Erec did not wish to be executioner, but neither did he wish to die. For the first time in his life, he had something worth living for after the battle. He would not be reckless with his life this day.

The waiting was agonizing, though Erec knew that it was nothing to the pain he would know during the fight. Once before he had underestimated Neron, believing what he saw with his eyes. It was a lesson he learned well. Neron appeared, being half dragged by the guards, looking for all the world like he was either drunk or resigned to his fate. Erec was not fooled.

When he was released to the field, and did not step forward, he was pushed hard by the guard. Erec saw the ease with which Neron kept his feet, though he seemed too weak to lift the sword that dragged on the ground at his side. Erec knew better. That sword would easily take off his head, but more than likely, it would fling dirt at his face first.

When the bells struck, the crowds that were murmuring in anticipation hushed. The trumpets sounded and the herald spoke.

My Lords and Ladies.

Lord Neron has been accused of treason in that he did attempt to murder the king before several witnesses. The sentence for such a crime is that the guilty be drawn and quartered.

His majesty, King Hugh, has graciously allowed the accused, Lord Neron, to prove his professed innocence in this Trail by Combat.

His majesty has chosen as his champion of justice, the Lord Erec, Captain of all the king's army and your own beloved People's Champion.

By HIS will, the accused shall thus be judged. And if he is weighed and found wanting, he shall die.

His majesty has also graciously decreed that if the accused shall manage to prove his innocence this day, by killing Lord Erec, then our majesty will offer mercy.

The hour has arrived. At the sound of the trumpets, the Trial shall begin.

Before the trumpet blast ended, Neron sprang to life. Dirt flew at Erec and Neron raised his sword with both hands high above his head.

Erec easily dodged.

It was evident to Erec from the ease of Neron's movements that he allowed the ministrations last eve.

The blade sliced through the air and Erec watched as Neron followed through, carrying the blade below and behind him. Neron's shoulders were tensed, his jaw clenched and hatred burned brightly on his half-crazed countenance.

Erec dodged again as Neron brought the sword up in another powerful strike.

Neron growled like a wounded bear and charged yet again.

Neron's switched to handling the sword with one hand, but his blows were still fierce and came quickly, fluidly, one after the other.

Erec dodged when he could, once feeling the air shift as the blade cut far to close to his face.

His shield took the blows when he could not dodge.

To Erec, it seemed that Neron tapped into a reserve of strength as he came again and again in a relentless attack.

Instead of countering, Erec was content for the moment to defend.

The delay was useful on two fronts. First, it allowed Neron to burn through the crazed burst of energy behind this brutal attack. Second, it allowed Erec a chance to learn how Neron moved before each feint and blow.

The crowd began to tire of Erec's tactic and Booed loudly.

There was not enough blood for their sport so far.

Erec frowned and ignored them completely, focusing upon Neron. The madness was gone from his eyes replaced by steely determination.

Erec stepped forward and delivered a blow that rattled Neron's shield.

Neron's eyes widened slightly, before narrowing again as his face twisted in to a sneer.

The battle had begun in earnest.

They fought hard, using their whole bodies as weapons. Elbows, feet, and once the shields were discarded, even fists.

Blood began to flow as they were well matched in power, skill, and also quite unfortunately, battle fatigue. While not able to land any fatal blows, they did a fair job of managing well placed slices to hands, face, and leg since the arms and torso were safely draped in mail.

Although his arms and torso took a fare number of blows as Neron defended himself, Erec carefully guarded against allowing Neron to strike his bruised chest where the lance struck so many times. Erec tried, and failed, to land his blows to the same place on Neron.

So, they fought on: advancing, retreating, and brutally pummeling each other.

Neither gave ground.

Erec felt the burn in his muscles and shook his head, sending sweat and blood drops flying. If his free hand were not bleeding from a cut to the back of it, he would have swiped the sweat from his eyes long ago. They sky was clouded today, so it was difficult to tell the hour.

It mattered not. Whether they had been fighting one hour or three, they were both suffering severe fatigue. Erec knew his own fatigue was genuine, and assumed from the power behind Neron's blows that he also expended his energy reserves. But Erec knew such assumptions had no place on the battlefield.

While he was on a tourney field, and not on a true battlefield, this fight was every bit as brutal and, in the end, it all came down to the same thing. Kill or be killed.

Erec stumbled and shook his head again, lifting his sword in time to keep his arm attached. He felt the vibrations of the blow through his sword and gripped it tighter. The handle was becoming slick with sweat and blood and aside, that last blow set his fingers to tingling.

Another like that...

Erec delivered a punishing blow of his own, nearly taking off Neron's ear and striking the shoulder hard. Neron dipped his knees, as he rolled his shoulder and turned away, deflecting the blow while kicking out. Erec saw the movement and twisted, catching the kick on the hip instead of in the stomach.

In battle, especially in a battle where life was in peril, time was a strange thing. Often it did not behave as it should.

In truth, most battles ended quickly. They were over in a matter of minutes as the loser fell, spilling his lifeblood into the soil at the victor's feet.

But while in the heat of the battle, a queer energy coursed through the veins, heightening senses and making the combatants hyper aware of their surroundings.

All of the extra information was processed and acted upon in a single heartbeat. But during such intense battles, Erec found that time seemed to slow as though the sands of the hourglass could only fall a single grain at a time.

Erec saw each bead of sweat as it streaked down Neron's face.

He heard each labored breath, each grunt, each growl.

He saw the shift in Neron's shoulder before the sword ever moved.

Erec twisted clear and used the momentum to deliver a hard blow to Neron's chin. Blood smeared across Neron's face. Time did its thing, and Erec watched as the droplets of spittle and blood flew through the air. Thus distracted, he did not see the dirk Neron pulled—from nowhere—until it slashed down his jawline from ear to chin.

Erec had learned long ago to ignore the sting of the blade as it cut into his flesh. The natural reaction is to drop your weapon and step away from the danger. But to obey such impulse was suicide. Instead, he stepped back and moved to counter without hesitation.

Lifting his arm to block the dirk again, Erec felt the sweat cool on his brow as Neron's sword cut sharply through the air in front of his face.

Neron followed through as seemed his habit, pulling the sword back for a punishing upward cut. Erec turned, ready to deflect but in that instant, Neron fisted the dirk and struck out for Erec's face. Erec turned to catch the blow on the ear.

Bursts of white light flickered at the edge of his vision and his head rang.

Shaking his head, he saw Neron sneer as he flipped his dirk and prepared to drive it down.

Erec swayed.

The white lights became a dark cloud, slowly closing his field of vision.

He would not be able to keep his feet more than a heartbeat or two so Erec did what he must.

Before Neron could counter, Erec turned his sword, and thrust it upward, impaling Lord Neron upon it.

Neron froze, surprise and pain frozen on his face as he gurgled his last strangled breath.

Neron blinked.

Erec felt the weight against his sword as Neron began to fall and with the last of his strength he yanked his sword free.

Neron toppled to his side, and Erec felt his own knees give out half a heartbeat later.

---

Gwyndolyn paced frantically. She had refused to allow the children to attend. It was one thing to attend a joust, but quite another to watch a man try to kill their father. She shuddered. Her stomach rolled and she looked again at the hourglass. Hardly any sand had fallen since she last looked, though it felt like an eternity.

"Milady." A soft voice sounded at the door.

Gwyn crossed and opened it cautiously. She did not wish to hear that her husband was slain, nor did she wish to ignore the servant in the event that her husband was victorious but needed her care. Bracing herself to accept any eventuality, she swallowed the bile that burned her throat and opened the door.

"Her ladyship has ordered that I bring you ginger tea and salted flatbread. She said that I am to sit with you until you eat at least half of the bread and drink one cup of tea."

"And if I do not?" Gwyn asked curiously, though she reached for a bit of the bread, welcoming the distraction and relief she hoped it would bring.

"Then I am to fetch her and another servant so that we may sit upon you and restrain you whilst her ladyship forces you to do so."

Gwyn wondered that the girl could say this with a straight face. Perhaps she did not know her ladyship's sense of humor?

"There is no need to be so dramatic. Do come in. My stomach is upset and I would welcome the company to distract me whist I take something to settle it."

"As you wish, milady."

"Has there been no word from..." She took a swallow of tea, but could not finish her question.

"None, milady. My brother is carrying food and drink from the kitchens to the royal dais. Mayhap I can ask him for word of Lord Erec."

"Please."

It was the only thing that she could manage. She forbade the children from attending and meant to take her seat with Baron Brecken in the royal dais, but her stomach turned violently at the thought of watching.

She was not squeamish and she often watched the men sparring when they were in hiding. A few times since she arrived at Brecken, she even went with Robin to watch the soldiers training. Oft times, she treated sparring injuries in the healer's rooms. Those injuries were incidental, part of a friendly match... But this was entirely different.

Gwyn tossed her flat-bread aside and lunged for the chamber pot just as her stomach emptied. Groaning, she felt the soothing touch of the girl as she rubbed Gwyn's back.

Dear God, please keep him safe and let him come back to me. I have only just found him...

"Thank you." Gwyn managed as she straightened and the girl offered her a dampened cloth to wipe her face.

Another knock sounded.

"Enter." Gwyn was distracted enough by the taste in her mouth, and the urge to heave again that she forgot to worry over what news the visitor would bring.

"I came to see how you were feeling." Lady Alexandi said empathetically, "But I think instead I shall bring you with me to chapel. If you will not attend the trial, then at least allow yourself the comfort that HE can give. Come. Pray with me."

Gwyn only nodded. Her thoughts were already turned toward chapel and toward HIM, begging for her husband's life.

They nearly reached chapel when someone called.

"Your Ladyship."

They stopped and turned as a servant appeared in the hall, running toward them.

"Your Ladyship!"

Gwyn felt Alexandi squeeze her arm and reached over to squeeze back. There was only one reason that a servant would be running and shouting this way.

"Erec." Gwyn whispered right before she swooned.

---

"Tend to your lady first." Erec snapped as the servants tried again to wipe at the blood and sweat upon his face.

"There is nothing that can be done for her, milord." The woman smiled and reached again for Erec's brow. "She was ill with worry, and feinted upon hearing that you were fallen upon the field. She must rest. And when she wakes, she will be restored to herself."

"What fool told her that I was fallen?" Erec growled, turning away from the ministrations once more.

Undeterred, the woman reached again, gently taking Erec's chin and turning him so that she could once more tend to his cuts.

"You were fallen, milord." She said patiently. "It was not until you woke while being carried to the castle that we knew you had only fainted."

"Of course, I fainted." Erec snapped. "The man punched like a mule kicks and he got me in the bloody ear!"

"Yes, milord." She held firm as he tried to turn away again. "We know that now and when the lady awakens, you shall tell her and she will know it also."

"Why does she sleep so long? Surely if she only swooned..."

"Her Ladyship, the Baroness ordered Matilde to give her something to make her sleep. She has been worried over this trial for many days together and you were oft away. She...she needs her rest." The servant finished and Erec frowned, but allowed the attentions.

He was sitting upon a chair at the side of the bed where she lay sleeping. He wanted to hold her hand, to hold her, to tell her that all was finished...but as he saw her there, so still...

"You are quite certain that she is well?"

"I am quite certain, milord." She smiled. "Let me tend to your wounds, and let the servants see to your care. When all is finished, perhaps then you should like to rest also?"

"I would like it very much." Erec sighed and slouched. Exhaustion was a heavy weight upon his shoulders.

A knock sounded upon the door.

"En—" Erec started but the woman put a finger to his lips and flashed a look at Gwyndolyn.

"Do not wake milady." She said gently. "I shall see to the door."