Night came quickly for Anton. The long summer days were waning and the chill breezes moved through the air foretelling the coming of winter. The northern chill would come first, and freeze the ponds and streams, shortly followed by the great snowfall. The people of Antonium and the rest of Liticea were already preparing. The main harvest had not begun, but in a month the fields will be empty and the granaries will be full, and people will go from tending crops to praying at the temple of Rannos for the winter to come an early end.
The feast came to a slow end. It lasted well past midnight, and the soldiers were lumbering to bed after what will likely be their last night of heavy drinking. Jon Malken was one of those that left the Great Hall of Anton and entered the Tower of Hospitality absolutely drunk. There was such a tower in every worthy castle in Liticea, but none of them were easily accessible for the inebriated. Freedmir was there to help him up. Jon wished he had one of Yorod's carriages so he could carry all the wine he wanted into the Westland.
"I'm going home, Freedmir," he spoke as they finally got to his room. Every room in Lord Oaran's castle was decorated with Orange and Yellow bed sheets. On the wall hung the banners and there was a fire across the room and two chairs for one to relax.
"Let's get you to bed, my Lord."
"No! Put me by the fire. I'm not tired," Malken collapsed into a hair and Freedmir took the other.
"We're going home," he said again. His eyes slide lazily around in their red sockets.
"We are, my Lord."
"It will be amazing. My Ancestral home. I've never even been there. I've never been to the Westland. Did you know that, Freedmir?"
"Yes, my Lord. We grew up together. I've been wherever you have."
"Yes, you have," Jon slide down his chair. He latched on the armrests and let his feet slide ahead of the chair, folding the rug that lay in front of the fire.
"It feels so good to be going home."
"It does, my Lord."
"Too bad Sarabath is gone," he lamented. The large town once belonged to the Malkens during the reign of the Rochistyr, but they were ousted during the Rebellion. Jon's great uncle was the last Malken ruling before it was taken from them.
"At least those ass-nibbling, boy-touching Tamral's are gone," he laughed, "They were real ass-rats, you know! Forced my family out because they would not kiss Rorchistyr ass. And Horith Ryden! What thanks did my family get for standing up for his cause?"
"You did not get Sarabath, my Lord."
"Didn't get Sarabath! Even worse, he gave my father this little, shit keep at the edge of the Rainwood. The Malkens belong deep in the wilds, surrounded by towering trees, by the great streams that cut through the land like a knife through butter! That's where I belong. That's where I'll die, whether it's fighting Morcars," laughing hysterically, the self-proclaimed Lord of Sarabath let the wine pull away his consciousness. He finally fell asleep leaning against the edge of the chair. Freedmir pulled a blanket off the bed and threw it over him. He then took the other chair and dozed off in the firelight.
Their room felt last refuge. Outside the window there was a great fire, and it was waiting to swallow them all. Naked,and the firelight outlining the muscles on his body, Julius gazed out the window, to the west, looking that great fire in the eye. Helg was in bed, his upper body was hanging over the side with a tipsy smile on his face. He too was naked. When they were together, there were no clothes allowed.
"You're worrying again," Helg said as he hoisted himself up to look at the knight staring out the window, "You're beautiful when you're worrying."
"Soon we go west, Helg. Soon we go into the heart of the Westland. Do you think we will make it out?"
"Oh, of course we will! We're knights! The Sword of Rathas! The Champions of Rannos!" he shouted. Julius turned and tried to shush him.
"Keep it down, will you? You want to be discovered?"
"Oh, what are they going to do? Execute us?" Helg laughed, "I'm the future Duke of the Royal Lands! You're fucking Julius the Black! The pride of Liticea. I doubt they'll execute us just for bumming."
"Our fathers might."
"Oh, my father took it well."
"He sent you away to Blackfield."
"I could've been sent to Toad Keep. I could've been sent to a lot of places, but I got sent to Blackfield. And there I met you. So how bad could my father hate me?"
"That's nothing compared to what my father will do. He'll disown me, and if it becomes public your father will send you away."
"To where?"
"To the streets! Out of the Royals Lands. He might even chase you out of Liticea!"
"Hmm, maybe we can go south and join a mercenary company. You said Nazeen offered you a job," many exiled knights made a living in Useria by becoming sellswords. This trend, however, has been declining in recent years due to Duke Markus Elenor's policy of putting bounties on their heads. The number of criminals fleeing south has declined sharply and those that do usually have to leave their names behind as well. But it might be better for Helg and Julius since they would just be exiles, but for those seeking fortune are not known for their reasoning skills.
"We'd never last," Julius declined, "Either we'll boil in our armor or some mob will take our heads off and give them to Markus Eleanor."
"There is quite a demand for Litici heads down south. And they say the Westland is a lawless hell hole. At least Horith Ryden doesn't give out prizes for beheadings."
"No," Julius agreed, "He does it for free."
"Well, shit," Helg chuckled, " I guess the whole country has gone to hell."
"With the Morcars it's only going to get worse," Julius lamented. Helg laughed himself off the bed and plummeted to the floor. The sheets were in tangles around his limbs and body.
"There you go worrying again!" Helg shouted, "If I were a lady, I'd be as wet as a morning dew!"
The heir of Tanner Hall slowly laughed himself to sleep. Not really sleep, Julius observed. More likely unconscious. Julius took a pillow off the bed and nestled it under his partner's head. Untangling some of the sheets so Helg did not strangle himself proved to be quite difficult. When he was sure his lover was safe a abound in whatever worlds his dreams lent him to, he kissed his forehead. These last few days at Anton will likely be their last days together. The thought of it made julius want to take the snoozing knight's head in his arms and hold it close.
He did not. He returned to the window, and continued to stare towards the mountains to the west. It would be the first time Julius Cassius went far into the West. The great forest did not have trees from where he could see. There were only long, clawed hands waiting to grab him and tear him to pieces. To tear Helg, his father, and everyone he cared about away from him. That forest was getting closer. It was busy tearing the Westland apart, but soon it's claws will reach Anton, Blackfield, Toad Keep, South Keep, Brother's Crossing and finally Raenna. If men like Julius were unwilling to stand in the way and fight through the army of thorns. Maybe on the other side, there would be a patch of soft grass, where he and Helg could go. For but a little while in paradise.
Julius liked the idea of paradise, but it was not a place for a man. Paradise is what boys and girls dream of, whether young or old. Paradise is a place, where one does not have to make something out of himself. Where there is no trial and no pain and no responsibility. Paradise is for fools. One could not complete without the trials of life. Whether a man in battle or a woman in a bed, enduring and conquering will lead to happiness for a victory that brought an end to a slaughter and a miracle of a new life. The trials of life are not to be run from. They are to be embraced as an opportunity, to make a name and a legacy. To leave something behind other than a corpse.
Julius knew this was his time. In this battle he would make a name; the great Julius the Black who died in battle, or Julius the Black who bloody sword and bent armor stopped annihilation in its path. If this was to be my last charge into battle, he prayed to Rannos, let it be great and glorious. Let it be a charge that men will sing of for eons to come. Let my name be sung with the heroes of history. And let all others know that Julius Cassius died for his family, his country, and his King.