An Angel Called Eternity

The Field Rat's Banquet - Lykourgos XIII: The Dream Held, Dauntless

Lykourgos XIII: The Dream Held, Dauntless

The Twenty-Eighth day of the Eleventh moon, 872 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

Thrice they had been harried by enemy parties on their way to the palace, and thrice had they beaten back their woefully outnumbered and outmatched opponents. Of his sister's forces there was almost nothing left; her knights were scattered or slain, what few armsmen were left had seen the writing on the walls and thrown down their weapons, and the levies... well, they'd broken and fled back to the walls of the palace, only to find the gates closed to them.
They'd surrendered quite quickly after that.
The only missing link was the Band of the Wren; he'd heard reports that a huge portion of the entire sellsword company had been wiped out in the fighting that had engulphed the eastern district, with what was left withdrawing to the docks in the west. He wouldn't be surprised if there was an increase in piracy along the Teleytaian coastline soon enough, after all, to homeless sellswords with nowhere left to turn the prospect of 'commandeering' a few of the merchant vessels still in the docks and turning their skills towards raiding likely didn't sound too bad.
Either way, it was likely that the Company of the Wren was finished. Symon would be pleased at that; they'd been one of the main business rivals of the Starlings for quite some time, and with them gone he was left as the commander of the only major outfit in Teleytaios. As for Lykourgos, he was admittedly quite disappointed. He had hoped to strike a deal similar to that he had made with the Starlings with the Wrens, bolstering their forces after the war, but it seemed that was not to be.
No matter. It was inconsequential, all told. His sister had a scant one or two-hundred guards left in the palace, and that was it. Dreamwulf and Lieutenant Marren were in the south of the city, preventing a sack of the noble manses, and Lieutenant Isen was leading men into the western district to mop up what was left and take stock of the damages wrought by his sister's overly-zealous piety.

There had been no glorious final act to this war. No great storming of the breach, no battering down the gates, none of that. The guards had known which way the winds were blowing, and in return for not being killed by the host that vastly outnumbered them had elected instead to herd up the remaining nobility in the palace into the throneroom, confine his sister to her chambers, and then simply open the gates. It had been Lieutenant Daniil who opened the gates to him after ensuring the safety of his men, not wanting them to take on the shame of such an act. Lykourgos had raised an eyebrow at that. He had not seen Daniil in at least two years, but protecting the honour of his men didn't exactly fit what he remembered. He stayed on his guard as he passed through the gatehouse leading to the palace complex, loyal knights and armsmen flanking him on either side, but there was no trap designed to ensnare or kill him. He looked back at the Lieutenant in his red livery, and motioned him to his side.
"Your Grace."
"Do not think I don't realise you have served every party in this war now, Lieutenant. I have good reason to order your execution."
Contrary to his expectations, the man just nodded.
"You do. Will the men be looked after?"
"They will."
Daniil nodded and took a deep breath, steeling himself for a moment. He exhaled, and knelt before the prince.
"I am ready, your Grace. I trust you to keep your word."
The men to either side of Lykourgos shuffled uncomfortably as Lykourgos stepped forwards. It was not a sword he laid on the Lieutenant's head, but an armoured hand.
"I pardon you."
The Lieutenant looked up in shock.
"Your Grace, I-"
"You were willing to die for your men. You were willing to dishonour yourself and die in shame if it meant they were to survive. That marks you as being better than I remember, at least. Probably half of your thousand are still alive and amongst my own ranks. You will lead them again, taking these guards to bolster them. Needless to say, I expect total loyalty for my leniency here, no matter how much you may have earned it."
The man looked up at him, tears of relief just pricking at the corners of his eyes, and nodded.
"Whatever you ask of me, of my thousand, it will be done, your Grace."
He nodded stiffly at the man, attempting to appear impassive rather than pleased.
"Good. You can start by ensuring the Royal Barracks are prepared to receive some new guests for a night or two. Dismissed."
With that the relieved but admittedly bewildered man rose and walked off to see to his new task. Lykourgos had to stop himself from chuckling at the confused expression on the man's face. The Lieutenant had clearly expected to die just moments ago, and yet by what must have seemed a mere whim on the behalf of the prince had seen him spared and granted a pardon.