I was sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall, when someone knocked lightly on the door. I mumbled something in response and Chris opened the door tentatively. He said nothing, just crossed the room to where I was sitting and settled himself on the bed next to me, prepared for a long wait.
After several long minutes, he sighed and put his hand on my shoulder. I flinched.
"...I'm really sorry about Firenze, Mike," he said hesitantly. "I know you were close to him."
I uttered a short, almost insane laugh.

"Um... Is there anything I can do?" he asked, clearly wanting to help. I ignored his question.
"You can't stay cooped up in here forever. It's been four days already." Again, I ignored him. He took a deep breath and dared to say,
"Firenze wouldn't have wanted you to do this. He..." I cut him off with a stony glare.

"How could you know what he wanted?" I hissed, furious. "You know nothing! You don't even know what he-" I stopped myself just in time from letting slip what he had done.
I pushed myself off the bed and paced, my hand on my forehead. Chris sighed understandingly, and for some reason this infuriated me beyond logic or fairness.
"Don't you dare act like you understand! You don't know anything about suffering! About losing the ones you love!" I yelled, storming up to him. He stepped back a few paces, managing to stop himself getting angry.

"Listen to yourself, Mike," he said in a calm voice. "This isn't you. I know you're angry, and I know you're upset, but that isn't you."
"Shut up! Just shut up!" I shouted. "You think I'm upset? You think I'm angry? I've known Firenze for seventeen years! Seventeen, Notch damn it! And you think you can waltz in here and figure it all out, even though it was your fau-" I stopped myself again, knowing no matter how angry I got, I couldn't hurt him that much.
Chris's calm, slightly worried expression changed. He stared at me, his eyes smouldering with fury.
"My fault?" he hissed. "My fault?"
"No, I-" I tried to backtrack, but it was already too late.

"Of course, it was my fault. Because everything's always my fault, isn't it? I find a man trying to commit treason, and it's my fault he's executed. I try to help you, and it's my fault you're so angry. I find a bloody bit of rock and it's my fault all the volunteers are..." his voice stuck in his throat. He merely shook his head, the words not coming in his anger, and stalked out of the door. I tried to call him back, to apologise, but he simply slammed the door behind him and disregarded my pleas. I stared after him for a few moments, then kicked the door, swore angrily and flopped down on the bed again to mope in peace.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I next roused myself from my bed dusk was falling slowly. I pulled open the door, shivering as the cold evening air washed over me, and stepped slowly down towards the dock. Leaning against my usual wall, I sighed and took a deep breath of sea air, contemplating what I had done to Chris. A wave of remorse washed over me. I liked Chris. Respected him. I'd known him since we were just children, and he was always a good friend to me, and now I had repaid that friendship with false accusations and arguing, when nothing was his fault. He was just doing his job.

It was the Council at fault. It always was. Annoyance welled up in me. When something went wrong, it was always the Council's fault! Annoyance turned to anger as I was finally forced to think about Firenze's execution. They had no right! No right to kill him!
I kicked the wall angrily, not noticing the pain of the bricks through my thin shoes, and hurried back home. Remembering Firenze's advice, I swiftly packed a rucksack with some clothes, a couple of knives from my kitchen, and all the food I could find – I would need it if I was going to escape. The work helped me to calm down a bit, and it was with a heavy heart that I flopped down onto the bed.

The next morning, I woke with just as bad a mood as the night before. I dressed quickly and was about to grab my bag from its seat on the floor when someone rapped loudly on my door. I opened it a crack, suspicious, and sighed partially in relief and partially in exasperation when I saw it was just Chris. He looked incredibly guilty, and any annoyance I retained from last night instantly drained away when I saw how sorry he was. I waved him in, surreptitiously sliding my bag under my bed with the tip of my boot, and closed the door after him. Before he could say anything, I stopped him with a raised hand.

"Chris, before you say anything, please don't apologise," I told him. He opened his mouth to reply, paused for a moment, and then closed it again.
"That was pretty much what I was here for," he admitted sheepishly. I nodded.
"I know. But you don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything."
"I... I didn't? But what about what I said?" he asked.
"It was my fault. I shouldn't have blamed you for it." He stayed silent for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you, since you were in that mood," he concluded. "So I guess we're both at fault." He flashed a grin at me, in typical Chris style, and pushed himself off the wall where he had propped himself.

"Since you've been locked up in here for an age, I guess you didn't hear about his funeral," he said, smiling awkwardly.
"His funeral? But... I thought traitors didn't get funerals..." I replied, confusion crossing my face.
"Normally not," he clarified, "But this time they're making an exception. The priest convinced them it was a violation of the Book of Notch, or something like that. Anyway, it's on Tirdas. I kind of assumed you would want to go." He opened the door. "See you later," he said, smiling sympathetically at me, and left, closing the door behind him.

Sorry I took so long to upload this chapter! Lots of schoolwork, etc, got in the way... Anyway, I'll try to get them out every 4 or 5 days at maximum in future.
Also a HUGE thank you to my first four reviewers, xoxLEXIxox, Taylorhrrr123, Admiral Rake Donsom and Mellifluousness!