Her Sapphire Eyes

Part 2

It had been a month. A month since he had seen the sapphire-eyed girl with the strong soul, the girl who took his sleep and occupied his thoughts, the girl whose beauty fascinated him to the core, the girl whom he had inadvertently hurt by ignorantly talking about her grief without acknowledging it, and the girl whom he avoided at all costs.

The cold mist of the morning clung to his face as he walked through the streets, running his fingers on the necklace in his pocket from time to time. He was contemplating his choices again, never really forgetting the idea of revenge. Especially now after what had recently happened.

Now he never went near the boy. He never could, not after he failed him for the second time. The boy's mother, his brother's widow, died of her grief and left him alone in this world. And yet again he stood watching, unable to help the ones he loved.

The rage that gripped him was all too familiar now, the rage that came every time he remembered his lost ones. It was his constant companion these days.

He walked to the inn, now his favourite place. He spent most of his time drinking, trying to shake the memories away. The guilt, and yet there was shame. Surprisingly, he was not ashamed of his failure to save his loved ones, but rather ashamed of his destructive thoughts.

All he could think of was slipping through the borders and going there alone, seeking the revenge that would finally put his mind and heart at ease. But whenever he thought of doing this, a flash of sapphire would cross his mind, and with it came the shame.

He walked through the doors of the inn, smells of sweat and stale beer nudging his nose, which he wrinkled as he moved through the almost empty chairs. He was heading straight for the innkeeper to request his mead when someone called for him.

He turned and saw a group of people huddled together at a table that he had ignored when he came inside. They were motioning for him to join them. He did not want nor need company at the moment, so he was reluctant to go.

The last time he had had company here it was his brothers. They were drinking and celebrating their eldest coming wedding before they heard of the upcoming war that took their time and prevented them from drinking together again. Now the wedded couple were buried together deep under ground.

He sighed as he dragged himself to the group of assembled lords. They were discussing something that sounded private; some of them were giving him cautious looks. He greeted them as he took a seat.

"Lord of fear," one of them greeted in a loud exclaim, clapping him on the shoulder as he sat down.

Hearing his title used to bring him pride. People used to mock him with such titles, and many others that were related to the meaning of his name. But he proved to them that he earned all of those titles, and ever since they were all proud to call him with a variety of similar names: the Lord of fear, the Warden of death, the Comrade of terror.

But now, for some reason, after he met the maiden whose eyes fascinated him still, hearing any of these titles made a sickening feeling settle in his stomach and heart. He suspected it was because they reminded him of how unworthy he was of being anywhere near someone as pure as her.

"We are deeply sorry for your loss, my Lord," the person next to him said in his gruff voice and Khaldarr merely nodded, sipping his mead.

Around the table, others stirred restlessly. Khaldarr sensed nervousness. They were doing something they were not supposed to do, and they needed his help. Didn't they know they came to the wrong person?

"We have all heard how your rage..um...led you to challenging our king multiple times," the same person said somewhat apprehensively.

Khaldarr looked him up and down, examining him and all those around the table. They all did not look like they were the king's spies, trying to catch him doing some mistake. No, they looked like those who were against the new king's reign. But he was the most loyal to the king. His grave silence seemed to frighten them all.