The loud sounds from the feast hall were still heard in the corridor, yet suppressed.
"These people will scream their damned hearts out!" Grandpa grumbly.
I looked at him, having to look up to meet his eyes, he was so tall that even with a crooked back, he was taller than me
"Don't you like feasts, grandpa?" I asked.
"I liked feasts when they weren't torture for me!" He said in his usual agitated voice, looking up at the sky, "Look what has become of me, a skeleton who can't even walk properly without the help of his eleven-year-old grandson! I hope death comes for me quick, which it is, so I can escape this torment."
I looked him in the eyes, anguish feeling my heart.
Grandpa and I were never close, he was old and mostly bed ridden by the time I was born, but he was still my grandfather.
"Don't say such things-" I said but grandpa didn't let me finish.
"What do you know of death, boy." He said, sighing, "It's gonna come for me, come for all of us, one day you will die too, just hope you don't suffer like me, death is an inevitability. I just wanna.. finish some things before I become a corpse."
He pointed his cane left, to the balcony that looked out onto the black mountains which surrounded half of the city.
The mountains were big, bigger than the castle, made for a really good defense, they had little greenery on it.
Beyond the mountains, were fields for farmers and animal grazing.
Between the mountains, a narrow carved out path was visible, used for transportation, it was made barely big enough for one cart or a wagon.
Grandpa walked forward and placed his left hand on the railing, and pointed to the right-most mountains with his cane, "You know what that is?" He asked.
I nodded, walking up to stand beside him, "Yes, it's where the caves are, where our dragons nested." I pointed to the top, "The cave on top is where Aelira's dragon, Larexes, lives."
"Good." Grandpa nodded, "I know your dragon never hatched, but there are 3 unclaimed dragons out there, and yours father's too if he dies soon, other than that, who knows if some wild dragons still wander around that ruin of an island."
I looked at him, waiting for him to say what he wanted me to do.
Grandpa looked out at the stars and sighed, "Each of my sons, nephews, nieces, grandsons, granddaughter, all rode Caelax with me, but by the time you were born, I was barely to ride on horseback, let alone dragonback. By the time you were even old enough to mount a dragon, I needed a cane. I never got to ride with you on Caelax, something I wanted to do before I died." He looked at me.
"Unfortunately, this shit body can't do shit any longer except shit. So you shall help me ride him one last time."
I stayed quiet for a moment then nodded, "Ok."
Grandpa scoffed, "It wasn't a request, be up early tomorrow." And he turned around and started walking slowly on his cane, "You've eaten enough! Go to bed, I don't want you to start drinking alcohol like your brother did at your age! Fuck those Ygranths!"
"Ok.... Sleep well!" I yelled before he got too far.
I placed my hands on the railing, and looked out into the mountains.
"I guess I'll stay here for a while." The cold wind was soothing, it was calm, fresh.
I looked down at the narrow path and saw a wagon coming through, pulled by two horses.
A couple meters away from the path, was a small establishment, a smith's workshop. A bladesmith was straightening his work on a anvil with a hammer.
I heard giggling.
I strained my ears, the sound of footsteps, giggling and talking.
I turned around and looked at the origin of the sound.
Kaeryn and Aelindra stumbled around the corner, their arms slung around each other, faces flushed with wine and laughter. My brother's silver hair was mussed, his crown slightly askew, while Aeri's emerald gown was wrinkled, the laces at her bodice loosened. They leaned against the stone wall, giggling like children who'd stolen sweets from the kitchen.
I raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you two be at the feast?"
Kaeryn blinked at me, his violet eyes glassy. "T-Targan! Little brother!" He lurched forward, nearly tripping over his own boots before catching himself on the railing. "We were just.... uh..."
"Escaping," Aeri supplied, her voice singsong. She pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. No one knows we're gone."
I snorted. "I think the entire hall knows. You're not exactly quiet."
Kaeryn waved a dismissive hand. "Pfft. They're all too drunk to notice." He squinted at me. "Why're you out here? Shouldn't you be in bed? You're eleven."
"Twelve," I corrected.
"Same thing," he slurred, then hiccuped.
Aeri giggled again, leaning heavily against Kaeryn. "He's adorable. Can we keep him?"
Kaeryn wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Nope. He's my little brother. Mine." He poked my chest. "And you—you're not allowed to grow up. Ever."
I rolled my eyes. "Go to bed, Kaeryn. Before Father finds you like this."
Aeri gasped dramatically. "Oh no. The king." She clutched Kaeryn's sleeve. "We must flee, my prince!"
Kaeryn nodded sagely. "You're right. To the—hic—to the gardens!"
They stumbled off down the corridor, their laughter echoing behind them.
I shook my head, turning back to the mountains.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In the far North, inside a cave.
Arthur sat near the fire, on a large rock, looking into the fire. The heads of the men who had bounties on them laying beside his leg.
Lance and Barry had just sat down themselves, after putting the wolf's body in a bag, and burning the bodies of the wild men-and Rodrick.
"He was just a young lad..." Barry let out, staring into the fire, holding back tears that threatened to spill, "He talked about how he wanted to get a new house, move his family from that old crumbling house of his. Hire a maiden so his mother doesn't have to trouble herself anymore."
The fire crackled between them, casting long shadows against the cave walls. Arthur didn't look up from the flames as Barry spoke, his calloused fingers methodically cleaning his sword with a rag.
"Rodrick knew the risks," Arthur said flatly.
Barry clutched his hands, "Maybe if I was as great as you-"
"I am not great." Arthur said flatly.
Barry scoffed, "Of course you are, we together, me and Lance, only killed one guy, you killed all those men like it was a child's play! You chopped off heads and limbs like butter."
Arthur scoffed, "If you knew what I did, you wouldn't think I was great."
-------
The great hall of Caerholt was bustling with activity—mercenaries, hunters, and soldiers crowded around the bounty counter, exchanging coin and information. Two guards leaned against the stone walls, watching as Arthur, Lance, and Barry carried in the wrapped bodies and the massive wolf carcass.
"Gods," muttered the younger guard, his eyes fixed on Arthur's scarred face. "Is that really him?"
The older guard nodded, scratching his beard. "Aye. Ser Arthur Duskbane. The Traitor Killer."
The younger man frowned. "I thought he was dead. Or exiled."
"Should've been," the older guard grunted. "But the king keeps him around. Useful, that one. Or was, before..." He trailed off, watching as Arthur handed a small urn to a weeping woman—Rodrick's mother. The sister, a girl no older than fourteen, stood frozen, her face blank with shock.
Arthur said nothing to them. Just placed the urn, alongside a big heavy bag filled to the brim with coins, in the mother's hands and walked away.
Lance looked at the scene and questioned Arthur, "Wait, did you put your assignment reward and the bounty for those men you killed in that?"
Arthur didn't stop walking, "They need it more than me."
"Oh yeah.." Lance dragged out, "I forgot you were a royal knight."
Arthur just side-eyed Lance and asked, "What do you want?"
Lance increased his pace to keep up with Arthur, as they entered street, the surrounding people looked at Arthur, murmuring and whispering, "I just wanna make sure what I heard is true."
"Why would it make a difference." Arthur increased his pace, taking big steps with his long legs.
Lance increased his pace, practically running, "Look man, I just gotta know things about the man I am gonna work it, we are paired for the next expeditions."
"Yes." Arthur said, nothing else, just a yes.
"What?" Lance asked, puzzled.
"Whatever you heard is true, yes. Now leave me alone." Arthur said, turning towards a house, he opened the door and got in, and closed the door on Lance's face.
Lance stood infront of the door, and contemplated asking Arthur to open it, but realised it would be futile.
A panting Barry finally arrived, "Hey- you- what is true?" He asked, panting with his hands on his knees.
Lance sighed and turned around and walked to Barry, "Well, from what I know." A grimace washed over his face.
"What-" Barry asked, no longer capable to have patience, "Tell me, don't just stop." He asked again.
Lance sighed, "They say he killed his wife. Beat her to death while he was drunk."
Barry's eyes widened, "What?" He gulped, "You are fucking with me, right?" He asked again.
Lance shook his head, "I've heard it alot of times, not only that. His daughter, only fourteen years old, slit her own throat, when she found her mother's dead body, bludgeoned and messed up, and her passed out father. The woman's body was unrecognisable, her bones were crushed, like a anvil had fallen on her, he did it all with his bare hands."
Barry's face drained of color. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. "No... no that can't be right. He just gave that woman all his coin. He—"
"A regretful man does things, trying to make wrong–right." Lance muttered, glancing back at Arthur's closed door, "That man's a ghost, he is dead inside. He quit drinking but."
Barry swallowed hard. "And now we're stuck with him."
Lance clapped him on the shoulder. "Look at it this way—at least we're on his good side."
---
Inside the dim, sparsely furnished house, Arthur stood motionless in the center of the room. The fire in the hearth had long gone cold.
His gauntleted fingers flexed at his sides.
*Crunch.*
*Crunch.*
*Crunch.*
The sound of bone breaking under his fists echoed in his skull, as fresh as the day it happened.
He could still see her face. Not the ruined, bloodied mess he'd left—but how she'd looked that morning, smiling as she braided their daughter's hair.
"You'll be home for supper?"
He hadn't been.
Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose and moved to the wooden chest at the foot of his bed. Inside lay the only things he kept from his old life:
A small silver locket, its hinge broken.
A child's doll, its stitching frayed.
And a folded piece of parchment, brittle with age.
He didn't need to open it to know what it said. The words were seared into his mind:
"Father, I can't look at you anymore."*
Arthur closed the chest with a snap.
Outside, the wind howled like a grieving child.
It was the same thing he went through everyday.
This was his jail. This was where he was sealed.
It was a reminder. It reminded him everyday of that day.
Lest he forgets what he has done, the smiles he crushed, the innocent fire he extinguished.
His sins.
This was his eternal cage.