Guarded Love (COMPLETED)

Endgame

Cade was out in the field when the first raven dove through the sky. The band around its leg denoted it was carrying a message, the black color said it wasn't good. Without anyone questioning it, he shot the bird down before it finished its flight to the castle.

"King Alistair gravely injured. Near death. Send reinforcements quickly."

Crumpling the note up and tossing it to the fire, he kicked the dead bird into the dirt, snagged the best horse the palace owned and headed towards the west. He'd never been privy to the King's private getaways, the leader of an army not what one wanted while off doing whatever decadent and immoral thing royalty got up to. But Cade knew how to find it, knew every tiny hamlet and small shack that cropped up across Ferelden.

Pulling the horse to a standstill, he tumbled off the thing three days after snagging the raven out of the sky. Others had flown above him, a few he shot down and left to rot where they landed, but some slipped past. There'd be people on his heels, the Chancellor no doubt taking the message followups seriously and perhaps wondering what happened to the first. But they didn't know Ferelden the way Cade did. They sat in their tea parlors and glass houses sipping the wine carted out of the fields off the backs of men like Cade.

A handful of servants scurried back and forth in the courtyard of the lodge. Most didn't bat an eye at the man in uniform, but one of the larger types was left in front of the door.

He extended a hand out and said, "No one's allowed to enter unless they've already got clearance."

"Clearance?" Cade snickered, "Listen here, boy. I'm the blighted Royal Commander and there ain't a scrap of this land I'm not allowed on."

"Uh," he squeaked, glancing over his shoulder as if someone more superior would back him up.

Growling, Cade shoved his arm into the kid's side. The boy skidded away, unable to stop the man peering around the place. Chairs sat clustered around a fire, but no one sat in them. He wouldn't be there, they'd have him somewhere secure -- the biggest bedroom, of course. Hauling up the stairs two at a time, Cade counted his steps. He'd spotted the fancy pants giant glass window outside which had to be for the master bedroom.

Right smack dab in the middle of the lodge, so servants could scuttle from one end of the place back to it lickety split. This had to be it. He closed his fist and drew out the sword, grabbing onto his scabbard to silence the sound. No one else roamed the hall, a lucky break. Get in, and finish this quick. He'd find a good story for why he came out here in the first place later.

Drawing the blade tight to his chest, Cade pressed an ear to the door. Voices broke through the wood: one unknown, one annoyingly familiar, and the last one right on the other side. That cursed woman, how in the Maker's name did she wind up here? Then again, perhaps it was the Maker's own grace that led her here, to allow Cade to finish this all in one go.

More of the inane chatter erupted behind the door, when Cade grabbed onto the latch and yanked it forward. Shoving with his shoulder, he caught glimpses of the participants in the room but his real prize barely stepped away before he grabbed onto those bird-like arms and drew his steel to her elfy neck.

Silence clattered through the room as Cade kicked a foot against the door to slam it shut behind him. Some tiny servant stood back in the shadows, a hood drawn over the head, but she wasn't important. No, all his focus was upon the man sitting up in bed.

Alistair.

That penurious, addlepated bastard was still alive. Sure, he looked like shit, his skin drawn and sallow with bloodied bandaged wrapped around his gut but somehow he was still breathing. And Cade had a pretty good idea he knew why.