Astoria

t w e n t y - e i g h t

After Ben's burial, the now subdued group continued on their way to the southern border by the sea.

Most of the men were quiet, a bit shocked by a death after their victory over the looters. However, a few of them whispered amongst themselves.

Antony remained silent, sitting stiff in the saddle, his gaze directed on some point in the distance.

Kade, every once in a while, glanced at his friend, concern showing in his features.

Ben's death had come as a shock to all of them, but none had taken it as hard as the man Ben had given his life for.

That evening, they made camp near a small, trickling stream, its water clear and good for drinking. Kade sent two of the men, Ross and Carter, to hunt something for dinner, and they came back with five plump rabbits.

After the men had eaten, they made camp, arranging their blankets around the fire. Kade, as commander, waited until the whole group aside from the guards had laid down and set out on the journey to sleep, before falling asleep himself.

What seemed only moments later, he awakened, to find the fire died down. He could hear the soft snores of the sleeping men, their heads propped on their packs, their blankets in various states of disarray. He stood and walked slowly in a circle, taking count of each of his men.

Coming to an abandoned blanket and pack, he sighed.

Antony was missing.

The fool, thought Kade. Leaving the camp in the middle of the night, alone, no guard... He respected his friend's need to be alone sometimes, but, out here, in the middle of the woods, where anyone could attack them, he couldn't let Antony just go off on his own, no matter how much Antony hated having to have a guard.

He made his way to the side of the stream where Antony was sitting on a large rock. He was careful to not make any noises to startle his friend as he came up behind him and sat down next to him.

Antony hardly glanced up, merely nodding instead and returning his gaze to the starlight reflected in the black stream.

The only sounds were the insect songs and the calming, lazy ripple of the water before them.

Eventually, Kade cleared his throat.

"You...alright, Antony?"

Antony laughed shortly, then shook his head. "I haven't been 'alright' in a long while, Kade."

Kade turned slightly sideways, studying Antony. He had known the king, really, only a few months, since he had started consulting with him about military movements some time before Antony was crowned. He was sure that he had never seen Antony look so tired and down. His posture was slumped, his head bowed and his gaze fixed on his hands which were clasped in front of him. He had dirt on his face from the earlier battle, and his hands were still dirty. Kade had noticed that he ate nothing for dinner, even though he attempted to hide that fact. His hair was a mess, and Kade knew that, as upset as he was, the state of his hair was owed only to his habit of running his hand through it when there was too much on his mind.

Kade frowned.

"Antony, you have let me talk to you as a friend, have you not?"

Antony turned to look at him, meeting his eyes, before dropping his gaze back to the ground before him. "I have."

"Then allow me to talk to you as such now. Not as your servant, not as your general. But as your friend."

Antony hesitated but eventually nodded, once.

"You need to talk about it," Kade stated, bluntly. "It does no good not to speak of it at all."

When Antony continued to say nothing, Kade continued, speaking softly so as not to wake any of the sleeping men only a short distance away.

"Like it or not, Antony, the title of king will always give you distinction in the minds of the men under you, the men in this army. They are...we are...I am...the royal army. In the end? We all answer to you. And what army does not have a desire to protect their commander?"

When Antony didn't speak to interrupt him or tell him to stop, he pressed on.

"But there's something more. It's you, Antony. If it were your Uncle Rupert, for example, the men might not have been so quick to act and, if they did, it would have been because that were the expectation placed upon them. You're different, Antony: not like your uncle. The men admire you. They think you'll be a better king than Rupert." He paused, then added, "They're rooting for you, Antony."

Antony shook his head. "I don't know, sometimes, if I can be a better king than Rupert. Certainly, I won't attempt to trample the other small kingdoms on Astoria's borders. Of course I won't kill anyone who gets in my way, as he did. But what if I'm not...good enough? Not good enough to make the necessary decisions. To make decisions when the whole empire's wellfare is resting on my words? What if I can't?"

"The best rulers aren't the ones who insist that they know everything. They're the ones who care enough about their people to admit that they don't."

Again, silence pervaded the night, so much so that it was almost palpable.

"I feel responsible for Ben's death."

Kade immediately turned to face Antony. "It was not your fault," he said, his words sure.

"He died trying to protect me; therefore, it's my fault. I keep thinking about his family. He was going to go on leave to see them."

Kade sighed. "You'll see, eventually, that it really wasn't your fault, Antony. He acted independently of you. It was not an order. He just did what he thought was right."

He was silent for a few moments, before standing, and laying a hand firmly on Antony's shoulder.

"You need to get some sleep, Antony," he said. "We've got another long day of traveling ahead of us tomorrow if we wish to reach the southern border by nightfall."

He turned and left the side of the stream, going back to his own spot next to the fire.

***

Antony waited until he heard the sounds of Kade moving about the camp fade. Then he looked up and focused on a spot across the stream.

It wasn't just Ben's dying for him that was bothering him this night. After today, he had blood on his hands: in more ways than one. He had never been drawn towards the army; that was his brother, Johnathan. Even when training to become skilled in swordsmanship and the art of marksmanship, he had never thought that there might come a day where he would use those skills, honed over years of practice, to kill a man.

Even if the man was an enemy...Even if he had attempted to kill Antony himself and ended up shooting Ben...

He felt strangely guilty. What would his people think if they knew that their king had killed a man, even if he was a criminal who had just committed murder? Perhaps he was overthinking the situation. After the deed had been done, and after Ben had died, the villagers had looked at him no differently than before, except now with looks of sadness at the death of one of the soldiers that had helped chase the looters from their town.

He closed his eyes tightly as the memory of his arrow hitting that man in the back invaded his mind once again.

Did this deed make him no better than the archers that had shot his father?

He knelt by the stream and washed his hands, watching the dirt and blood wash away in the ice-cold water. If only the guilt I feel could wash away so easily...

Standing, he returned to the men around the campfire, found his space in the fire's dying light, and laid down, his back to the fire and the rough blanket pulled up to his chin.

After what seemed hours of lying on the cold, hard ground, a restless sleep finally visited him, removing him from his waking miseries for at least a while.