The dirt beneath Hannibal had long ago blurred into a mindless brown as his limbs went numb and his guilt twisted inside of him. The prayers he had learned as a child tumbled from his lips in muted whispers asking God for forgiveness and guidance. He didn't often find himself turning to the Lord for help, but he had completely run out of ideas.

No going back now. Only forward. But where was that?

Until these ropes rotted away, Hannibal doubted there was much of anything he could truly do. And even if he did break free of these restraints where was he meant to go? What was he meant to do? How many Hail Marys was it going to take? He would say them explicitly for the rest of his life if it was required of him.

The sound of a sudden snap and thud sent Hannibal tumbling face first into the dirt before him, his balance stripped away. He coughed, his free hand pushing himself up. His elbow trembled under his weight and gave him pause. He was free.

His brows furrowed in confusion and he turned his attention toward where the brief moment of silence had come to an end now filled with the faint sound of the knife's edge cutting through the remaining strained fibers of the rope holding his other hand.

"Ceceilia," Hannibal muttered.

The woman's eyes flashed as they met his before they returned to her work and the rope snapped, a dull thud following as the rope hit the floor. She clutched the knife tightly in her fist and she moved to stand before the kneeling Hannibal.

Hannibal rubbed at his wrists as he pulled the ropes free from his freshly bruised skin. His heart jumped and he leaned back when Ceceilia's body dropped down beside him and the knife was pointed towards his face.

"You didn't come back for dinner," she explained despite Hannibal having not asked. "I found the boy in the stables. Now would be a good time to tell me what the hell is going on and why I am setting you free."

The question left Hannibal before he could stop it. "Why are you setting me free?"

There was a long sigh and Ceceilia pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing around the workshop nervously, knife lowering from its threatening level.

"You've had a plan all along. I know you have. And if I don't want my family split up, then I need your help. You know what you're doing."

Hannibal blinked, caught off guard. "I was tied up and got a child killed. I don't think-"

"You are the only hope I have. My children are going to be sold tomorrow and I refuse to sit around and watch that happen. How do I help you?"

Hannibal let his gaze finally take in the space he sat in. Tools hung from the ceiling and on the walls, the fire was barely lit now, but still held the cattle brand in its coals. Anything in this room was a viable weapon. That was a decent enough start.

His mind raced as he strung together a plan haphazardly.

"Are the others awake?"

"It won't be difficult to rouse them. You have an idea?"

"Maybe." Hannibal rose to his feet, legs feeling like thousands of needles were stabbing them. His hand reached out for a hammer and he let the weight settle in the palm of his hand. "I will handle the marquess and the guards if you can handle getting the others down to the well. Keep everyone there and I will find you when it's safe."

"You can't possibly do all of that-"

"I've done far worse," Hannibal assured, turning around to face the woman who had gotten to her feet, knife still tight in her grip. "Have them arm themselves with anything in here. Keep the children behind the adults who can fight."

"Will we need to fight?"

"I hope not. Don't let everyone leave until the watch changes their shift. You will have several minutes when no one is near the lodge." Hannibal twisted the hammer around in his grip and went for the exit, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He found teary eyes flickering over him. "I can't promise you that you will all be safe, but I will do everything in my power to get all of you out of here tonight. We don't have time to waste."

"Thank you."

Hannibal's lips tipped up slightly in the corner as a reassuring smile, though he wasn't sure if it held the proper emotion he was trying to feed into it. He pulled himself free of the woman's grip and stalked out into the night.

The skin on his back grew tight as he worked his tattered remains of his shirt from his body as carefully as he could. He could worry about the pain later. For now, others were counting on him and he would do just as he said. He always kept his word.

The main house loomed in the distance, haunting with the moon hanging behind it. Lights were still present in several of the windows, light music and chatter flowing from open windows. Above the piano, one voice stood out. The very voice Hannibal was searching for.

It set his blood alight and his muscles no longer felt stiff.

The front entrance came into view and the hammer grew heavy in Hannibal's grip as he approached. There were two figures, stationed like statues on either side of the door and Hannibal wasted no time.

The hammer collided with the back of the first man's knee. There was a yelp of pain that broke the night air, causing the piano inside of the house to fall silent. The burly man collapsed on the ground, knee held protectively.

With a swipe, Hannibal's hand brushed aside the spear that was aimed for him and lunged at the second guard, knocking him forcefully to the ground. The ping of the metal against bone rang in Hannibal's ears as his body moved on instinct. The hammer came down against the man's skull, crimson dusting over Hannibal's face.

The cries of the first man stole back Hannibal's attention and he snatched up the dropped spear. The movement was practiced. A simple stab to the chest that earned Hannibal another cry of pain, but the man wouldn't be following Hannibal.

His feet were sure as they carried Hannibal through the front entrance and into the lavishly decorated home. Golds assaulted him as he passed in search of the main hall. The dim light through a doorway called to him and Hannibal stopped in the doorway, taking in the room.

The piano sat in the corner, a young woman sitting at it with a scared expression on her face. On several sofas around a light fireplace were finely dressed men and women. High titles, if their clothing was anything Hannibal could go by. Each held a similar expression to the pianist, eying him without daring to breathe.

And in the center of it all sat Marquess of Leganés, Diego Felipez de Guzmán. The savageness in the marquess' eyes that had first greeted Hannibal on a ship was nowhere to be seen. The fear was swiftly hidden behind a cough and a clearing of the marquess' throat. His lips broke into a nervous smile and the laugh that tripped from the lips held the same sentiment.

"Commander," he greeted, rising to his feet and pushing a lock of dark hair that had fallen from its ribbon from his eyes. "To what do we owe the pleasure of you-"

"You killed Miguel," Hannibal stated firmly, grip tightening on the slick hammer still in his hand.

"Miguel?" Guzmán removed his arm from around a young woman and rose from the couch. He shook his head, taking a step towards Hannibal. Hannibal's gaze narrowed, taking careful note of each movement from the marquess. "I'm not sure to wh-"

"The little boy lying dead in the stables," Hannibal again cut in, words bitter.

"Ah." There was a nod of understanding. "Business."

"Then you won't mind me conducting my own business, would you?" Hannibal cast a look around the room and pointed to the group with the bloodies hammer. "My quarrel is not with you. I would suggest you each leave." The room stood still, not a breath to be heard and Hannibal did his best to keep his dwindling patience in check. "Now."

As if launched by a trebuchet, the couples jumped to their feet, rushing from the room. Hannibal stepped from the doorway to allow them through, catching the eyes of one of the men as he passed. Hannibal doubted the man had ever seen a day of conflict in his life and he silently dared the man to stay and watch what would happen.

The young lady from the piano was the last from the room and Hannibal waited until the shocked sounds from finding the guards outside had faded before he returned his attention to the issue at hand.

"Killing a child is not business," Hannibal spat.

"It is when my property is being threatened."

Hannibal bit his tongue, and inhaled deeply. "I am not your property. None of those people are."

"You can think of yourself in whatever light helps you sleep at night, but you will be branded as mine until the day you die, commander." The smile that was thrown at Hannibal made his jaw clench. "You have killed two of my men. The letter I found on the boy was from you and that is what got the child killed. You are not clean in this."

Hannibal's palms turned damp with sweat as his stomach knotted itself up. "I will carry the guilt of Miguel's death for the rest of my days, but I have killed many men, marquess." The words were sticky in his mouth as they rolled off his tongue. "And what is one more to testify against me before God?"

Guzmán threw his head back in a hearty laugh. "What exactly is your plan here, commander?" Guzmán paced the floor, hands waving about as he spoke. "Dispose of me and set all of my slaves free?"

"In a rather condensed summary," Hannibal agreed, keeping marquess well in view. He took several steps closer to the man, though Guzmán didn't appear to notice. The heat cast from the fire made Hannibal's skin feel sticky as the blood dried.

"And what do you suppose will happen to them once they are free? Some of them I have had since they were children. They know no other life. They have no means of survival without me, or at the very least, someone like me." Guzmán stopped and turned to face Hannibal. "This is how the cycle works and it will not end anytime soon. I can promise you that."

"It has to start somewhere."

"Yes, it does."

A glint of metal caught the fire light before Hannibal could react. He gasped, his arm rupturing into pain as the fireplace stoker grazed him. Blood poured down his arm and he fought the urge to grab the wound, dodging as another thrust was aimed at him.

Hannibal tumbled up against the mantle, using the warm wood to gain his balance. Hannibal's arm rose to protect his head at another flash of movement and he let out a cry as the iron collided with his bone. His arm jittered, the hammer thudding to the floor as it slipped his grip.

A boot caught the back of Hannibal's ankle and with a violent tug, Hannibal was thrown off balance. The floor caught him, the blaze of the flames hot and crackling in his ear.

The pain in his ribs sucked the air from his lungs. He gasped, his arm quickly covering where he had been hit to protect his body from further damage.

"I will teach you a lesson you will never forget," was hissed above Hannibal. Another blow caught his hand. Hannibal let out a cry, begging his mind to focus. He needed his attention on the situation, not on the pain. What was around him? What could help him? He refused to die here. "That prince of yours will be lucky if there's a finger left of you when I am through."

Hannibal's hand caught the iron rod, his palm bursting into heat at the strike. Heat. Hot. Fire. The crackle of the fire in his ear. Guzmán tugged at the stoker, but Hannibal held firm.

"He is king," Hannibal corrected.

Without a second thought, Hannibal shoved his free hand into the fire, pulling from it a burning chunk of timber.

Hannibal had seen fire catch before. He had woken with his tent being engulfed in flames. He had heard the screams of men ablaze. Seen running pyres of flames begging to be saved. But never by his hand.

Guzmán's coat went first. It went unnoticed, the stoker snatched from Hannibal. The iron was raised again before fear overtook the marquess' expression. The stoker clanged against the floor, lost against the scream.

Hannibal could only watch as the coat was violently removed and flung away to one of the sofas. But it couldn't be helped. It was too late. The howling echoed about as the inferno grew.

Hannibal dropped the wood and scrambled to his feet. The heat of the room was unbearable as the curtains set alight. The flames danced like demons, searching and hungry. The smoke choked the air. The screams were now lost to the roaring.

Hannibal raced from the room and down the hall towards the open front door. The night air was wonderfully cold as it hit his skin and filled his lungs that were trying to expel the smoke they had inhaled.

A shattering and crash made Hannibal jump. A window fell in shards, like deadly rain as the man drenched in hellfire jumped from it. Hannibal's head tipped to the side, curious. Guzmán crawled along the ground, slow and weak, charred hands dragging him along until they ceased to so much as twitch.

The night was lit by the conflagration, guiding Hannibal to the well. The guards passing him didn't appear to care what he was doing. They would be trying to put the fire out. It was futile though. The only thing to do now was wait for the hunger of the flames to be satisfied.

A large group of people greeted him, the men at the ready the moment he came into view. Each held a respective weapon, ready to defend their patchwork family. A single person broke free from the group and into a sprint towards Hannibal. He was nearly knocked over when Ceceilia tackled him in a hug.

He winced, inhaling sharply as pain radiated his body, but his arm wrapped around her.

"Is it done?" she asked softly into his neck.

"Yes." Hannibal closed his eyes with a nod. "You are free to go."

"Thank you." Her voice quivered. She released Hannibal from the hug and cleared her throat, wiping her hands onto her skirts. "Some of us will be sticking together. Will you be coming with us?"

Hannibal shook his head. "I have other matters to attend to."

The town still clung to sleep when Hannibal reached it. The sun was just barely beginning to bath the buildings in its warmth. Maximus' hooves clicked against the stone and echoed off of the houses.

Hannibal hated how well he knew this town. How many nights he had occupied and wandered it under rather different circumstances. How he had actively kept the war from the city as effectively as he could. How he knew the people who lived here. And he hated how he knew which house he needed to go to. How he knew exactly where to find it among the others. Exactly who would be answering the door when he knocked.

"Whoa," he muttered to Maximus, patting the horse's neck when Maximus obeyed and stopped outside the front door to a modest home.

Hannibal adjusted the boy he held tightly in his arms. As carefully as he could, he lowered himself from Maximus' back and to the cobblestones. They felt uneven beneath his feet. Unwelcoming. Unknown.

He didn't have the chance to knock before the door was swung open and broken, teary eyes looked him up and down. The air grew heavy as tears streaked Ysabel's cheeks. Her body trembled as a sob burst from her and she grabbed at Miguel's body. Hannibal did his best to help lower him to the ground so that the boy didn't fall. Ysabel hunched over Miguel, her weeping blanketing the street.

"No!" was yelled in pure anguish when Luis came to the door. He dropped to his knees beside his wife, hugging her. Tears rolled down Hannibal's cheeks, a lump in his throat making it hard for him to breathe. Luis' gaze wracked over Hannibal. He must have been a sight to see. Soot and blood covered. Injured and crying. "Thank you for bringing him home."