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The chair creaked as Prince Aethur leaned forward further, trying to get more comfortable. The small flame from the candle beside the book he was reading flickered slightly as he turned to the next page. The desk was made of Pine and of simple craftsmanship, just like everything else within the basement of the herbalist that was keeping him and his sister safe for the moment. The walls were plain cobblestone and the air was stale and damp. However much a downgrade to the castle he was used to, it was preferable to death by the Briinaborien's who hunted them.

Aethur stroked his chin as he read, feeling the subtle stubble that had begun to grow. He has been thinking of letting it grow to make him look more a man. After all he was just 16 years of age. A man by law to be true but he still felt far away from what a man, much less a king, was supposed to be. The book he read, the words did not even really register, too busy with thinking was he. Mulling over the same book over and over as he did so just help him sort his thoughts of late.

He and his sister, Alina, have been kept by the herbalist named Harwyn for a little less than a week. No real opportunity to leave town had presented itself yet. Firmly stuck they were in the town of Morys, north of the capital, Caer Brenin. The town was under Briinaborien control just like the capital. Harwyn had said that the garrison captain just surrendered and offered them the city. A coward he cursed him. While that may well be true, Aethur thought it to be reasonable. What hope did the relatively small town have against an army that could have surrounded them and stormed the walls with ladders with little opposition. The garrison was far too small to hold out, and they did not delude themselves in believing otherwise.

Whatever the case, they were stuck, Aethur and his sister both. He sighed and closed the book. At this point there were already certain pages he could rehearse from memory. Over and over he had read through it. The book was called 'The art of warfare' an old book that was within the library of the royal palace. He was reading it when the city was swarmed and it was the only thing he took with him aside from the clothes on his person. Multiple times he had shed tears while looking over the pages. Always in private though. He had to appear strong for his sister. Older she may be, two years in fact, but the death of their family has taken her even worse than him.

Just as the thought crossed his mind he heard a knock on the door to the room he was sitting in. His posture straightened and he hardened his face, or tried to as best he could. “Yes, who is it?"

“It is Harwyn, your grace." The elderly voice came back through the door.

“Come in then." Aethur said and cringed slightly at the words 'your grace' every time he said those words to him an icy dagger twisted within his soul. For it reminded him that his family except for Alina were gone and that he was now king. It was a heavy burden to bear even with no crown to rest on his head. Officially he was still a prince as he remained uncrowned by the Devylka, the high priest. Harwyn said it mattered not to him. In his eyes he was king already and thus called him 'your grace' and 'your majesty'.

The door creaked open and in came the elderly man that had given them refuge. His hair had lost its color years ago most like, shining silver in the dim candle light. The grey in his kindly eyes was dull and dim and his smile warm. His gait had to be aided by a cane which could be heard clacking on the ground which each step he took towards Aethur. With a smile on his face he stopped a few feet away from him. “Your grace, I have heartening news. My friend in the city watch is working with his friends to find a good time to get you out of the town. He will inform me as soon as he knows anything new." He spoke with a calm voice, ragged by his advanced age.

Aethur force a smile, despite the thoughts that had just bothered him once again. “Thank you, Harwyn." He would not tell him again to not refer to him as 'your grace', for he knew Harwyn would continue anyway with that slightly mischievous smirk on his lips.

The old man bowed as much as his old body allowed and turned around to leave. As he was leaving Aethur raised a hand. “Wait." Only when Harwyn turned back around did he speak what was on his mind. “How is… Alina doing?" He asked, hesitant, as he was afraid he knew what the answer would be.

“Still not eating, your grace." Harwyn informed him with his head bowed. “I believe the princess simply needs more time. It has not been long yet since the atrocities the invader committed to your family. Besides, you need to heal too, your grace. While you yourself are still grieving, how do you intent to help her?" When Aethur scowled at him he bowed his head deeply. “I mean no offense, your grace. Simply sharing an old man's wisdom."

He took a deep breath as he leaned back and let it out slowly while turning around with his chair to face his book once again. “No offense taken. You may leave, Harwyn. Thank you for all you have done so far." He dryly, forcing the words off his tongue as he stared at the closed book, studying all the details of the embroidered cover to take his mind off of everything else.

“Only doing my duty, your grace." He heard him say. Then he listened to the sound of his cane as the old man left the room, focusing on the creaking of the door when it was closed behind him.

The moment he was alone again it was as if all the thoughts that he was able to suppress before had suddenly become far louder. He felt the cover, looking right into the eyes of the hero portrayed on it.

“Look Aethur, that is gonna be me one day!"

His brother's words rang through memory louder than all the others. It was him who read the book to him in their childhood several times when Aethur had fallen terribly Ill. Their father had been on campaign, another war with the kingdom of Goedwig to the south. Their mother was there to care for him as well as the many nurses and servants, but none had really enough time apart from their duties to sit at his bedside and spend time with him as he lay there bedridden.

No one besides his brother, Daeron. Aethur was five years of age at the time and his brother thirteen and yet he sat there every day and read books with him even though Daeron was always far more interested in sword fighting and horse riding than reading. It was this book about strategy however that they both could relate to. After all, it was about warfare, put together by the namesake of his brother, Daeron, first of his name. A legend among the many kings of Albia. It had been so many years and he was but a young child and yet he clearly remembered his brother, beaming with pride and determination at the cover art, saying how one day he would become even more legendary than Daeron 'the great'. Daeron 'the greater' they would call him. It was the first time they had laughed together.

“Oh brother." Aethur whispered as the once joyful memory now became too much to bear. He stroked the rim of the book, feeling the aged leather at his fingertips. “Why did it have to be you and not me. You were strong and I am..." His voice was but a whisper as he spoke. Again and again the smallest of thought or memory would make him emotional. The image of them all dying horrendous deaths on the hands of the invaders while only him and Alina escape. It was so horribly unfair. That only because they were lucky enough to be near the back exit as they stormed the palace they survived while the rest did not. His brother was in the courtyard as it all happened he wagered. No doubt they got to him first. Not to mention his nephew, his brother's son, Aedann. He was only a child, four years of age, and yet surely they had him killed as well…

He felt a drop of water on his arm and only then realized he was crying again. “Dammit!" he cursed with grit teeth. Quickly he wiped at his eyes to clear the tears from his eyes. He could not allow himself to be emotional now. Alina needed him, as did his people. A sigh escaped him and he remained seated a while longer. The book caught his attention yet again but before memories would overwhelm him again he got up. He took the candle from the desk and left the book behind for now.

Behind the door to his room lay a hallway with simple stone walls and a cobbled floor. There were only two more doors down in the basement. One which led to the staircase to the first floor and another that opened up to a storage room where two rudimentary beds had been fashioned. Aethur opened the door to their shared bedroom slowly, cringing slightly at how loud the door creaked. The place smelled almost older than it looked, as if he was entering some long forgotten dungeon. Numerous shelves filled with ingredients, strange concoctions as well as just food were all over the place. If one entered the room it was hard to walk one step without accidently stepping onto some old pan or who knows what else lay about the place. The shelves themselves also covered Alina's current position from view. Aethur knew though that she would be in bed.

He walked around the first shelf and made a left turn, careful to step over an old wooden carving of a horse. Almost entirely hidden behind the last shelf at the end of the room there were two piles of hay upon which some blankets and cushions were thrown. It was the best bed they could have in these circumstances. Just as he thought, Alina lay in her own makeshift bed upon her side, facing the wall. No doubt she heard him coming, she just chose not to react. Her form was barely visible in the vague light of the orange flame of his candle. The closer he got, the clearer he could see. She looked the same way she had in the morning when he had gotten up. Her usually pretty long reddish blonde hair was a tangled mess as were the clothes she wore. Granted, she was wearing old simple clothes just like him that Harwyn could find in his belongings, yet still it was clear from just looking at her that she did not move one bit in the last hours.

Aethur just sighed and sat down on his own pile of hay next to hers, setting down his candle on a crate he used as a nightstand. From there he could see his sister's face, staring at the wall, eyes of blue much like his own only half-lid as she lay there motionless. A worn bar stool which functioned as her nightstand still bore the meal that Harwyn had set down for her, long grown cold. For a moment he looked at her face. She resembled their mother so much. Just like him she had her bright blue eyes, the eyes of a northerner, as their mother was from the High Kingdom of Norraenu. While he bore the similar square bone structure that both his brother and father shared his sister truly did come after their mother with her high cheek bones, small nose and shining eyes. For but a second he saw their mother in her place laying there, in a pool of her own blood, her once shining blue eyes cold and dead.

He almost chocked on his emotions as he forced himself to look away, his breathing quickening as he composed himself. With one hand he stroked his forehead while with the other he wiped at his eyes again, even though no tears had yet formed. After remaining like that for a while he let out a long breath, staring ahead into the dark room, illuminated only by the warm light of a single candle. As he sat there in silence, staring into the dark, all he could hear was his own breathing and that of his sister as well as the flickering of the candle light. Now and then he heard sounds from outside, like a wagon passing by just past the house or someone yelling. The basement barely let it anything though, which was all the better for them at the moment.

In that position he remained for a good while, all the while simply gazing into nothingness. His thoughts ran wild, trying so desperately to come up with something to say. Anything would do, really. Just something that might help her at least a little bit. He could not tell how long they both remained there in silence. To him it felt like hours, though it likely was no more than half an hour.

“You know…" He began and his mouth remained open for a few moments, still unsure. What really was the best approach here? He really had no idea. At first he wished to tell her of his thoughts of their older brother and the book. That was quickly pushed away though, as he could not allow himself to show weakness. He had to be strong, like his father, like his brother. Instead, he cleared his throat and said. “You need to eat. It will lead nowhere if you starve yourself, dear sister. Please just eat something, anything."

Alina did not move. It did not surprise him. Even as he looked at her face directly and put a hand on her side she did not move. No doubt he just said the exact same thing Harwyn had told her several times already. Again he opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Alina I… I want to help." He managed to say, clearing his throat to keep his voice from breaking. “I wish I knew how to help you… I… I just…" Words failed him as he tried to go further. His hands were gesturing back and forth as he tried to come up with more. Ultimately though, he failed, and sighed. There he remained sitting for probably another hour in silence while his thoughts ran wild.

When the candle had almost run out completely he could hear voices, those he did not recognize. They bore a heavy northern accent. Briinaboriens no doubt, unless their Norraenu allies had suddenly stormed and taken the city. He thought not much of it at first, until he was called forth from his deep thoughts when he realized the voices were coming not from outside the street above.

They were directly outside the room.

He froze as he listened closer in an attempt to understand what they were saying. “So can we see them?" Was the first thing he heard clearly.

“Why yes of course." Aethur heard Harwyn respond. “I still see no reason why though? I merely wish to take care of my sister's grandchildren. It is not forbidden under you Islanders, is it?" Even through the walls and the thick wooden door the bitterness in the old man's voice was evident.

“No." Came the impatient respond from a second accented voice. “Could still be them. Just open the door, old man."

After a brief pause he heard the door to their room open. His view was blocked by the stuffed shelves, but he could hear them entering. Aethur felt panic rise within him quickly as he grasped Alina's arm in a hurry. This time she looked at him. Her eyes widened as if she had only just realized he was there. “Briinaboriens." He whispered to her. “Keep very calm."

When her eyes widened even further and her gaze came to the dark room ahead of them the memory of their last encounter with their pursuers came to mind. There had been just one member of the king's guard left, Sir Hagen Catan. They were on the run from the capital and several pursuers were still on their tail. One night they managed to sneak up on them and nearly took Alina captive then and there. Aethur was unarmed and Sir Hagen unarmored. Yet Sir Hagen fought them all off valiantly, getting badly wounded in the fighting. The three of them had managed to get into Morys not long after, which at that point had only just been taken over by a separate army from the one that took the capital. It was fine at first, although Sir Hagen was badly wounded. It was him who arranged their stay at Harwyn's house and it was there that he ultimately succumb to his wounds.

Alina had already been bad before, but that encounter had made it only worse. Aethur hoped that she would be able to control her emotions for just a little while. A lot to demand, he knew, since he himself could barely manage that.

Aethur felt under his makeshift hay bed until he felt the handle of a sword. It was Sir Hagen's sword, one of the only two belongings of his they could keep without rousing too much suspicion. He hid it despite that, just as further safety precaution. He kept it there, merely keeping his hand on the handle and angling his body in such a way so that when they got to them his hand would not be visible.

Harwyn and the two men came through the room. He saw the candle light which was carried by the old man as they got closer. Aethur his grip on the longsword get tighter. He was no good with a sword, he knew that. Furthermore, he knew that this was a tight space with shelves and walls never far away. His hand thus shifted in the hay until he found a shorter handle further up. Sir Hagen's dagger. “Keep calm." He said, both to his sister and himself. “Just keep calm."

The light came ever closer and soon they came into full view. Harwyn was in front, carrying a candlelight. Shouldering him were two men clad in mail armor with parts of plate on arms and legs. One bore a helmet that covered his face with ringmail while the other's aged face was visible. His beard was a bright blonde, neatly groomed, and his eyes a deep blue. They were looking them both up and down. Aethur did his best to maintain eye contact when those eyes stayed on his own. He did not even try to hide his fear however, for surely any commoner would be scared by these two showing up inside their home.

“You." The man with the full helmet spoke, voice deep and growly, nodding towards Aethur. “Name?"

“Carig, sir." Aethur said right away and pointed towards Alina. “This is my sister, Mira. She- she does not speak much… “He was not sure if that stutter was intentional or not, but it helped him pass of as a terrified commoner. He hoped so, at least.

The men both just continued to stare at them for a moment before talking behind Harwyn's back in Nordic. What they did not know was that Aethur was quite fluent in the Nordic tongue due to his mother's origin.

“What do you think? Could be them?"

“Certainly fit the descriptions, though I do not know how they got here without us knowing." The bearded man scratched himself and thought for a second. “I say we take them in, just to be sure. If it is them and we let them go the captain will have our damn heads."

The other man nodded and Aethur began to grip the dagger harder. “Alright, you two will be coming with us." Said one of them in Albien.

“What?" Harwyn cried out, eyes wide. “That is preposterous! For what reason? What makes you think my nephews are bloody royalty?"

“Cannot be sure. Better be safe." One of them took hold of the axe on his belt. “Better not resist."

Aethur threw a glance at Alina and saw how she had not taken her eyes of them. She seemed frozen in place, eyes wide and her breath stifled. One of the man reached towards her while another reached for Aethur. What happened next all came in a blur. The moment a hand clasped around Aethur's wrist he pulled the hidden dagger forth from the hay and stabbed the assailant in the armpit, like he had been taught. The blade found purchase and dug deep, the man gasping in surprise, eyes wide. His reaction told him that he had hit his heart.

The other Briinaborien had only enough time to draw his axe and get out half of his curse word before he too was stabbed under the arm from behind by Harwyn. He must have worn a hidden weapon of his own that Aethur did not know about. Harwyn however missed the mark and the blade did not go deep. The man cried out and spun around with his axe, slicing Harwyn's neck open. Aethur stared as the old man fell, grasping the wound at his throat. He did not stare for long though. He did not think as he acted. He merely acted, doing what he could to protect himself and Alina. The man that he stabbed himself had not even dropped to the floor when he jumped at the other. He had just removed Harwyn's dagger from his armpit, blood pouring from his wound right away.

Aethur was upon him before he even turned. He was bigger, stronger and more experienced. What Aethur had was surprise though. And so he had jumped upon his back, making the big man stumble slightly. Swiftly he lifted up the mail aventail that protected his face with one hand and then dug the dagger into his throat with the other, stabbing him again and again, yelling the whole time. He fell together with the man, landing upon the bottom half of Harwyn's fallen form. It was done. The soldiers were both dead or dying. Aethur breathed rapidly, eyes unfocused for a moment. It all happened in a matter of seconds, but within his mind it felt far longer than it truly was. The first thing that came to his unfocused mind was Alina, so he glanced back, eyes still wide. “Are you ok?" He asked, words so slurred he could barely understand himself.

Not that it mattered, as she was entirely focused on something else. He followed her gaze, setting upon the bleeding Harwyn half buried beneath a dead Briinaborien. Only then did it truly register within his mind that the old man had been mortally wounded. He dropped the bloodied dagger and crawled towards the bleeding man. His eyes were hazy, half lid and dim. He still held onto his throat, but his breath came out in a gurgle. He was choking on his own blood. “No… Harwyn, what-what do I do?" Aethur asked in a panic and added his own hands to his throat. He noticed then how bloody and his hands and arms were. “T-tell me what to do. I-I can help!" He almost yelled at the dying man in a vain hope that he could save him somehow as he saved him and Alina.

All he got as an answer was gurgling. With wide eyes he stared at him, seeing the light in his eyes slowly go out. The last thing he saw was him mouthing a word. “Run." The word would not leave his broken throat, but he yet saw it clearly upon his lips as he tried to say it. Shortly after all sound and movement seized from the old man, Aethur's hands still pressed to his throat to no avail. He was dead. Another good man fallen in the name of their protection, because he could not do so himself. “No… “He whispered. “Come on, get up… not you too…"

He pleaded with him, or perhaps with the gods, to bring him back. Just this once. He did not know him well, but he kept him and his sister safe in disregard for his own safety. He was a true man of Albia, a true hero like in the ancient legends. He would remember him. For a time, he remained there over Harwyn, lost as what to do now. Slowly he removed his hands and sat up a little straighter. The word Harwyn had tried to say echoed through his mind in the old man's voice, as if he had truly said it. “Run."

It was clear that they could not remain in hiding any longer. More would come once their comrades did not come back from their search. They had to leave town, now. With whatever means necessary. He closed the old man's eyes and took a deep breath. Focus Aethur, he thought to himself, focus and think like a leader for once. “Alina, come, we need to go." As he reached out with his bloodied hand he pulled back again right away. If he went out like that anyone would be able to tell that he was in trouble. Quickly he looked around to find a wash basin in the room where not so clean water was help. It would do to get the blood off however. Quickly he cleaned his hands and then removed his bloodied tunic too, getting what blood might be on his face at the end as well. He rummaged through the room for a replacement tunic and some cloaks. Not only was it cold but it could hide their identity if needed.

To his luck Harwyn had some spare clothes still left that he could use. He put on a plain brown tunic swiftly, grabbing two linen cloaks as well. Not the best for warmth, but better than none. He got back to Alina and wrapped the cloak around her. When he did so she finally met his gaze. Her eyes were still wide and so full of fear. Her mouth moved like she wanted to say something, but ultimately nothing came out. He did his best to smile at her reassuringly. “Come on, we need to go." He said as he pulled forth the longsword. He tied the belt around his waist and then put the dagger in its own sheath at his right side. Both weapons would be concealed by the cloak, he thought, and then reached his hand out towards Alina. “Ready?" He asked her, smiling.

She did not respond. However, she gulped and took his hand after a moment of hesitation. He brought her to her feet and guided her around the dead bodies.

A plan was attempting to form in his head as they made their way upstairs. Harwyn had said he was working with a friend in the guard, perhaps that could be a chance. Too risky though, most of the guard force has already replaced by the Briinaborien garrison. Just walking out of the town was not an option as it was obvious they knew he and his sister were somewhere inside the walls. Disguises perhaps? It was something Harwyn had suggested before but deemed it too risky. Now the only option he could see was to simply sneak out alone. If only Harwyn had any wigs laying around.

Once upstairs he quickly looked through Harwyn's belongings while Alina just stood in place, gazing around while fiddling with her clothes nervously. He gathered together some food and a waterskin, albeit an empty one. Some gold was taken as well. Hopefully that would come in handy. The clothes they bore should make them appear simple enough to avoid detection. A brief glance outside a window told him that it would only be a few more hours until the sun went down. He considered waiting for night time but decided against it. Sneaking about in the dark would just rouse suspicion. “Ok…" He said to himself before turning to his sister. “We will go to the stables, take a horse and make a run for it, ok?"

Immediately he saw her eyes go wide. “I know it is risky… but we have to try! Just stay with me, sis. I'll protect you like a dragon does his treasure, I swear it." He says and forced a smile. It was something Daeron would say to them both as the oldest sibling. Both Aethur and Alina had been scared of thunderstorms, but Daeron would just stand on the window sill and yell to the heavens 'leave my siblings be, you gods! I'll protect them like a dragon would his treasure, I tell you!'. It always made them giggle and calmed them from the anxiety. Now it was Aethur's turn to calm her from the oncoming storm.

Her nervous angst remained and so did her fiddling, but she at least came along as he went outside. He hid the sword under the cloak and took Alina by the hand, guiding her through the streets. Not many people were moving about as most seem to stay in their homes or still be working. Ever since the occupation the whole town seems bleak. The raven banner of Briinabor flies high from the central keep of the town, visible even from where they were walking. The buildings that lined the streets were tight, whitewashed buildings of stone and wooden beams. Much like in the capital some of the houses were also painted in various colors, a custom in Albia thankfully having been carried over from wooden huts to stone houses. It gave the city a cheery look, or so it would at least if the people walking around would not appear to bleak. Every passerby he saw kept their gaze low, unless they were guards, then it was Aethur's turn to look down. Not even the colorful houses could make the town seem happy at this time, nor could the unusual sunny autumn day. Winter would soon come. They needed to be in Albien secured lands far before the first snows fell, that much was certain.

He did not know exactly where the stables were so he simply made his way to closer to the gate leading out of town and guessed it was the right way. After some walking and some close calls with guards who looked their way, they reached them. A small simply wooden structure close set to the walls where. A thin man sat in front of it upon a crate, carving something from a wood. He assumed that man must be the stable master. He hoped Harwyn's gold may be enough, for he had no clue how pricy horses might be. He took a deep breath and threw a glance and Alina. She was biting on her fingernail while staring at some Briinaborien guards nearby who were chatting. Before they would notice her staring he walked forward with as much confidence in his step as he could muster and took Alina with him. He did not like dragging her along like a dog, but at the moment he had no other choice. The guards luckily paid them no mind.

He cleared his throat as he approached the thin man who in turn stopped his carving and looked up, his old and tired eyes meeting Aethur's. “Aye? Can I help ya?" The old man asked in a raspy voice.

“Yes actually." Aethur responded confidently, smiling brightly. “I was wondering if I could perhaps acquire a horse from your stables my good man."

The man's narrow eyes looked him up and down, sizing him up, while merely throwing a glance at his sister who was still nervously chewing on her nails. Aethur could tell right away that the man was suspicious of them. Their clothes looked cheap, he knew that much. Yet he talked like a noble, for he knew commoners likely did not have the same vocabulary he possessed. In spite of those thoughts Aethur kept smiling.

“Right. Come inside." He grumbled and got up with a groan. It was a humble building on the inside as it was on the outside. Wooden beams held up the thatch roof. In between every beam was one box for a horse, ground covered in hay while the main hallway was floored with simple wooden planks. Some of the wood looked old and weathered while some looked a bit newer. “Tell me what yer are looking for? Something fast I imagine?" As the old man asked that question he could swear he heard a chuckle in his voice.

“Ehm yes, a fast horse would be preferable." He said with a warm smile and a nod. “One that can carry the both of us."

“Hmm yes of course. Of course." He mumbled to himself while walking towards one box in particular, a bit of a gait in his step. “This one here. She is a fine mare, as fast as a dragon she is I tell ya." He spoke holding out a bit of hay to a black and brown mare who took it out of his hand. “War refugee she is. Former warhorse so she ain't cheap." He paused briefly but Aethur just stared at him waiting for him to state the price. “Hmm 350 Crowns. Gold crowns of course."

Aethur's eyes widened as he looked at the small pouch of gold he had on him. There was at most 70 maybe 100 coins in there. “That is… very high, my good man indeed. Is there perhaps one in the range of 70 to 100 crowns instead?"

The old man just laughed and Aethur's hope fell apart. “Now you might get a work horse for that, but not one fit for ridin' I tell ya." He folded his arms and leaned against a wooden beam. “What, you're on the run or somethin'?" He asked and then chuckled.

Aethur felt sweat on his brow. Without a horse they will not get anywhere. They needed a horse. He held his hand on the handle of the sword, grasp unsteady and nervous. “We need a horse, sir. Please."

“Har har. Sir? I ain't no knight, lad." He smirked widely. “Running from the invaders or somethin'? I got no love for them lad, I tell ya. I ain't risking my neck to wrangle some, I dunno, vagabond and his sister out of here."

“I am not some vagabond!" He declared and took a step forward. He could only hope now that the stable master was a loyal royalist. “I am prince Aethur Andraig and this is my sister Alina Andraig. We escaped from the capital with the help of the royal guard. They…they are gone now, but we can still make it back into Albien controlled lands, to continue this fight for our people!"

For a moment there was silence within the stable. The old man just glared at him with that same stone face he had when they first approached him outside. Aethur's grip on the sword tightened. After a few seconds of silence, he chuckled and smirked. “Say that is true, why should I risk my neck for some pampered royal. What has yer bloody father ever done but start wars, eh? Finally, one he didn't start ended him. I care little who sits on the throne in the capital so long I get to be with my horses and live my life, all good."

Aethur did not know what to say for a time. The man was very confident in his demeanor and in the face of that Aethur's own façade slowly fell away. “We need that horse…" He said again. When the old man just chuckled and wanted to speak again, he drew the blade. The soft sound of steel sliding along leather was heard as the longsword came to rest in both of his hands with a tight grip, blade pointed at the stable master. He took a step back in surprise but did not react otherwise. “We will have that horse… or-“

“Or what? Ye'll stab me?" He asked, smirk still on his face. “You don't got no killer in ya, I can see that. Yer shaking, standing with yer legs tightly together. You ain't no killer, lad." He stepped forward slowly. “So, put down that fancy lookin' sword and let us- ARRGH!" His sentence was interrupted as Aethur with an unsteady handed thrust forward into the old man's belly. The blade did not sink deep, but deep enough to almost go out his backside again. Aethur withdrew the blade, wide eyed as he stared into the shocked expression of the old man. He almost forgot he had killed two invaders before, but this was different. Not only was the man innocent, but he looked into his eyes as he fell stumbled backwards.

The old man held his wound and screamed. “AHH curse ye, yer bloody fuck! Ye and yer entire fuckin' family." Aethur did not hear his words. He only stared at him as he sheathed his sword, hands shaking. Swiftly he grabbed Alina's hand and dragged her to the mare the stable master had pointed out. The horses had gone a bit wild at the death of their master, but this mare seemed to be calmer than the others. A warhorse indeed.

“Ey, everything alright in there?" Aethur heard a man say from the outside in a think norse accent. They had to move now.

“Alina, up!" He said, basically commanded as he lifted her up upon the horse's back. She was not saddled, but there was no time left. He had ridden bareback before, even if just the one time years ago. It would work just fine. “Hold onto me!" He yelled as he jumped up as well, holding onto the mare's mane. “Shh girl, coooome on." He tried to coheres the animal who, while calmer than the others, still threw head this and that way and wouldn't move forward. “Please, girl, move!" He said through grit teeth as he kicked at her sides again. This time she listened, albeit still not exactly in the direction he desired. He felt Alina grip on his sides tight just as he got the horse to trot towards the door.

It was then the guards apparently decided it was enough waiting and opened it. “They're takin my horse, the fuckers!" The old man screamed as said horse bolted right through the man who just opened the door. Aethur did not look behind and kept going, still shaking but with determination. This was the only chance they would get. Immediately there were other guards who saw them, but none that could reach them in time. The old man spoke true, she was fast. So fast Aethur could barely hold himself on top of her as she galloped down the street where he saw the gatehouse not that far away.

Behind he heard man shout in the Norse tongue and saw common folk look on in shock as they rode by fast as lightning. The gate, he saw it. It was wide open. Aethur felt hope come back to him, until he saw the portcullis closing. No. No not now! The gate was so very close, they might still make it, he thought. That was when he saw a guard stand before the inner gate, made from reinforced wood, unmoving. Behind him Aethur could hear screaming in Nordic to just close the gate. That man did not however, not even as the men on top the gatehouse turned the chains to lower the portcullis.

It was thus that they rode through the gatehouse before the portcullis was even halfway closed. Riding by he tried his best to look at the man. All he saw was a blur of red hair as he held a fist to his heart. That must have been the man Harwyn was talking about. One way or another the plan worked. Aethur would have almost laughed under different circumstances and would he not know that the guard just sacrificed his life to safe theirs. They would kill him, and surely the man knew that as well. He thanked the man under his breath as he looked back to see guards running around on the walls. He heard some arrows land in the ground, but never close to them.

He did not stop, even when the town became smaller and smaller behind them. Soon they would send out a hunting party. Several men with horses, armed and armored. They would stand no chance. Aethur rode on, turning right off the road. They had to go through the forest to lose them. It was no direct route to Caer Morgraig, the nearest ally castle, but they would never get there with the Briinaboriens right on their trail.

With shaking hands and a determined heart, Aethur kept riding while Alina held onto him tight.