.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore's voice called out.

Rage, jealousy, hurt and betrayal flared up within Ron at once as Harry was named the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry always got everything! All the fame and glory. Even though he would have never made it far without him and Hermione. They never got any credit from anyone. It was always Harry. Why couldn't Ron for once have a chance at fame and glory? Life was so unfair!

"Then GO!" Harry roared in blazing anger, "Leave the Horcrux."

"What are you doing," Ron's enraged voice demanded of Hermione.

"What do you mean?" Her frightened voice answered back.

"Are you staying or what?" Ron's voice asked as if it was obvious.

"I. Yes-yes, I'm staying. Ron we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help-"

"I get it. You choose him," Ron spat.

It was always Harry and Hermione. No one needed Harry's stupid sidekick. They didn't need him. They were probably waiting for a chance to kick him out. An intense anger and hatred burned within him as Ron remembered that night.

Even as the remembered conversation ended with his leaving, Ron still seethed. He waiting in the dark for the next memory to come, bubbling with anger all the while.

Ron awoke with a start, anger burning in his veins, or was it just the fever? His hands clenched at his sides, ignoring his straining muscles, and Ron very much wanted to hit something, preferably Harry. As though summoned, Harry once again put his hand to Ron's forehead to check the temperature. Instead of cooling the fire like it usually did, Harry's hand cause the flames to grow in their fury.

"Go AWAY Harry!" Ron roared through his parched throat.

The hand immediately retracted, but the burning of Ron's forehead didn't lessen. Guilt wormed its way into Ron's stomach and sat there like a dead weight. Where had these intense feelings come from? Harry was his friend. Harry had saved his life more than once. They had been through so much together. Closer than brothers they were.

So why did Ron have these feelings in his heart? Where had they come from? He was confused and it only added to the constant ache in his mind. He felt tired, so tired and his whole body ached. Ron opened his eyes to search for Harry, he needed to apologise.

The light in the room was bright but not unbearable. Ron didn't recognise it as he squinted around. His vision was hazy around the edges and the colours seemed off, but he could tell that Harry was no longer in the room.

With a sigh he closed his eyes again, relishing in the soothing darkness. It was probably for the best. With all these confusing feelings Ron was most likely going to say something he would regret. Perhaps some more sleep would clear his mind.

Opening his eyes once more Ron looked around the room. His eyes came to lay on a cup on the table beside the bed. Ron slowly and painfully reached out to grab the cup, trying to pay no mind to his protesting muscles. He tested the contents of the cup and immediately tasted the foul potion from before. Without a seconds thought, Ron drank the rest of the potion and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. The empty cup fell to the ground with a crash.

Ron was once again suspended in consuming darkness. The darkness didn't scare him, it was peaceful and soothing after enduring the pain of his reality. He could see no guiding light in the distance, he couldn't even see his own hands in front of him. He could hear no past conversations, he couldn't even hear his own breath. But he was calm. The darkness hugged him like his mother used to. Ron felt safe and warm.

Time seemed to be non-existent as he remained in the darkness. It could be passing by with great speed or it could have stopped. There was no notion of it passing, no sun to count the passing of days, just sweet nothingness.

Ron didn't dwell on his issues and confusing feelings. He was content to just remain and exist in this darkness. He felt safe, like he had not felt in such a long time. Ron had no one, just he wasn't alone. He had no past, no future and no present, just an all eternal peace.

But like all peace, it had to come to an end. There was no transmission, one moment he was enjoying the darkness and the next he was in the forest. It was the forest that he, Harry and Hermione had appeared in. It was so much clearer than he remembered. The image was sharp with clarity, he could see the age in the trunks of the trees and the veins on the leaves. The smells and sounds were rich, he could hear the groaning of the trees and smell the damp earth beneath his feet. The feel of the breeze was crisp and stung his skin with its intensity.

"Don't talk to me about Ron, Hermione," came the voice of Harry.

Ron turned around and spied his two best friends sitting by the roots of an ancient tree. They were wearing foreign clothes, fancy garments that reeked of wealth and high standing and nothing like the wizards robes that they had been wearing. Ron could see every crease and blemish on their faces. It was as though he was looking at his them through new eyes.

"He's not one of us anymore," Harry with conviction.

There was a sharp hissing and Ron saw the black snake that was coiled around Harry's arm. Ron seethed with anger and betrayal. Harry had turned dark! Voldemort's horcrux had left its mark on Harry's mind after all.

Ron watched as Hermione took Harry's hand in her own and leant her head against his shoulder.

"You're right. He can rot there in that tower for all I care," Hermione said with a soft hatred.

Those words cut into Ron like a knife. Hermione had betrayed him too. Tears stung at his eyes, threatening to fall. Hurt and betrayal flowed through his veins before being followed by flaming anger. His anger burned him from the inside, he didn't want to see this anymore. Ron squeezed his eyes shut and it was gone.

Hardly believing his luck Ron opened his eyes to find an entirely different scene before him. He was standing in a medieval town. It stank of horse shit, and Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust. People dressed like peasants bustled past him paying him no mind. However, they occasionally looked up and smiled at the couple that was standing at the front door of a stone house.

Ron saw them too. Dressed in their fancy clothes with big smiles on their faces, laughing at some joke. Hermione was partially flushed and the light of joy shone through her eyes. Harry stood chuckling as he looked at the crate in his arms.

Ron didn't know what they were laughing at, but it was aggravating. They shouldn't be happy and laughing without him. They shouldn't be having fun when he was so alone. It ignited a fire within him, didn't they care? Did their friendship mean nothing to him?

"I never knew moving all this would be so hard," Hermione's sweet voice reached him over the babble of the town.

Of course they were moving in together. It was just like them. Always together, never needing him. He was only the sidekick anyway. With a burning hurt Ron turned away from the scene and like last time he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again he didn't know what to feel. Hermione was standing on a stone balcony of sorts. Her chocolate hair was done up in an intricate braid interwoven with flowers. She was wearing an elegant white gown and holding a bouquet of the same flowers in her hair. Hermione had the biggest smile on her face which lit up her whole face. She looked radiant and Ron had never seen her look more beautiful.

She was standing beside Harry who also wore a joyful smile on his face. He was dressed in splendid formal garments accented with gold thread. They looked so happy together, and Ron once again was hurt that he wasn't there, that he wasn't the one Hermione was looking at.

Ron had seen enough. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them to a new scene, which brought more dread than the last. One second of seeing was too much and Ron immediately shut his eyes, but the image was burned in his mind. Hermione and Harry with a baby, their child.

When he opened his eyes again Ron was once again suspended in the welcomed darkness. There he cried, all of the hurt and betrayal he felt turned into tears and shed from his system until all that remained was a burning anger.

Ron didn't feel like himself, he felt different. But that wasn't a bad thing, this new Ron didn't need anyone. This Ron wasn't hurt from betrayal, he relished the feeling of vengeance and burning anger. He couldn't explain it, but it felt as though he had a new purpose in life.

He was back in reality. Ron felt strong, stronger than he ever had before. His injuries had been healed and his fever broken. He had clarity and his mind was no longer confused as it had been before. He still had fire burning through his veins, but it was comforting and sustaining him.

Ron sat up in his bed and looked around. His saviour was not in the room, but Ron knew that it hadn't been Harry. It couldn't have been Harry because Harry had betrayed him. Ron would get his revenge, he knew it in his heart.

A/N:

"abcd" = Rohirric
"abcd" = Westron
abcd = thoughts

Fyrwyn grunted as her skinny arms hefted the bucket of water from the well. It was coming upon sundown in their small settlement within The Wold and her chores were almost finished, thankfully. She tucked one of her blonde curls around her ear before starting the small trek back to her home.

The six year old was barely into her walk when her best friend, Dwennon, came running up with an empty bucket in his hands. Dwennon was five years older than Fyrwyn, but with only six children in their settlement there was not much choice. When he reached her, Dwennon's face was flushed from running and his golden hair knotted by the wind.

"Wait for me to fill mine Fyrwyn! Then we can walk back together!" he said breathlessly.

Fyrwyn frowned. Her mother really needed this water for dinner, and if she was any later she was sure to get a scolding. But Dwennon was her best friend, and he was looking at her with big pleading eyes.

"Ok, but be quick about it," she conceded.

Dwennon shouted in victory as he ran on towards the well. Fyrwyn dropped her bucket to the ground, inwardly cringing as the water sloshed over the side, and ran after him to speed things along.

By the time the two children were making their way to their houses with their buckets of water, laughing along the way, the sun was sitting dangerously on the horizon. Fyrwyn left Dwennon at his house a short while later and walked the short distance to her house. Her arms were straining when she got home but she breathed a sigh of relief.

Fyrwyn tilted her head in curiosity as she saw a figure running down the path towards her. Something coiled in the pit of her stomach, like warming bells and she tightened her grip on the bucket as she awaited the runner.

As they drew closer, Fyrwyn realised it was only her older brother and relaxed for she did not see the look of fear on his face. He ran up to her, cheeks flushed and sweat on his brow, and grasped her shoulders with great strength causing Fyrwyn to drop the bucket. The water spilled all over the ground causing the dirt to turn into mud.

"Fyroden! Mamma is going to be so angry, she really needed that water!" Fyrwyn reprimanded.

Fyroden just looked his younger sister in the eyes and she saw the fear in his eyes. Fyrwyn's heart jolted as she heard them in the distance.

"Listen sister, you must run. The Dunlendings are coming," he said with urgency.

"But Mamma and Papa-"

"I will send them after you, just run. Now Fyrwyn!" he shouted and pushed her in the opposite direction from the coming Dunlendings.

Fyrwyn staggered from the push, adrenalin and fear coursing through her system, and took a few hesitant steps backwards. She saw the glow of torch light in the near distance, the Dunlendings were close.

"Fyrwyn, run-" her brother demanded, but was cut off with a gasp of pain.

Fyroden stumbled as his eyes went wide then fell unmoving to the ground. Fyrwyn foolishly waited for her brother to get back up even though she saw the arrow sticking out of his back. Her young mind couldn't comprehend what was happening.

When she clearly saw the outlines of the Dunlendings brandishing their weapons and snarling, Fyrwyn did what any child would do in the situation. Her panicked scream pierced the air alerting others to the danger.

Fyrwyn's father came running out of the house with his sword drawn. He saw the still form of his son on the ground and gave a choked gasp. Her father looked at her with a wild look in his eyes.

"Run Fyrwyn! As fast as you can!" he urged.

Fyrwyn didn't need to be told again, her fear gave her strength and stamina. She ran by other villagers who had come out to see what was going on. The image of her beloved brother lying dead on the ground swam across her vision. She knew that her father wouldn't survive, not without anyone to help him.

Fearful screams resounded across the small town as the Dunlendings reached them. Fyrwyn knew she wasn't fast enough to outrun them, but where could she hide? The Dunlendings would plunder their houses then burn them, killing everyone. Those who they didn't kill would be taken as prisoners, Fyrwyn didn't know what was worse.

She screamed as a hand latched on to her arm, but it was only Dwennon. She saw that he was holding a sword that was too big for him, but he looked determined to protect her, and for that Fyrwyn was grateful.

"Come, we have to get out of here!" Dwennon shouted over the screams as he pulled her along behind him.

Dwennon was leading her to his family's stable, where he was hoping to flee on horseback. There was no time to saddle the great chestnut Stallion as the Dunlendings were already slaughtering people within the town.

Fyrwyn was lifted onto the horse and she clutched its mane in her fingers. Dwennon climbed on behind her and immediately guided the horse away from the Dunlendings. They cantered through the houses mindful of the other fleeing citizens.

They were almost free of the town when the horse suddenly reared throwing both of them from its back. Fyrwyn landed on her shoulder with a cry of pain and watched as the Stallion, her only chance of fleeing, galloped off into the distance, an arrow embedded in is rear.

Dwennon groaned from where he had landed beside her, winded from the fall. He scrambled to his feet and gripped his sword in front of him as a Dunlending savage came running up the road. Fyrwyn gasped in fear and Dwennon stood in front of her protectively.

Time seemed to slow down as the savage came closer and Fyrwyn found herself looking at the bodies of the fallen. The people that she had grown up with, her friends and family, were butchered on the road. The closest to them was the baker, her guts spilling from a gaping wound with her mouth opened in a silent scream. Fyrwyn was disgusted but she could not look away. Was that how she was going to die too?

The Dunlending savage had reached them. Dwennon didn't stand a chance and was tossed aside from a blow to the head, he didn't get up again. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the dark shadows were growing with speed. Then the savage turned on her, a wicked grin formed on his dirty face. Fyrwyn didn't back away, there was no point, no chance for survival. She watched the Dunlending raise his club and prayed for a quick death.

Then the Dunlending's head exploded. Fyrwyn was splattered with blood and gore and she watched with wide eyes as the headless body slumped to the ground. Rich red blood poured out of his neck and pooled on the ground. Fyrwyn felt sick but she pushed the feeling away as she looked behind where the savage was standing.

A man cloaked in black stood starting at the Dunlending savage with an intense hatred that made Fyrwyn step back. He emitted an aura of danger, anger and death which made her shiver deep down to her core. From underneath his hooded cloak, Fyrwyn could see a shining silver sword with strange writing on the blade, the hilt was adorned with rubies the colour of the blood that dripped form the blade. It was a kingly blade, beautiful and deadly.

The man's face was shrouded in shadow but Fyrwyn could see his eyes. Shining silver-grey eyes that burned with something wildly fierce but at the same time looked dead. She caught his gaze and felt herself freeze. His eyes promised pain for the Dunlendings and Fyrwyn almost felt sorry for them, almost.

Her shadowed saviour turned away and pounced on the Dunlending nearest him. Fyrwyn watched in awe as he seemed to dance around the savages killing them in an unforgiving and ruthless manner. Each swing of his sword sang the song of death and he attacked the Dunlendings as though each one of them had personally wronged him.

A bright green light shot out from the man's hand and the Dunlending it hit fell to the ground, dead.

Mighty Béma!

Fyrwyn stumbled over to the nearest house and continued to watch from the shadows as her saviour slaughtered the Dunlendings. He moved with inhuman speed as he went from savage to savage killing with his sword. If he wasn't killing with his sword then that godly green light was killing from afar.

Eventually all of the Dunlending savages had been slaughtered and Fyrwyn gave a sigh of relief. Night had completely fallen but the fires burned bright giving off ample light. Her saviour stood motionless over his last kill, blood dripping from his sword.

With a courage she didn't know she had, Fyrwyn took hesitant steps towards the cloaked man. He didn't seem to sense his approach but with each step Fyrwyn felt an unimaginable power growing, sweeping over the land, dangerous yet melancholy.

"Were you sent by Béma to rid the Dunlendings from our land?" she asked with a small frightened voice in the common tongue.

He spun around too quick to see with his sword and right hand raised.

"Avada-" the word was called out in a hoarse voice and immediately cut off.

Fyrwyn had instinctively stepped back and mulled over the unfamiliar word inn her head. What did it mean? She heard a faint hissing, like that of a snake, then the man lowered his sword and his whole body seemed to relax.

The kingly sword vanished from his hand in a blink of an eye, which left Fyrwyn blinking in wonder. She then watched as her saviour seemed to melt into the shadows and disappear. Fyrwyn was left standing along amongst the carnage not knowing if anyone was left alive.

Then the night's events caught up to her and Fyrwyn fell to her knees and let the darkness take her, her dreams filled with glowing silver-grey eyes and green flashing lights.

A/N: And there we have it! Please remember to review, I welcome any constructive criticism or ideas! :)