By the light of the moon and the guidance of the stars, he moved. Swiftly, his feet took him as far as they would go, before he collapsed right at his destination. The young man saw the object of his desire and took it into his arms, cradling it with the utmost of care. This gem was the most important thing he had ever taken, and the most valuable. The rightful owners must not awaken this night, or he would certainly face death.
Guiding his arms gently back and forth, he calmed the child down. Daring not to make a sound, be brought the beautiful child to his breast to comfort her. Soon enough, she had stopped crying, and the danger had passed. The child was asleep once more, and he could rest knowing she wouldn't wake her mother and father.
Slowly, the boy placed her back in the nest that he had taken her from. She looked so peaceful when she slept. He smiled a small smile, one saved just for moments like this, before he departed.
The boy called Arthur padded drearily to the encampment that lay between his patron's citadel and the surrounding village. It was an unfavourable night to have been walking such a distance, but Arthur had little choice. He was in charge of the young Lady Órla, and that meant making certain her parents never knew she was beneath their noses. So if, on the off chance, she had another of her reoccurring night terrors, Arthur was the one tasked with calming her down by any means necessary. Wouldn't want Lord Blackthorn or his wife to awaken to their crying child, now would he?
Careful not to disturb the flora on the ground he walked upon, Arthur made a mental note to take the longer route later on, as he did not want to usurp Lady Blackthorn's precious plants, even if it would mean having to walk an extra few metres in the rain. Certainly, he would be up and about once more; checking on Órla and making certain her lungs did not wake the entire villa.
Years ago, he would never have thought he would end up being no more than a servant. A much younger Arthur dreamt of being a freeman, perhaps a blacksmith. Yes, being a blacksmith had sounded wonderful. Arthur did enjoy the feel of fire surrounding his hands, and the rough sound of steel against steel. However, those days were much too long ago, and he could now wish for nothing more than living a comfortable life serving his lord. Secretly, Arthur did wish for more. He could not say a word to anyone about his longings, for it would mean certain death.
Arthur was a wizard. Or, at least, he had magic. Whether that made him a proper wizard or not, he did not know. But he did know that having magic made him special and a danger to himself. If anyone at all knew of his powers… He didn't like to think of what would happen then.
His greatest ambition, what Arthur yearned for more than anything else, was to head to the land of Alba, where magic ran free. This desire was pure folly, for he was not the young boy he used to be, and feared he could not make the venture alone, completely disregarding the fact that he was bound to Lord Blackthorn by oath.
For now, as Arthur walked through the threshold and right into his cot, he could only dream of waking up the next morn better rested than he could imagine.
Arthur awoke to the sound of filth sloshing around his shelter. It wasn't the most pleasant way to return from unconsciousness, but it was not the most deranging, either. Quickly gathering his things, he entered the outside world to see a dreaded sight.
Soldiers were everywhere, treading through the mud and trampling the flora. For once, it didn't even pass through his mind at what the Lady Blackthorn would think as he weaved his way in and out of the line of men. None gave him strange looks, for they were all too busy doing whatever it was they were doing to pay him any mind.
Once the small army was out of sight, Arthur ran back the same pathway he had taken the night before; the path that would take him right to young Lady Órla's chambers. He arrived in a matter of moments, and reached out to touch the fragile door. It fell off of its hinges and onto the ground.
His worst fears were realised ‒ Lady Órla was no where to be seen ‒ and without thinking, Arthur raced toward the dining hall, where, surely, Lord Blackthorn and his wife would be waiting with an explanation.
He arrived just in time to see their beheading.