One long bath, a bout of clothes cleaning and a fresh bath robe later, Jonatan collapsed onto the bed at Jasper’s request, who claimed to be more comfortable sitting in the floor with his back against the cupboards, a tattered blanket wrapped closely around him.

His sleep was deep and dreamless, like sinking into a marshland and being engulfed by the warm, syrupy depths within. All this talk of war, greater purposes and responsibilities made Jonatan want to curl up into a ball and let it all flow over him. But even so, the thought of innocent people being put to the gallows made him sick.

He pictured his father in tears as a rope was placed around his neck, his mother being backed into a corner by twenty armoured guards, Mr Clacker, his wife, and all the other regulars at the inn being rounded up door by door. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his problem, he couldn’t accept that. Even if all he could do was save someone, anyone, he would do it, because it was the right thing to do.

He was shaken out of his half-asleep thoughts by Jasper, who was fully dressed and kitted in his many sharp armaments. He had a loosely woven bag over his shoulder, which he slung onto the table, packs of dried food and two wrapped bundles of clothes falling out.

“Wake up, Jonatan. It’s not much but it’ll do for breakfast.” Jasper took a bite out of a strip of dried meat, then went to open the shutters.

Jonatan expected to be blinded and thoroughly angry for good reason, but the dim red light of the sunrise was much more peaceful than he expected.

“You went shopping this early?” Jonatan yawned, cracking his neck. “I didn’t think anyone opened before the bell rang.”

The bell on the town hall was the universal rooster call of Mirth, marking the start of activity an hour after the sun overcame the horizon. One chime for normal life, two for the town market holidays, and three for an important town-wide announcement.

“No one does, they made me pay triple for the inconvenience of waking them.” Jasper shrugged his shoulders slightly, scanning the street below their window.

“How’d you get the money for that?” Jonatan raised a quizzical eyebrow at the implications of that statement, before devouring a strip of jerky and redonning his clothes.

“The people hunting our kind aren’t shy about carrying money. And I’ve met several over the last few days.” He turned away from the window, patting a pouch on his belt that jingled with the sound of coins, now far smaller than it had been the night before.

“Cant argue with that. Though you could have used some of it to buy a beer or two don’t you think?” Jonatan knotted his boots, examining the contents of the bag. All the clothes were plain, undyed cloth, that were cheap and fairly common. Jonatan’s favourite kind.

“Why would beer be a priority?” Jasper tilted his head in confusion.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Berry Hair.” Jonatan nodded his head, taking another bite of the sad, dry meat that passed as breakfast.

“I’m 34.” Jasper folded his arms, a slight scowl crossing his face.

Jonatan nearly choked, coughing up a piece of jerky from sheer shock.

“You’re 13 years older than me?!” Jonatan practically shouted. “How do you look like you’re still a kid?”

“You can thank my mother for that.” Jasper tapped one of his pointed ears. “High elves and age don’t mix well, even if half human is thrown in there.”

While Jonatan was frozen in place completely re-evaluating his outlook on life, Jasper packed up the rest of the food and clothes and slung it over his back once more, tugging Jonatan to follow him.

“It’s likely that all the guards and people with positions of power know about last night and will be on high alert until we’re found. We need to leave this town before everyone wakes up and news is spread around like wildfire.” Jasper spoke quietly as he gracefully descended the stairs to the first floor of the tavern, where he deposited several coins for his room, careful not to wake the snoring bartender close by.

“If you want a way out that avoids guard postings, there’s a dried-up sewer grate behind the old watchtower. Some criminal or other burnt it down out of spite when I was still a kid, so its abandoned. Hope you don’t mind the smell of rotten algae though.” Jonatan quietly swapped a bottle of whiskey for a small stack of coins behind the bar, then followed Jasper outside.

“How exactly do you know that it’s not manned?” Jasper rolled his eye when he saw the bottle.

“My mother told me. She’s the captain of the guard.” Jonatan stopped walking instantly. “My parents. You said people high up would know. I have to check if they’re ok.” He started running in the direction of his house, but came to a stop when Jasper stood in his way.

“If she’s the captain of the guard then she’s already looking for you, and you’d be surrendering to a fate worse than death. If that wizard from last night is one of the Enlightened, then worst-case scenario, she’s holding a knife to your father’s throat to make your mother cooperate.” Jasper spoke with no uncertainty in his voice.

“Then I have to help them!” Jonatan tried to push passed, but Jasper held his arm with all his might.

“They’ll use it as weakness, and you’ll not come back. Leaving now is our only chance to make it out of here alive. Think it through, Jonatan, please.” Jasper’s eye was filled with pain, as if he were telling someone that they had to abandon their dog for its own good.

“I have to check my home. It’s on the way, and I have to make sure.” Jonatan put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder, a reassuring smile filling his face, while uneasiness filled his mind. He knew this was a bad idea, but his parents meant the world to him, and if they were in trouble, he would do whatever he could to save them.

Jasper hesitated for a few seconds, then let his arm go, his eye pointing at the ground. He didn’t say anything else, but walked next to Jonatan silently, only raising his head when they passed a new street.

The dark walk through familiar roads was made incredibly sombre by the red light of the sunrise casting long shadows across their path, casting over Jasper’s face to create a dark image of a scowl on his face, then tears running down his eyes. The steady feeling of his lute on his back had an echoing sound, sending quiet waves of melancholy outwards with every step.

His house came into view, and his chest squeezed in pain. He could see movement through the living room window, glints of metal from the armour of the guards. He turned to look at Jasper, an empty pain in his eyes.

“Let’s go.” Jonatan said, so quiet that he could barely hear it himself. Jasper nodded, saying nothing else.

There was movement the way they had just come from, catching Jonatan’s eye. He saw the same glint that was inside the house, one of the guards, carrying a box in his hands that clinked with the sound of glass jars and bottles. His and Jonatan’s eyes met for a second, then two, then three.

The guard stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wider.

“Jonatan? Aren’t you the one we’re looking—” He was cut off by the very effective method of a sword handle planting itself in his stomach.

Jasper swept his leg from under him and brought the flat of his blade onto the back of his head, knocking him out and to the ground in under a second. Jonatan leapt forward to catch him before he hit the ground, stopping his armour from making a racket. The box he was carrying had a slightly less soft landing, cracking open and shattering half of its contents the moment it touched the ground, teabags and sugar spilling onto the ground.

Jasper and Jonatan looked at each other, then to the unconscious guard, then to the broken box, then to Jonatan’s house, then to all the guards inside who were all looking directly at them, then back to each other. The town bell tolled three times in the distance, followed shortly by the sound of movement from every house around them.

“Run?” Jonatan suggested.

“I think so, yes.” Jasper agreed.

They ran side by side, not stopping to look back at the shouts from behind them. Jonatan pointed towards the entrance to the back streets and alleyways, giving them some chance to hide from their pursuers, only to quickly abandon that plan when they were met with the shouts of protest from the owners of the gardens they were soon to trample on, bringing the brigade of angry, tea-less guards right to them once more.

Jasper went to draw his blades, but Jonatan pulled him after him, getting him to run alongside him again. Jasper looked like he was about to protest, but Jonatan shook his head. This town’s guards were unruly and drunk most of the time, but when they were serious and coordinated, they were a force to be reckoned with. They were trained by his mother of course.

The streets were starting to fill with people walking towards the town hall, making running away progressively more difficult. Jasper was panting, stress and anxiety filling his face, his head darting around in every direction. Jonatan caught sight of a group of guards at the end of the street they were on, as well as pushing up behind them.

The crowds were getting denser by the second, making movement against the tide almost impossible. Jonatan had to shoulder his was past people just to make a dent, and even then they were only getting pushed further towards the guards in front of them. Jasper was shaking now, his face pale and his pace slowed to a halt. Jonatan looked around frantically, before he laid his eyes upon a potential safe haven.

He took Jasper by the hand and pulled him through the crowd into the building on their right, shoving through many protesting people, and ducked passed the closed sign at the entrance, turning back around to snap the lock shut behind him. The bustling sounds of the streets quietened, replaced by the warm scent of a recently burnt out woodfire. They were in one of the nicer taverns, the kind that preferred mahogany. Jonatan wasn’t a fan, but anything would do in this situation.

He led Jasper by the arm to a soft leather chair close to the bar, where he sank down, frantically breathing in and out, his eye screwed shut.

“Hey, look at me.” Jonatan spoke softly, holding Jasper by the shoulders.

Jasper opened his eye, tears burning in it. He was quivering, his hands were clenched painfully on his arms.

“What’s going on? You ok there, berry?” Jonatan tried to ease the half elf with a gentle hand.

Jasper didn’t respond, but he did ease up slightly. He was completely crying at this point, slowly rocking himself back and forward. Jonatan returned the favour from last night, holding him close to his chest.

“Breathe man, just breathe.” Jonatan eased, patting him on the back. “Everything’s ok.”

There was a loud banging on the door, followed by shouting and more banging, followed by the signature cracking of someone trying to kick down a door. Jonatan made a mental note to never say that again because everything went bad when he did.

He helped Jasper up and behind the bar, where he slumped down, breathing steadily, his sparkling eye looking up at Jonatan with surprise and fear. Jonatan flashed him a silly, supportive grin.

“Sit tight, Jasper. This one’s on me, though you owe me a drink next time.” He patted Jasper’s red hair, handed him his lute for safekeeping, then vaulted back over then bar. There was a few tankards lining the bar, halfway through being cleaned, several pitchers of ale that had been freshly poured, and the chairs (all varnished and very expensive of course), were still waiting to be taken off the tables.

Jonatan took a deep breath as the hinges of the door broke off, and the wood slammed to the ground, dust flying in every direction. He reached for the nearest pitcher and gulped down several mouthfuls of familiar sweet ale, though it was a bit too frothy for his taste, as half a dozen guards entered, spears abandoned, swords drawn. The one in front looked familiar, but that was because he was the only one not wearing a helmet due to a ridiculous ginger afro.

“Morning Brick. How’s the wife?” Jonatan raised his pitcher as a greeting, then took another drink.

“What in hell have you done to make yourself a full-blown criminal, ma lad?” The half-orc shook his head in disbelief. “Your mother ordered everyone on full alert, hell, even that Sylvia-whatsit’s up in arms about ya.”

“Maybe it was the weather, you know how criminally I get when it’s overcast.”

“I’m trying to help you here, Jonny. Come quietly and we’ll sort the rest for you and the other fellow.” Brick held up his hands in a calming gesture. Jonatan stared back for a few seconds more, then drained the pitcher.

“You should see me when a thunderstorm hits, I’m a criminal mastermind then. More like a monster in the snow though.” Jonatan span the empty pitcher on his finger.

“Stop it boy. Don’t make this difficult, and come with us.” Brick had changed his tone to ice.

“My parents, are they ok?” Jonatan returned the hard glare from Brick with his own, sending cracks down the wooden pitcher as he tensed his grip on it, visibly making Brick hesitate.

“Aye, your pa is in the barracks with your ma, she’s keeping her eye on him. Come on, they’re worried about you.”

“Sorry, but I’d rather they be worried than see me dead thanks.” Jonatan rose to his feet, launching the pitcher straight towards Brick’s belt, making a painful thud when it hit its target, followed by an unusually high-pitched squeal from Brick.

Jonatan ran forward, planting his foot on Brick’s chest, and pushed him backward into his comrades, making one of them fall to the ground with his weight too. The four that were still standing rushed forward, swords flashing down towards his neck. He grabbed a nearby upturned chair, and swung it into the path of the blade, knocking it aside, and sending a wave of pain down the owner’s hand.

He dropped the chair, lunged forward and got a good grab on the guard’s breastplate, using it as a grip to launch him over his head into a stack of unstacked tables, sending them all tumbling to the ground. A surprised guard swung his blade in a wide overswing, which gave Jonatan plenty of time to charge in and wrap his arms around the guard’s chest, avoiding the wide swipe and letting him body slam him onto the ground in one easy step.

The two that hadn’t tried yet charged in together, each swinging opposite directions. Jonatan rolled under one of the tables, the razor edge of a sword stopping inches from his hand. He kicked his feet up with all his might, groaning from the effort, sending the table and all its stacked chairs tumbling in the direction of the two guards. He sprung up, grabbing a chair in each hand and swinging them down on the staggered friends, knocking them out cold.

Brick and the last guard had recovered, and were running forward, stumbling passed the havoc of chairs and tables. Brick drew two axes from his belt, and charged wildly forward, swinging like a crazed lunatic. Jonatan threw one chair low, forcing him to leap over it. The other, he kept and swung up at his head, which he took the full brunt of as he was currently in the air, then he landed in a heap on the ground, groaning in pain.

The final guard thrusted his blade forward, forcing Jonatan to jump backwards, hitting the bar where he heard Jasper yelp in surprise. The guard swung his blade straight down, intending to kill him in one strike.

Jonatan reached to the side, grabbing an empty tankard and threw it at the guard, skewing his aim just enough for Jonatan to sidestep it, wrap his arms around the man’s waist, and throw him like a sack of potatoes straight on top of Brick, who was almost on his feet again. He was no longer almost on his feet.

The first guard scrambled to his feet again, snatching a dagger out of his belt and storming forward. Jonatan ran forward to meet him, grabbing a toppled chair on the way. The guard pulled back his arm, ready to stab, Jonatan dropped to his knees, slamming one leg of the chair into the poor fellow’s foot, sending him flying to the floor and the dagger clattering to the floor.

“Didn’t you read the sign? No running in the bar.” Jonatan shook his head, then dropped the chair on the pained man’s back, earning him a groan.

Brick shoved the other guard off him, picked one of his axes, and charged forward, roaring with rage. Jonatan sighed, and ran to meet him, picking up a discarded helmet along the way. Brick swung his axe upwards, but Jonatan caught the head of the axe in the helmet, silently thanking the blacksmiths for being so skilled at creating strong helmets.

He twisted his body against the axe, disarming it and throwing it under a table. Brick took exemption to this, raising a fist and putting all of his power into punching Jonatan squarely in the face. The blow sent stars shaking in his vision, as he stumbled backwards into that same table. He shook the punch from memory just in time to duck under a haymaker which may have taken his head off.

Jonatan reached up, taking a handful of fuzzy ginger hair in his hand, and using it to bring Brick’s surprised face into a close relationship with the table they were brawling on top of. He made a half grunt/half snort sound, then fell limp on the ground, dreamily singing nursery rhymes through his broken nose.

Jonatan dusted his hands off, examining the six unconscious bodies around him, as well as the accompanying broken tables and chairs. Only about half the chairs were broken, he was out of practice.

“Jonatan I can…oh.” Jasper leapt up from behind the bar, his eye still puffy from crying but his face fierce, then instantly surprised. “You did this yourself?”

“Taverns are my home turf, I could fight an army in here.” Jonatan rubbed his soon to be bruising cheek, grabbing another pitcher and taking a swig with the other hand. “You ok?”

“Oh…yes. Sorry, I had a bad experience in a crowd before and then we were fighting in one and it just made me…” Jasper trailed off, his purple eye was dark, his hands were aggressively fiddling with his armour clasp.

Jonatan stepped forward, placing a hand of reassurance on his shoulder.

“No worries. The back door of this place is an alleyway, I’ll lead you through them if it gets tough.”

Jasper didn’t reply, instead his eye was fixed to the wall, a sour expression on his face. Jonatan followed his gaze to the bounty board on the opposite wall which hadn’t been changed in years. All except for one, a newly placed stack of familiar papers. The same one that Sylvia had used as an excuse to turn murderer. In big bold letters:

Wanted: All Bards and Bard associates. Anyone working alongside them will be punished by Death.