As they approached the entrance, the older rogue suddenly stopped. Guards were present out front. They'd probably be looking for her. As she obliviously continued to walk forward, he grabbed the hood of her coat to stop her. "Hey," he warned in a hushed whisper. When she turned and looked up at him in confusion, he nodded at the guards and focused on her again. "Put your hood up."
"Wha…?" She glanced over her shoulder and noticed the guards. "Oh." She threw her hood up over her head and looked up for confirmation.
He nodded subtly with a neutral expression in an effort of averting attention. "Just stay calm. Don't do anything outlandish," he softly advised her. He walked around her. When she didn't follow, he tilted his head back and smirked as he coolly suggested, "And keep moving. You stand out more if you just stand in the way."
They walked together, almost side by side. As they got closer to the entrance, he threw his right arm over her shoulders and pulled her to his side with a wide grin, a giggle sounding behind it. "Keep your head low," he quickly and quietly instructed.
As they walked through, she could feel the eyes of the guards on them. She began to wonder if he knew what he was doing- wouldn't this draw more attention to them?
"Are you two from Hamelin," the guard to the right of them asked.
"Oh, yeah! Just passing through," Swaine answered as he maintained his cheerful cover. "We decided to check out the capital of the Summerlands!"
The guard eyed his niece warily. "Keeping the sun off of you," he pondered curiously.
She nodded quietly. "My skin's sensitive so I have to cover up a lot," she lied as she crossed her arms nervously- though, the guard read it as self-conscious behavior.
The guard nodded and looked over at her uncle. "Be careful. Thieves have been rampant lately," he informed them, motioning for them to pass through.
As they walked down the street, she looked around slowly but carefully. The place was bustling with vendors of various wares unique to the area. They stopped at a babana stall to find no one managing it.
"Hmm…," he grunted as he stared at the empty chair, setting the bag down next to him. "Now where the in the blazes is he," he whispered thoughtfully. He tilted his head at the sight with a hand to his chin as if trying to solve a mystery.
"Swaine," a woman around thirty shouted from up the street. She had a blond braid folded in half and tied to the top. To lengths of hair wrapped around her ears and down her back into a smaller braid. She waved as she began to run up to them excitedly, her simple purple top and skirt over a pair of puffy cream pants pressing against her as she ran
"What- Esther," he questioned as he squinted at the smiling lady. He was tackled as she embraced him. He quickly wrapped his arms around her back and swiveled around to compensate for the sudden weight and force. He laughed when they stopped and put each other at a distance. "It's been quite a while, Esther!"
"You're telling me," she jabbed as she recalled the last time she saw him. It had been a couple of years- he had been passing through the Golden Grove to Ding Dong Dell and had stopped in to say, "Hello." She recalled most of their conversation consisting of catching up with each other and eventually getting into a petty argument as usual. "You've got business then," she wondered with a tilt of her head.
He crossed his arms with a sudden adamant and aloof look. "None of your's," he shot back. "Don't you have a familiar farm to tend to?" He held a hand out pointedly.
She swayed back and forth as she put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "I would… if I weren't visiting my father." She looked over and noticed the girl. "Who's this?"
"Er… I'm-," she started to introduce herself.
He placed a gentle hand on top of the teenager's head, cutting her off. "Scrofie. My pupil," he quickly interjected.
"Pupil, huh," she repeated, analyzing the youth as she leaned toward her. "No fair," she pouted. "How does a lazy old thief get a pupil?"
"Lazy. Feh! Lazy isn't crossing a desert over and over again delivering messages and handling negotiations! It's hard work keeping the world at peace!" He shook his head and crossed his arms again as he tapped his foot impatiently. "Where is the Great Sage, anyhow? He's not in his stand."
As if on cue, the sage walked through the curtain, using his staff as a cane. He smiled when he saw the ambassador visiting his humble shop. "Ah, so the legendary thief makes an appearance." His eyes narrowed in mock suspicion as he smirked at the lanky man. "What brings you to my shop? Not here to steal anything, are you?"
Swaine laughed jovially with a hand on his hip and the other at his side. He leaned forward with a cheeky grin. "None of that, no. I'm actually here for a favor." He placed his right hand on Scrofie's back and guided her forward. "I'm in need of Travel," he requested. "I'm taking this one home."
Rashaad leaned forward and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. He looked down at her left hand and noticed the wood. "You remind me of one of the twelve tales of wonder." He gestured to her arm. "May I see," he asked her.
She didn't know what to do. What would happen if she showed him? She looked down for a moment in consideration. At a loss and extremely nervous, she looked at her uncle for support.
"It's alright, Scrofie. You can trust him," he encouraged kindly.
The sage hummed in response to her behavior. He looked back to Swaine. "Perhaps it would be best to look at this inside," he wisely suggested.
The familiar tamer patted the girl's back, causing her to look up through her hood. "Would that be more comfortable, dear," she concernedly asked her.
"Uh… yeah. I think it would," she nervously responded. She hadn't realized it before, but she had been gripping the edges of her coat. She was shutting down socially- the sheer fame of the people surrounding her overwhelming her train of thought. Sure, there was Swaine, but he was also her uncle- she was used to him. He had nursed her back to health. Her father was an emperor, though his title didn't claim it- that had been a normal part of her life.
But now she was in front of two people she'd never thought she'd meet in person: the legendary harpist and the Great Sage of Al Mamoon. It was a little hard to tell what would be appropriate in this circumstance.
She felt someone nudge her and she looked up. "Hey," her uncle began. He had picked the bag back up. "You okay? We're heading into Rashaad's." He glanced back at the shop and then back at her. She had gone awfully quiet during the conversation.
She gulped and nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. It's kind of nerve-wracking. I never thought I'd ever talk to two other legends." She heard an incredulous chuckle and glared up. "What?"
"You certainly didn't have any issue when I showed up," he prodded as she began to walk towards the back of the shop.
She spun around on her heal. "That's because I didn't believe you!" She turned back and entered the lavender curtain and followed the stairs up to their home. "Even more so, you're my uncle. Kind of hard to be awestruck by someone you've known for most of your life."
He snorted in response and rolled his eyes. For a moment, he considered playing down her statement smugly; he would have said that in his day there wasn't time to be nervous around legends, that there were more pressing matters. He almost shook his head at the thought, realizing how old it would make him sound. Instead, he quietly took in what was Esther's childhood home as he set the lighter supply bag against a wall.
The building was made out of the sturdy material of limestone, sand, and mud, so the walls, when they weren't decorated with a portrait or a beautiful rug took on a creamy color. The area they entered was the living area. The kitchen could be entered by turning right immediately at the front door. To the left were the family bedrooms, they both assumed. Against the left wall of the living area was a pink couch to which Scrofie decided to sit.
"Quite a nice place. Real quaint," Swaine observed as Rashaad approached the teen.
The sage made no comment as he instructed the young thief to reveal her arm. He gasped when he saw it. "I knew I sensed some sort of magic item," he said excitedly as he leaned forward to study it. His eyes fell on where it was joined and his curious smile fell. "I see. You had to make a replacement." He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. "It must have been painful but I'm certain it had to be done." He looked over to her mentor. "What was that Hamelin saying again?"
"Necessity is the mother of invention," Swaine reminded him as he leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. "She can cast spells with it, too. She's pretty good for someone who's never created a fake arm before."
"Ha! Not like I had much room for error," she jovially jabbed.
"But… to make an arm like that," Esther started as she looked at it. Scrofie raised it and flexed various fingers, turning the wrist as it were her own. "Takes some serious magical and mechanical talent!" She stared at it, fascinated.
Scrofie laughed nervously as she rubbed the back of her now uncovered head. "Thanks," she sheepishly replied.
"Ahem," the ambassador cleared his throat. "Aren't we getting a little sidetracked?"
Rashaad nodded. "Yes. Travel," he stated as he leaned back. He took a quizzical look at Scrofie. "You cannot cast it?"
She shrugged. "Never learned how," she answered.
Rashaad growled in thought as he looked between them. He walked up to Swaine with a concerned and serious expression. "You are aware that she's wanted by the state, correct," he whispered harshly as he stared the older thief down. "What is your true motive, here, Swaine? Tell me, what is it that's really going on?"
The ambassador turned his head to avoid the sage's gaze. He frowned as he considered his choices: Rashaad was, regardless of title, an honorable man, the father of his comrade, and someone he considered trustworthy; he was also honor bound to the throne, an agent of Al Mamoon's protection- he would be within his right to report them. At the same time, however, aiding her return would mean she would no longer cause trouble.
He turned to meet the sage's gaze. "Can you keep a secret, sir," he questioned quietly as he gripped his arms tighter.
Rashaad shifted uncomfortably and glanced down. He hadn't really gotten to know the thief that well, but considering his status, it would be similar to denying confidence in a fellow sage. He looked back up and nodded.
Swaine's body language shifted: he let his arms fall to his side and leaned forward. "She's Marcassin's daughter. My niece. I swore to make sure she returns home alive."
"And why do you choose to keep this a secret," the sage questioned.
"Well, it doesn't look too good, now does it," he snapped as he leaned back suddenly. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms as he glanced down at the floor. "It would be a political nightmare and I'm sure my brother doesn't need that." He raised an eyebrow at the older man. "Funny thing, I don't believe I've ever told you that I and Marcassin were brothers."
Rashaad sighed and leaned on his staff. He nodded, accepting the explanation. "I see your point. I understand." He looked back at the girls eagerly chatting. "I will help you." He chuckled, finally addressing his last statement. "You two talked a lot on the Iron Wyvern. I assumed that was the case. I believe at one time he did call you 'brother'."
The older thief gave a short nod. "Yeah, that would do it," he wagered with a sigh as he looked up for a moment. He turned and began to walk to the entrance of their home.
"Don't you need Travel?" Rashaad held his hand out in confusion.
Quick as ever, Swaine turned around and grinned. "I have previous business with the Cowlipha," he informed him. He glanced over at Scrofie. "Hey, kid," he shouted. When she looked up he waved at her. "I have to do something. Try and sit tight!"
She stood suddenly in confusion. "Where are you going?"
"Ambassador stuff. Grown-up stuff- stuff you needn't worry your little head over quite yet. Just stay put. We'll leave as soon as I return, alright?" He froze for a moment and dug into his internal pockets on his coat. "Oh, yeah. That's right." He smirked knowingly as he walked up to the teen. "You should probably have this for your studies. I've finally finished it." He handed the book to her. She took it, looked down at it, and thanked him. She looked back up and returned the smile. With that, he turned around and exited the building.
Scrofie sat back down on the couch. She had a slight lump in her throat. She watched as Rashaad followed her uncle out to the front of his shop. Alone again in a strange place. After traveling with someone… it felt alien to her to be among people she hardly knew. She fought the urge to get up and run after him… Why did it feel like the last time she'd see that smirk on his face?
Esther leaned to the side and looked at her. The teen had gone pale. "You alright," she asked her when she saw the panic in her eyes.
She swallowed and slowly nodded. Her eyes darted over to focus on Esther. "I'm- yeah." She laughed nervously. "Over the last week, I've kind of gotten used to him just being there. Now he's left, I kind of feel a little more vulnerable."
"How long have you been on your own," Esther pried. She bit the inside of her lip and looked away. If she was anything like Swaine, she would probably try to keep a tight lid on personal questions like that. She stayed quiet, deciding to let her answer if she did.
Scrofie sighed deeply and looked down at the book in her hands. "Two years." The songstress looked up suddenly at her answer. "I've been alone for two years. At first, I stole because I wanted to be like Swaine… then I realized: I had to steal to survive." She idly rubbed the surface of the burgundy cover. "Now that I've met him and he's taken me under his wing, I kind of don't want to go back to living like that."
"So… You're a thief? Why," Esther asked quietly as they sat on the couch.
"I thought…," she began. She had become so unsure of her goals since she had run back into her uncle. "I thought I could be like the legends- like Swaine." She kicked the edge with her feet. She gave a nervous chuckle. "Now I'm not so sure."
The blond looked down in thought for a moment. "We kind of… didn't decide to become legends. We were just thrown into it." She smirked as she looked down. "In hindsight, I guess I went to keep my home safe and so my family wouldn't live in terror of the Dark Djinn." She glanced up at the other wall pensively. "Swaine… He… Well, he originally just wanted to help his brother. But then…" She breathed heavily as the memory of a jarring scene played out again in her mind. "Then it became more than that. He never said anything but we all kind of knew why he continued to follow us."
"Why? What happened," she wondered. She saw Esther's face tense up.
"He saw his father die. We were flung fifteen years in the past. He was murdered by Shadar," she said hollowly. "It was about revenge. If he ever did say anything about it… He masked it as doing the world a favor- keeping other people from suffering." She looked down at the rug covered floor in front of them and sighed. "Maybe there's some truth to that, I don't know." She looked up and smiled and patted her guest's back. "Just… Do what you think is right!"
Scrofie wrung her hands. She didn't know what was right… She absentmindedly rubbed the wooden joints of her wooden hand. She opened the book her uncle had given her a moment before. She smirked sadly at the neat cursive handwriting of a former prince. She leafed through its contents. Some were blueprints, others were concise descriptions of a gun. Others were recipes for ammunition. When she flipped passed the guns, she reached to a rather shocking schematic- a metal mechanical arm. It detailed the pieces she needed, the gears, the parts, and a weaponized hand attachment. "Wood will wear down easily after extraneous use," a note in the upper right corner read. "For Lynnea," a note on the same side in the lower corner prescribed.
"I… don't want to be a thief anymore," she said as she ran her right hand over the page. She swallowed hard. "I think I want to carry on my uncle's legacy." She looked over at Esther. "He's an inventor from Hamelin. You'd probably know him." She tilted her head and smiled. "His name is Gascon."
The familiar tamer's mouth hung open. She raised her hand to point at her. "You're-," she began. The rogue next to her nodded. She smiled pleasantly at the teen. "I'm sure you'll be a great inventor, then."
In the main street of Al Mamoon, a bigger quarrel was being had. "We are looking for this girl," a turban bound man wearing an eyepatch asked Rashaad as he held up a wanted poster. "I don't suppose you've seen her, Rashaad?"
The sage shook his head as he sat in front of his babana stall. "If I had I would tell you," he fibbed, waving a hand to the street. He looked up at them simply.
Amos looked down at Rashaad curiously, analytically. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You're lying." He showed him the poster again, Scrofie's face plastered on the page. "You know, so tell me," he venomously hissed. "Or I shall storm your house for her."
"I- I don't think that's really necessary-," Gavin began. He leaned back when he received a menacing glare. He stood firm for once. "He's probably telling the truth. We shouldn't do such a thing, especially to a Great Sage."
Amos hummed thoughtfully. "And if he isn't then we lose our bounty and a wanted criminal continues to go free." He looked back at Rashaad. "Better safe than sorry, right?"
The sage adamantly stood as he braced his staff, his own age getting to him. "You shall not enter my home. You have no valid reason to!"
"Do you have something to hide Rashaad? Something your protecting," he sickly cooed, grinning as he leaned closer to the babana merchant and tilted his head.
"A man cannot protect his own home from fools like you, Amos," he bit back. "Of course I have something to protect, as it is my nature of being a sage! It is my home and my family I seek to protect from you," he explained harshly as he stamped his staff into the ground.
Scrofie stood up when she heard Rashaad shout. She ran to the window and looked out. She backed away when she saw the same group of men that had cost her her arm.
"Scrofie," Esther called concernedly from the couch. "Are you alright?"
"I- I have to go. They've found me! I need to leave," she said hurriedly, walking over to another window and peering out. She turned and nodded at the now confused harpist. "Thank you, Esther. For everything." She smiled sweetly and slid out the window.
Esther, now confused ran to it and watched as she climbed down and began to run down the streets.
"No, stop," Rashaad called out as the men burst past him and ran up the stairs and into his home. The harpist turned from the window and saw them. Her eyes widened at the sight. What- what have you gotten into, Scrofie? She wondered as her mouth hung open. Her father came up, his face seething with anger. "You have no respect, Amos! Reckless and foolish! You never learned, even after you lost an eye!"
Amos's face went red and turned to the Great Sage. "Shut up and tell me where to find her!"
Rashaad only shook his head. "Why do you insist that I know anything about this mysterious girl," he returned, glaring at the guard.
Amos's flushed face slowly cooled off as he looked back at Esther. She had been peering out the window. "She's in the back alleys." He turned to the men and motioned them to follow. "Come on, men." He glared back at the sage as he left.
As they ran out of the home, they passed a returning Swaine. They caught his attention and he gave a worried stare at the babana shop. He rushed up to the flat and looked at Esther and Rashaad. "Scrofie- what happened," he interrogated frantically.
"They've found her. Hurry," the older sage said, motioning to the window.
Swaine nodded and bolted towards it. He managed to fling himself towards an adjacent building and run across the roof. He followed the gang of thugs. He didn't dare stop to fire. If he did, he stood the chance of losing them- of losing her. He wasn't about to let that happen.
She ran, ran again away from the same men she had been running from before. She randomly slid into other alleys to give them the slip but to no avail. She finally found herself in a dead end and turned back to face them. She drew her gun. It was either stand and fight or be captured and face whatever cruel punishment the state had for her.
The older thief's body trembled in fear as he realized her situation. No. No, don't you dare. He felt panicked breaths escape his mouth as he began to climb down the side of the building.
Seeing her retaliation, Amos drew his cutlass and ran towards her. She fired and he swiped the sword down, knocking the bullets away. He was almost a foot away, ready to cut off a limb if it meant capturing her.
He reached for his weapon as he threw himself off of the building. Before he had time to fight, the deed was done. He exhaled sharply as he looked down at the sword. He felt lightheaded. For a moment, he forgot where he was and thought of home- Hamelin. Marcassin… he thought, the image of his smiling little brother greeting him flashing before his eyes. He closed them for a moment as the pain began to flare back into his consciousness.
She winced, closing her eyes. She looked up and saw a ghastly sight: standing in front of her, impaled on a sword with blood dripping from the tip, was her beloved uncle. His gun was drawn, his hands were frozen in a flinch at his sides. She heard him cough and saw the blade retract, leaving a blood-stained tear in his gold jacket. He fell back and she caught him.
She peered over him and focused on his face. He breathed weakly. "Uncle," she whispered hesitantly. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tilted his head away from her. He looked back at her with them, his eyes half open as he assessed her. It meant a fatal blow… but he had saved her from being injured again. He smiled faintly at her.
One of the men started to advance but was halted by Amos. He looked at them and shook his head. "Let them have their moment," he allowed. "A man's last words are sacred."
"Hey," he began. "Remember what we talked about," he breathed, smirking. He reached up and caressed his dear niece's left cheek. "My beautiful, brilliant niece… Marcassin's lucky to have you…," he tried, his voice becoming more ragged with each labored breath. "You'll do Hamelin proud." He chuckled and coughed. "See," he began to explain, struggling to breathe. "I told you I'd do anything for you…" He coughed even more violently as he lifted his right hand. He shakily placed his gun in her hand and met her gaze with a saddened but proud smile. "I'm so…," he struggled to say, his voice cracking from the pain, from the dizziness he felt. He felt himself drift away for a moment and he winced, grasping at whatever energy he could find. Not yet, he thought. At least this. Give me this.
"Save your energy, you old fool," she cried. "Esther will get here. She'll heal you. Just- just hold on!" She shook him gently as tears started to form. "Just- just hang in there!"
He shook his head weakly and looked at her. "I'm proud," he whispered. "I…" He couldn't even get past the first word. He just looked at her and hoped she knew. I love you… He thought but couldn't find the energy to say. His gaze drifted up to the sky. "Lynnea…," he called out with his final breath, closing his eyes for the last time.
Her eyes widened as his hand fell from her face. She shook him. "No, no, no! Swaine! Uncle Gascon!" She gripped his shoulders and drew her wand. It had to work. She still had a chance to save him! She fished out her notebook and opened it to a healing spell. "Healing hand," she called out, throwing the wand towards the wound. Nothing. "Healing Hand, Healing Hand, Healing Hand," she shouted with each attempt. Nothing. He lied lifeless in her arms. She held him close, cradling the limp thief. "No, please! Don't leave! I don't want to be alone! I'll do anything! Anything!" He didn't answer. "I- Please! Don't die! Don't- no," she wailed as she held him close.
"Murderers! The lot of you," she roared, her head snapping up from the corpse of her uncle. She carefully set him down and stared down the guard that had taken arms against them. She saw the bloody sword, stained with the ambassador of Hamelin, the elder brother of its very ruler, a hero of their world, her uncle's blood. Tears of grief and anguish flooded her eyes. "You. You killed him! Do you have any idea who he was?! He was my uncle!"
"So, what does that matter," the guard sneered. "You are a fugitive, a wanted criminal. His identity is no issue. He was just as guilty of protecting you."
"You have no idea. You talk of me as if I'm the worst of the worst, the scum of the earth!" She stood. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The weight of the life you've taken?" She laughed hollowly, her shoulders heaving as she looked away from them and away from his body. "He wasn't only my uncle…," she muttered. "He wasn't just my uncle," she screamed as she raised her own pickpocketing gun with the Cad's Cannon and aimed them both at the guard.
She began to fire as she sobbed, her tears and heaving shoulders causing her to miss her target. With each shot, she told, "You've committed a crime against not only I, not only Hamelin, not only against the crown of Hamelin but the world! You've killed a living legend! You've killed Swaine! You've killed Prince Gascon, elder brother to my father, Prince Marcassin! You've killed the ambassador of Hamelin!" She put her gun into her pocket and she slapped her chest and patted it violently. "My uncle!" Her face was red and full of rage despite her tear stained cheeks. She reloaded the Cannon and then her gun and swallowed as she took aim. "You make me sick." She fired off another round of shots.
The men next to him looked in shock at their leader as they backed away from the fire. Amos paid no mind to them. He knew his actions would one day return to haunt him. For now, he was to apprehend a thief. He began to walk towards her calmly, coldly, robotically. He gripped his cutlass firmly.
"Scrofie," Esther called from the alleyway. She fought past the men, her father following closely behind. Despite this, the distraught teen still shot at the former guard. As the harpist narrowly dodged the bullets she got closer to the scene. She saw the state she was in- enraged and grief-stricken. Confused, the blond looked around and noticed the body of her old friend. "S-Swaine...," she gasped, walking behind his grieving niece. She looked back at the teen who was still firing at the now still Amos who watched the scene unfold.
She glanced at Esther for a moment and managed to eke out, "He's dead," through her sobs.
In reverence, the harpist looked down at her comrade. She knelt to examine him. She shook her head. "Swaine… You- you always used to bounce back. Like it was nothing." She released a sad chuckle. "You big coward, so afraid to lose someone close to you." She stood heaved a heavy sigh before turning to Scrofie. She saw her father warding the fire away from the guard and the men who followed him with his staff. Rashaad looked at his daughter and sent a signaling nod to calm the teen down.
She heard the girl curse when both guns ran out of the third round of bullets, the click of the firing mechanism repeating. She saw her reach for a wand. Esther grabbed the teen's right arm. "Scrofie. Stop. It's alright. You can stop now," she tried to persuade.
"No," she shouted. "They have to pay! They've killed him!" She put the guns away and flipped open her notebook to a random attack spell. She didn't care. Even if the others all got blown away, even if it meant injuring herself, someone had to pay!
Esther's eyes widened as she began to panic. She looked back at Swaine and then back at the group, especially her father. She began to wonder what the thief would have to say about this instance- he always had some sort of opinion when caught in a situation. She shook her head as the teen tried several times to complete a rune, only for her shaky hand to force her to start over. "Swaine wouldn't want this," she finally stated. "He wouldn't want this at all." She shook the teen. "Please! Just stop! You'll get yourself killed, Scrofie!"
Scrofie finally froze, again caught in mid-rune. She let the rune fall and looked at the frightened harpist. She collapsed, falling into Esther's arms and sobbed once again. "There, there," she comforted, rubbing the young thief's shoulders. "I know… The world won't be the same…," she whispered quietly. "He was, at heart, a good man."
The ward fell. For a brief moment, Rashaad had disappeared. The sage reappeared in a flash of light and walked forward with an unexpected company behind him. The Great Sage of Hamelin rushed to his brother's side and looked him over. "Gascon...," He bowed his head and breathed heavily. He looked over at Esther. "How did this happen?"
Esther shook her head and glanced down at the now quietly whimpering teen.
"Lynnea…," he quietly asked. He knelt next to the two. He reached out to his daughter. "Lynnea, please… I need to know. What happened?"
"Father. It's all my fault," she squeaked, earning a confused glance from the harpist. "I should have never left home… He wouldn't have had to protect me. I- I've killed him. It's all my fault," she answered, burying her head into Esther's shoulder.
"No, no… It's not your fault," Marcassin eased. "He gave his life to protect you. He loved you like his own daughter," he shakily continued as he rubbed her back. He halted when he felt the crease where her wooden arm began. He closed his eyes. "He died as he lived. He never could stop himself from filling the role of older brother." He breathed heavily and gripped the back of her jacket. "I'm so sorry, Lynnea."
The guard was still for a moment as he looked down in bafflement at the group mere feet away from him. His eyes widened suddenly at the type of garb the man wore and he backed away. He was a sage. He had to be. "Then… You're- you can't be." He looked at the corpse. "He can't be-!" His panicked face twisted into an evil smirk, unaware of the forty-seven-year old's true status. "Step aside, all of you," he ordered. "I have a bounty to claim," he used his sword to point at the girl.
"You still intend to collect it? Even after all that you've learned," Rashaad questioned furiously. "Have you no honor? No shame?" He stamped his staff into the ground before approaching Amos. "I-," he began, shaking the staff at the former guard. "I shall not let you collect it."
He glared at Rashaad. "I never let a criminal go- even if they are being protected by a Great Sage. She will pay for her crimes against the state as a thief!"
"That is enough," Marcassin demanded as he stood. "She has suffered enough, don't you think?!" He approached Amos. "As of now, there is no bounty. Whatever she has stolen will be paid back in full by Hamelin itself." He locked a threatening gaze with the former guard.
The guard blinked for a moment and sneered again. "On whose orders?"
"Err… Sir," Gavin began, tapping Amos's elbow. "That's-,"
"The Emperor of Hamelin's orders." He glared at the guard. "Or do you wish to make your queen angry with you for starting a war?" He raised an eyebrow. "Killing my brother is more than enough to start one," he bitterly reminded him as he turned away. "I shall seek retribution later. No more blood than necessary must be spilled over this." He looked over his shoulder. "My brother fought hard to bring peace to this world. I doubt he would want to see it ruined by his death, after all," he solemnly stated, turning his head back and beginning to retrieve his wand.
"But… but, your majesty- she is a criminal," Amos protested, eyeing the sage.
"She is my daughter." He swiftly turned and glared into the bounty hunter's eyes. He held his hand over the wand at his hip. "I have no qualms about using force to protect my own."
When Amos hesitated, Marcassin nodded and cast Travel on him and his family. They disappeared from view.
Rashaad approached his daughter and looked down. "Esther…," he softly began.
She began to cry. After all that, she finally began to sob. It wasn't until they left that it sank in. Swaine was gone. There would be no more arguments about right and wrong between them. There would be no more surprise visits as he ran errands for Hamelin or tales of whatever misadventures he ended up going on over a cup of coffee. He was gone. That man who had saved them countless times just by being there, being the most durable of the group… killed by a stab of a simple sword.
She felt robbed, like their friendship had been a precious item, stolen by a cruel and heartless thief. The irony was palpable and harsh. She clutched her arms as she wept. "He's dead. He's really dead, isn't he, father?" She shook her head and looked up with tears streaming down her face. "He's never coming back. Swaine's never coming back, is he?"
The Great Sage of Al Mamoon was silent and solemn. She already knew the answer. She just needed closure. He slowly shook his head. He took a knee and outstretched a hand for his daughter to take. "Come, Esther. We will pay our respects." She steadily took his hand and they both disappeared in a flash of light from the alleyway.
The men looked at Amos in stunned angered silence. "Now what," the bearded man shouted. "We're wanted by Hamelin, now!"
"Correction: I'm wanted by Hamelin, now." He looked down at his bloodied sword and frowned. "I did this." He sighed and shook his head. He turned around and walked past them. "I will turn myself in to the royal guard and await the Great Sage to fetch me. I suggest you disassociate yourselves from this as much as you can from here." With that, he turned a corner to head for the busier thoroughfare of town.
