She walked down to the palace dungeon cloaked in a scarlet cloth. No one could know that she went to visit the lone prisoner that was kept there. When the guards asked her name and purpose, she looked up from underneath the hood. When they hesitated, she ordered their silence, to not say a word of her presence. She had to know why- that was all. Why did Gascon have to die? Why did he kill him?
Who was this man to take her uncle's life?
She smirked when they let her through. Before she knew it she was in front of the guard who wasted away in his cell. He leaned against the wall and a hand lazily slung onto the side of the mattress of the small prison cot. He looked up, his eyes tired from his own guilt, his own internal battles of his demons.
To Amos, this was karmic retribution. All his reckless endeavors, all his half-cocked pursuit of criminals under the guise of the law, inevitably ruining their lives, were coming back with one final strike. He was already deemed for execution- the emperor told him himself. He had killed someone with the same level of renown and honor as a Great Sage. He had killed someone of royal blood. It wouldn't matter if he went free.
The moment someone found out about his dark deed, someone would lash out in some way. No one would do business with him. No one would trust him. He'd turn to the very life he spent most of his existence quelling, a life of thievery and crime. And while he tried to survive, there would be a sword hanging over his head: who would strike him down for the life he had taken? Would it be his own hands that ended him?
Better an execution than a miserable life, he thought. In the beginning, he had wanted to die a hero or be hailed as one by his fellow citizens of Al Mamoon, to pay the city back for giving him a future after the loss of his home. He knew he wasn't the all-powerful savior, the pure-hearted one, but he could at least try his part in keeping the peace of his own small part of the world. In the end, he was the worst of thieves.
"Why did you do it," she asked him, lowering the hood. She looked down at him with a somber face, a face that had grieved and simply wanted answers for it. "What was the point?"
He sighed. "While I accept my fate, I will make one thing clear to you, your highness." He withdrew his hand from the bed and sat up to have a more proper conversation with his visitor. "My intent was never to kill. I did not expect him to run in front of my blade." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Make no mistake, if he had attempted to actually fight me, I would have had to end his life for my protection."
She scowled at him and crossed her arms. "If your intentions were so pure then why did you raise your sword against me?"
Chuckling could be heard from inside the cage. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. "You were spared by your own bounty description. You were wanted alive." He smirked and his shoulders shook once more as he silently laughed to himself. "Such a high bounty for petty thievery, now that I think about it! What on earth could you have stolen for you to be worth so many guilders?" He shook his head as he grinned up at the girl. "Now I believe who put that bounty out in the first place was someone much closer to home for you."
She froze for a moment and started to consider his words. "You- you believe that my father put a bounty on my head? That's absurd!"
"You were wanted alive for an unusually high price." He shifted again to stretch his left leg. "I've had time to think this over, but it seems that your dear father was rather desperate to get you back." He tapped on the ground idly with a finger. He smirked cheekily at her. "I must give the Great Sage some credit- he lives like a king but he knows how to manipulate a system for his own gain."
She rushed to the bars and gripped them. "He wouldn't do something like that! It would have been too much of a risk," she roared. She stared him down. She growled aggravatedly and turned around to face the empty cell behind her, huffing adamantly. "My father wouldn't do that," she said lowly.
"Would it surprise you if he did?" He leaned forward and got on his hands and knees. He crawled closer to the bars and sat up again, staring up at her from his place on the ground. "My dear girl, he is a Great Sage- a wise man. Once captive in Al Mamoon's prisons, he could arrange any sort of negotiations for your return."
"Are you trying to sabotage what's left of our relationship," she accused him as she turned to face his cell.
He shook his head with a wry smile. "I am simply proposing a possibility to you. Whatever you deem it as is up to you." He nodded once more. "He only sent your uncle out as a last resort- realizing that 'alive' was too broad a requirement. You could be maimed and abused, disabled in any and every way and still be 'alive'." He looked down again, finding himself admiring the wisdom and confidence of his former prey's father only to realize the hole in the sage's rationale. "He knew he'd protect you. He didn't account for the risk that entailed."
"Then why didn't he just call off the bounty," she shot back. "If he really did put the bounty up in the first place, he could have called it off or changed the requirements."
He rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Feh! It would have been too late! People wouldn't realize the bounty had been changed." He reached up and gripped the bars as he peered through them. "Listen to me, girl- no man goes through that kind of trouble, nor lets a blade run through their chest if your life were not precious," he lectured. "Whatever you may think of me, I ask you to take this to heart: you are lucky to have such people on your side. Do not squander that as I have!"
She reached over to her left arm, the wooden limb still in use with a temporary cushion in place for comfort and rubbed it. She had taken a break, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. "Why do you care what I do with my life?" She looked into the former guard's eyes. She found herself kneeling to his level. "You only saw me as a bounty, a low life when you chased me down in Al Mamoon. Now that you know who I really am, you suddenly care?" She tilted her head at him curiously. "You would have cut off my hands and fed me to the dogs for a small fortune! Now you worry about my well being?"
He frowned and sighed as he leaned his head back. "I have only ever once been on this side of the law before, your highness," he informed her as he leaned his head forward again. "I have seen and fought criminals. I have studied their ways and even their motives. I have had to kill to save myself from harm, all in the light and protection of being a guard, an agent of the law." He exhaled heavily. "I am no longer protected by my title and because of that, I find myself here, on the same level as you…" He nodded as he slowly addressed her, "A thief."
Her gaze went steely as she stared at him. "I'm not a murderer, though. I never once knowingly killed a man."
His eyes narrowed and he frowned at her argument. "A murderer is a thief of life. In a sense, I have stolen the legendary master thief's life from you and the world," he sneered. "We are similar in that one fact, girl. We've both stolen, only that I've stolen something far more precious." He lowered his hands from the bars. "Believe me, I'd give it back in full if I had the knowledge and power." He looked down and closed his eyes. "This execution is the only way I can pay. A life for a life, though it will not bring back the dead."
"It won't, but it's what has to be done," she answered back, her voice hollow as her mouth went dry.
They both sat in silence, the princess watching the former guard of Al Mamoon and the guard himself contemplating the meaning of his own death.
"Do- do you have any family," she mumbled to him. She rubbed her left arm again as she looked away.
He looked up suddenly. "'Family'," he repeated as he leaned toward her from behind the bars. "Why do you ask?"
"I nearly died once before- when I lost my arm. I kept going in and out of consciousness and dreaming of home- of my uncle and my father." She chuckled sadly. "My mother wasn't really in them- probably because the best parts of my childhood were the times when Uncle Gascon came to visit. She was always so busy, then." She shook her head, realizing she had gone off on a tangent. "I missed home. I didn't think I'd get to see it again." She gripped the wooden limb. "Then Swaine… he nursed me back to health just because he felt sorry for me. He didn't even realize who I was until a day later." She looked up at the guard. "What I'm saying is, does anyone care for you? Do you have anyone you'd want to come and see you before your execution?"
There was the still silence of shock, contemplation then… laughter. It started low and slowly rose to a loud guffaw. "I move you so," he asked her in a shout. "Such sympathy for a murderer, it's both heartwarming and unorthodox!" He sighed as he relaxed. "No, I do not have any family. I was an only child and so were my mother and father. My grandparents and my parents- all of them- are dead. Our home burned to the ground when I was a child and I was taken in by the state and trained to become a guard." He laughed again. "You could say it's similar to how you've been trained to become a sage."
"We are not any way the same, might I remind you," she said to him, raising an eyebrow. "Your life sucked, that's all good to know, but we are not the same!"
"I never said we were." He scoffed. "Though I do know what it's like to be mortally wounded and fear for my own life."
She hummed curiously as she crawled closer to his cell. She sat in front of him with her legs crossed and leaned forward, intrigued by his story. "How so?"
He tapped his left eye patch and scar. "I lost this trying- or I guess now that I look back at it, rushing- to end a criminal syndicate brewing in Al Mamoon. I and a band of guards rushed in. While I was fighting, one of the syndicate members tried their hand in killing me." He began to rub the old wound, the ache of the memory returning to it. "Mortally wounded, I hid and let my comrades take the rest." He sighed gruffly. "This is not my first run-in with a death sentence, though I fear there will be no sparing me this time."
She crossed her arms and looked down. "Cowardice- even here, for a guard, especially a royal one- is punishable by death," she recited from her royal tutelage. She glanced up and nodded shortly. "How'd you escape last time?"
"Rashaad, the Great Sage of Al Mamoon, vouched for me. In exchange, I was relieved of duty and the status of 'Royal Guard'," he recounted. He let out another sigh, this time shakily. "This time, no one, not even Rashaad will be able to save me. The crime I've committed is far too grievous." He bowed his head. "I've wept for your family, for the life I've taken," he admitted.
"Please," she shot back, rolling her head. "You wept for your guilt!"
His head snapped up. "That may as well be true, but nothing can change the fact that the blood that stained my blade was that of an honorable man's." He leaned forward. "Even as a man of the law, I see it for what it is- a leash so that we may do no wrong, so the safety of others can be put first." He nodded affirmatively. "While he may have been wrong to protect you legally, he was right putting your safety first." His eyes narrowed from the darkness of his prison. "Such an act must be acknowledged and its actor mourned."
"He was mourned," she corrected him. "By people who aren't callous enough to kill for greed." She scowled at the guard.
He slammed his hand down on the hard stone floor. "I did not pursue you out of greed! I simply saw a criminal that had to be brought to justice. At the same time, I was overzealous in the heat of the chase and my judgment was clouded," he boomed. He leaned forward and gripped the bars. "If people stand in the way, prepared to fight, what happens to them should have well crossed their mind."
"So you just kill them," she snapped. She snorted and tilted her chin up at him. "Now we see your true colors!"
He shook his head. "Do not assume such things, your highness. I attempt to disarm them. I've been unsuccessful doing so, so I have had to kill." He huffed and crossed his arms. "My first instinct is not always to kill," he repeated himself.
She lowered her head but still had a disbelieving air around her. "And Swaine? Just an unfortunate casualty," she spat.
He bared his teeth and snarled, "He knew the risks. He knew that there was a slim chance that he would live. A man who has lived through battling two powerful entities would have to be a fool not to see those odds." He lowered his hands and rested them in the space between his legs. "And he took the chance…," he said, his voice low. He looked up at the girl. "He took the chance just to save you," he whispered. "He did what I could never do and I admire that greatly."
Her gaze softened and she tilted her head to analyze him. He suddenly seemed less of a murderer and more human as his eyes fell on a random stone brick. He raised a hand to rub his shoulder idly while the other was perched on his leg. "What is your dream, girl," he asked her. "You had a future laid out for you, here. You wouldn't try to throw it away if you didn't have other plans."
"Originally… I wanted to be like my uncle." She rubbed her arm again. She looked at it and smiled. "The problem with that is: I've realized I never needed to try. His skills as an inventor come naturally to me. Another issue with that is that there can never be anyone exactly like him again. There will always be 'just the one', as he put it." She smirked. "I want to make a difference in this world." She took out her old wand and looked at it. "I guess I can start by filling my role."
"As a princess," he clarified, looking up at the girl dressed in a gold gilded magenta trench coat and burgundy cloak. He studied her for a moment. "How will you do that?"
She shrugged with a grin. "I don't really know. I guess I'll just improvise." She giggled as she realized the oddity of the connection she was making. They were talking casually despite his crime against her family. Perhaps he was more than just a heartless killer. Having time to process Gascon's death and really thinking about how to approach her enemy had given her a much more levelheaded approach.
"You will need guidance," he stated. He shook his head and looked down with a slightly wounded look. "You'll have plenty in the form of advisors and loved ones." He smiled sadly at the teen. "As a murderer, I know my words do not mean much…" He gave what he could muster of a bow. "I wish you luck."
She sat in slight awe. Leaning forward, she recognized something in his voice. Was it desperation…? "You don't want to die alone," she observed.
"But we all do," he returned wisely.
"Even so, it's better to have someone by your side at the end." She smiled gently at him.
He released a forlorn sigh and closed his eyes. "It is part of the price I pay for my actions. I should have no comfort." He opened his eyes and stared slightly down at her. "Consider yourself fortunate- you are not in my place."
She reached through the bars with both hands open towards him and the ceiling and stared into her former enemy's eyes. His eyes widened as he looked down at the mismatched set of hands. "I propose to be by your side. I'm just as guilty as you."
"So you believe that because you left here that you had a hand in his death." He smirked. "You couldn't have possibly known it would come to this, girl." He looked down at her hands, one wooden the other flesh and blood. "Instead of self-pity and pitying your offender, you should, perhaps, look at what you've gained from this entire experience. Surely you've grown." When she looked down he followed her gaze. "The expense was great- almost too great- but your future was apparently worth it to the man who paid with his."
She sat in thought and let his words sink in. She still offered her hands to him in an effort of recompense. "Please… Just let me take some of the responsibility." She looked down and swallowed. Words she never thought she'd utter to her hero's reaper came tumbling out, "I believe you- that you didn't mean to kill him." Her eyes darted up and she stared at the destitute former Al Mamoon guard. "This is the only way I can pay. So please…" She shook her hands in emphasis. "Just let me be there for you when no one else will!"
"How? How is it that you treat me so well?" He leaned forward and placed his hands on the cold hard ground. "I murdered someone close to you. Months ago, you attempted to kill me for it." He reached up and rubbed his forehead, recalling the cold feel of the weapon when she pressed the muzzle of the gun into him. He looked at the much calmer more collected girl- the same girl who had threatened to execute him four months prematurely. "Your father, whom I've always pegged as a man of understanding and reason, with a cold menacing stare, handed me my sentence a few days ago. As he told me about it, he looked down on me as scum." He raised an eyebrow. "The White Witch was hardly an innocent person, yet Nazcaa has been trading with your people for over two decades."
"You made it personal. The White Witch, according to Uncle Gascon, suffered an immense loss. While her actions weren't justified, she wasn't mentally sound." She looked down. "I can understand how come, now. I can also understand why my father's heart has gone cold towards you, why he wants you dead." She looked up again. "It's the same reason my uncle went to face the Dark Djinn- to avenge the life you've taken." She shook her hands again. "I want to at least give you a chance to be treated humanely. You are a wise and just man, similar to my father. I've learned that much from just talking to you." She spoke softly, sincerely. "Your intent was to hunt down a criminal, but because of my uncle's heroic deeds, you became the worst possible kind." She stared intently at the disheveled man. "You deserve better… And what kind of princess would I be to let a lonely soul suffer, hmm?" She smiled at him.
He stared down at the hands. It would be a public execution. The entire town would be calling for blood and treat him as a monster. Not a soul would reach out to him like she was doing, here. He supposed, in that sea of loneliness and hatred that would surround him during his final moments that a kind face, just a single sympathetic soul would ease his mind as he accepted his fate. He nodded and took her hands. He gripped them and looked down. "Thank you, your majesty, for your mercy."
She tilted her head as she studied him. "Lynnea."
He looked up. "Your name?" She nodded. He returned her smile and for the first time in months, he felt at ease. "Amos. Remember me as Amos."
