The fragrant lilacs tease Chris’s nose as he strolls through the garden. On any other day he’ll admire the courtly ladies occupying the gravel paths. He’ll amusing himself by eavesdropping on their gossip. Making mental notes of unhappy wives, financial woes, and cunning mistresses. But today, he's alone to pay homage to the vibrant floral altars.

His subjects are long gone. The threat of battle causing them to flee the kingdom like rats. The quietness they left in their wake is ominous, it’s a reminder of his own insignificance in the world. Worse yet, he’s alone with his thoughts and they’re terrible company. His feet shuffle across the course pebbles until they pause at the gushing fountain. The cool water soothes his cracked hands but it also washes away the Lollardum grime staining his skin.

Why did Cecilia insert herself into his mess. He doesn’t deserve her kindness, not after shackling her with the burden of his mistakes. She should toss him away. Throw him out like the trash he is. But, at the same time, she manages to save him time and time again. He’s lost without her. He knows it. She knows it. He shakes his head; dismissing the pesky thought eating away at him.

He reaches the stables as the sun dips behind the mountains; transforming the sky into ethereal pinks and vibrant oranges. The deserted white stables soak in the evening light and become an alien world. He knows Zack doesn’t want to see him, but he needs to try; after all, it might be his last chance. As the horses settle in for the night a dirty stable boy, no more than twelve, uses his bruised thumb to motion him inside.

It's easy to see why Zack likes this place. The animals offer solace from the politics he hates. Scattered hay crunches under his feet summoning a caramel mare to the edge of her stall. She extends her nose over the stall and he obliges, running his hands over the coarse hairs. You’re more agreeable than the last guy, aren’t you. Does she know what horrors she'll witness on the battlefield? He shakes his head, letting his hand fall, and shuffles towards the sound of brushing a few stalls away.

“You know there’s pages who’ll do this for you?” but Zack ignores him. “The princess ordered some wine, I’m about to head up and crash the girl’s party, ya wanna come?”

“If it’s all the same, I rather not. But you go.”

“C'mon let’s have one shindig before… you know. It’ll be fun! I’m sure Moira wants you there.”

“It’s best if you go," flinging the brush in a bucket, “spend a last night together.” He moves to the next stall and places a saddle on a white stallion.

“Don’t be like this. You know there’s nothing between us. She’s pretty and clever and—”

“And exactly your type.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything with her is.” He sighs, then “what do you want with her?”

“I want to know her secrets.” Usually, he’ll exploit weaknesses for personal gain, but not her. She is valuable, but in a way he can’t articulate.

“So, she’s another puzzle?”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. You’re also a puzzle to me, but that hasn’t stopped us from being friends.”

“No?”

“Zack, please. I’m trying to make amends here. Clearly, I screwed up somewhere and you hate me for it. So just tell me what’s going on, so we can move past it.”

“I may die out there…” he sits on a stool next to the horse, running his hands through his hair. The weight of reality washes over him. “I don’t want to fight with the only real friend I have. But, at the same time, I can’t pretend today is like another day. Even if we win, everything will be different.”

“Is different a bad thing? Don’t be so bleak, change happens regardless of who sits on the throne. Moira won’t ruin everything.”

“I can’t protect her from…herself. My duty, my existence, is to keep her safe. But I can’t. Not on the field— not even in her home. If I can’t…then what am I good for?”

“Tell me the truth; do you have feelings for her?”

“I am a member of The King's—”

“Come on, be real with me. With yourself.”

“I am stating a fact.” He continues to groom the horse. Whatever hold she has over him is strong. It’s clear he’s battling something dark, even too dark for the knight of light.

“Is it a question of if you have feelings or a question of admitting it?” He watches the defeat punctuate his agonized face. “You’re a member of the King's— soon to be Queen’s— Royal Knights.”

“I have a duty to her,”

“And a line you can't cross…” the pieces fall together, “Kipling attempted to cross it once.”

“And where is he now? What has he done? All this because a line was crossed. I have my place and she has hers.”

“You’re not Kipling, not by a long shot. Denying parts of you is going to leave you messed up in the end. Trust me. Now, tell me—tell yourself—do you love her?”

“I can’t tell you if I did.” For the first time, in a while, his heart aches. Knowing his friend suffers is a pain he thought he conditioned himself to ignore. He wonders what their future will hold or won’t.

"Will you kill Kipling then? Revenge your family and all that."

"One of us will. Who ever gets to him first."

"I remember there was a time where you fought to preserve all life. Where you hated the thought of your sword spilling blood."

"If I didn't still feel that way then I wouldn't be in this stable preparing the horses."

"Death for the greater good huh?" But he doesn't answer.

"I know you don't agree with this." He remarks as he brushes the horse. It’s not that he’s naive. He gets why nations and people fight. He hates the pageantry of it. The spectacle of 'our chosen sons' marching to a 'hero's death'. Just call it what it is. Murder. "I'm happy you're here. Thanks for being my friend.”

"Oh don't start that," he brushes the words away, "don't get sentimental. Just come back when it’s all over.” There’s more to say, a sentiment in need of expressing. But saying them brings them to life. And once they’re out, they’re beyond all control. “Anyway, the party invitation stands, hope to see you there."

He abandons the stubborn knight to his tasks and tries to make the best of a terrible night. He doesn’t agree with war for the greater good. The ‘greater good’ doesn’t exist; killing is killing, no use trying to deify it. During times like this, there’s only one place that helps his mood.

Opening the door, the bubbly laughter drifts to his ears and hangs in the air which smells of cooked meat and stew. Kitchen maids carry out their chores all the while partaking in a secret joke. The tall brunette with the crooked smile and sparkling eyes wags a finger as he approaches. It’s not the first time he’s visited, and she knows the feisty chef hates him.

But the other girls giggle as he traces her chin with his finger. He loves the shade of blush blooming on her cheeks. When she kicks him out with her ‘come to me’ lips he swipes two bottles of wine. He whistles on the way to Moira’s quarters. The conversation in the stable floats away, leaving him lighter and ready for a more upbeat atmosphere. Her tired voice calls him to enter and he discovers her and Eclipse relaxing in the chairs.

“Thought you would like something stronger,” he jokes, “did I miss the celebrations?”

The empty teacups and plates litter the small table. Sara must’ve been a sparrow in a past life, she didn’t leave a single crumb behind. Pillows lay in piles on the floor leading to Eclipse who rests near the fireplace. Moira hangs her legs over the arm of the chair, watching the fire, with half closed eyes. It isn’t the party he expected.

“Nicole was tired, so she retired to her room. Sara got bored, so only the Gods know what’s she up to right now. Where did you get all that wine?”

“If Zack asks; you requested it,” he winks, pouring wine in her empty teacup.

“I rather you two not fight tonight.”

“Relax, it’ll be fine,” He turns to Eclipse, “do you even drink wine?” But the panther snorts in disgust.

“Why are you in a good mood all a sudden?”

“Your promotion is worth celebrating, isn’t it? I’m just the dutiful servant,” he fills his teacup.

“Dutiful huh?”

“Someone had to get the wine. Listen, you can either, have a drink and celebrate your success or be a stick in the mud and kick me out.” She relents and he stretches out on the couch holding the cup on his stomach as he watches the fire burn. “Pretty cozy for an after-party eh?”

“I want to thank you for your help in Lollardum.” She sips her drink.

“Your little kitten did all the work; I just made sure she didn’t wander into the wrong alley.” She kicks off her slippers allowing them to fall with a plunk to the floor. He wants to escape the looming attack, but it lingers over everyone of them. It pulls him back, no matter how he tries to ignore it. “Moira…you know you’re one of my dearest friends, and I will follow your shadow to the ends of the world—”

“I won’t ask you to fight for me, it isn’t your place. Not to mention you’ve done your share by protecting Nicole. Consider yourself free of more obligation to me.” She gives him too much credit. “But I ask you, in my absence, to stay in Alexanderia. Sara needs someone to watch over her; to keep her safe.”

He didn’t consider this; the other casualties of war. Not the soldiers but the ones they leave behind. Those left picking up the pieces of past lives and broken glass. What happens to Sara when it's all done? As he swirls the liquid in his teacup another thought weaves its way into his head. He throws the word around a lot, a bit more flippantly than Zack prefers, but now he reconsiders it.

Duty.

Obligation.

If Bellavere gets passed the Gate, reaches the palace; its him and Sara they’ll find. He’s not running from rooftop to rooftop out pacing the brainless soldiers. Its him against the enemy. Not even his enemy. But the one of his friends. How far will he go before his drive for self preservation kicks in? His mind doesn’t allow him to think that far ahead. An odd sensation worms into his chest, one of uncertainty. One where the backup plan is as obscure as an ink spill. Her only hope, Moira’s last chance, is if he’s not left to save the day.

“Safe? She has Eclipse and frankly, I can’t compete with that.”

“You haven’t survived Lollardum by running away.”

“On the contrary, I am a great coward. The best in the land. But your royal wish is my command,” he gives a mock salute which she returns. “I guess this is all from those Mage observational skills I’ve read so much about?”

“You need to stop reading about Mages; the information you know is rather terrifying.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

“Mage training involves comprehensive observation to ensure our survival.”

“From what I can tell it sounds like you’re trained like an army.”

“They try. But if we have a choice then we won’t completely conform. Can you imagine ranks of soldiers with immeasurable magical abilities? That isn’t an army, it’s a weapon and personally, I don’t want someone to use me like that. I doubt anyone does.”

Each one of us has unspoken obligations, Cecilia told him once. We fulfill them, even if it destroys us. He remembers it because it was so profound of an answer for why she was wearing a stained dress. Moira wears that face now, and he can’t help but wonder if this was ever her plan? She struggles to adjust to palace life, but there’s glimmers of moments where she thrives trapped in these four walls. Is Alexanderia to her, like Lollardum is to him? A place he can’t quit, but dreams to leave.

“In all honesty, if this Kipling business didn’t come up, would you’ve return to this?”

“The Gods bring me where they choose. I am entirely in their fate.”

“I take that as a no,” he drinks, “Fate or Free Will, doesn’t make much difference to me. But I do know a person running from life when I see it. I want you to know though, when you're finally tired of this marathon I’ll be here.”

Sometimes he wishes he was the rat. Content with running to scavenge another day.

Duty. Obligation. Friendship.

Sometimes running isn’t an option.