A/N: I know, it has taken me awfully long to update once more. I'm sorry. This chapter is one of the longest, if not the longest, so far; I hope that can serve as a small means to make up for the waiting time.

If you haven't read the whole of chapter 26 yet (I uploaded it in three chunks, but I believe Wattpad only gives notifications when a new chapter is uploaded, not when an already existing chapter is made longer), then you may want to read that first; otherwise, you're missing part of the story.

I hope you'll enjoy the chapter!

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It had taken him days, weeks, but now the moment had finally arrived.

Sir Enorwin, crown prince of the Flaming Lands, stood at the entrance of a dark cavern. His golden armour was heavy, but he also felt proud to be the one wearing it. In his gloved right hand, he was clutching the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. A gilded shield was attached to his left forearm.

Looking around carefully, the prince stepped into the cavern. Although it was dark, for some reason, he could see everything clearly, to the stalactites hanging down above him.

It was logical for a black dragon to hide in a place like this; it was as dark as the creature's scales. However, darkness was no match to the golden light shining from prince Enorwin's armour.

"You really think so?" a low, rumbling voice suddenly spoke. Suddenly, the light of the armour went out, and Enorwin was cloaked in darkness. He turned around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. He saw nothing. The entrance to the cave was no longer visible; he was too far away from it and had taken too many turns already. He had left the daylight and walked right into Dragon King Darfith's domain, all the while too confident to notice what he had done.

"Darfith?" Enorwin stammered. He had wanted it to sound like a command, a threat, but it had come out as a trembling question. He kept turning around, looking in all directions, his sword extended.

"Over here, young prince!" the rumbling voice said mockingly, the sound echoing against the walls and seemingly coming from all directions.

And suddenly, right in front of him, two yellow eyes appeared. Enorwin screamed in terror and jumped back, his sword extended. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and pearls of sweat ran down his cheeks.

Darfith let out a roaring laugh. "You should have listened to your companions instead of coming here on your own!" he growled.

Enorwin ran forward, ready to stab at his opponent, but the great Dragon King opened his mouth in time and breathed a flame, completely enveloping the boy in fire. Enorwin wanted to scream, but it was as though his mouth was sealed shut; all he could do was stand there while the flames consumed him.

The last thing he saw was the flames in front of him twisting, changing, and then forming a face. A face Enorwin recognised all too well.

"Duke Hadufried," he whispered, and then all went black.

Enorwin sat bolt upright in bed and screamed, gripping his mattress with all his strength. His face was wet with sweat.

Slowly, his breathing and his heartbeat began to calm down. The prince rubbed his eyes, his posture relaxing a bit.

He threw a look over his shoulder at the small window behind him. He could just make out the snowy mountaintops in the distance. Somewhere, hidden in those mountains, concealed by them, Dragon King Darfith lived in his cavern. And someday, within the weeks to come, Enorwin would have to face him.

Suddenly, the thought of slaying a dragon was much less appealing to him.

The sun was already rising, so Enorwin deduced that it was already past six o'clock in the morning; the nights lasted long during the winters up north.

In fact, now that he listened more carefully, he already heard a lot of noise in the hallways. An abnormal quantity of noise, actually.

Puzzled, the prince got out of his bed and got dressed. As he was putting on his boots, suddenly, someone pounded on the door. "Open the door!" the command was.

Enorwin raised his eyebrows, both in surprise and indignation. The voice was not Arwund's or Maréin's, and yet the person at the door spoke to him with even more disrespect than they always did. The prince stood up, grabbed his key and proceeded to unlock the door. As he pulled the door open, he already opened his mouth to protest against the way in which he had been addressed. However, he was prevented from doing so by the knight with reddish-brown hair, whose name Enorwin had in the meantime learnt to be Sir Tarnhald. The duke's knight immediately said, "His Grace requests your presence. Last night, all the prisoners in the dungeons escaped, and he is positive that your companions have something to do with that."

Sir Tarnhald's face was stern and the knight seemed to be trying hard not to reveal his fury. Enorwin thought it best to heed the knight's command and go to the duke, before Sir Tarnhald would vent out his anger on the prince of the Flaming Lands. Enorwin had to admit he really did not like the idea of the tall, muscular knight getting mad at him.

He ran through the corridors and quickly reached the duke's room. He knocked on the door. After a few seconds, it was opened by the court doctor. "Sir Enorwin?" he asked.

"Yes," Enorwin replied. "Sir Tarnhald told me that His Grace requested my presence."

The doctor stepped aside to let Enorwin pass. The prince walked into the room and bowed deeply. "Your Grace," he said to the man lying on the bed.

"Sir Enorwin," the duke said sternly. He looked a lot less weak than yesterday. He could now lift his head to look the prince in the eyes; furthermore, his voice had regained some of its former power and the duke seemed to have no problem keeping his eyes open.

"I have been told that Your Grace's prisoners escaped last night," Enorwin said, suddenly a bit uncomfortable. He knew he must have disappointed the duke; Arwund and Maréin were Enorwin's responsibility, and the prince had failed to keep them in check. Duke Hadufried had every right to be angry with him, even every right to punish him if he so desired.

"Yes," the duke said, "they did." He sighed. "Sir Enorwin, you promised me to ensure that your companions would stay inside. However, yesterday night, all my prisoners escaped the castle, and now your companions are nowhere to be found. Apparently, they managed to convince the guards to open the drawbridge, even though they had orders to keep it closed at all times."

"My sincere apologies, Your Grace," Enorwin said. "I understand your anger, and I deserve it. You have my express permission to punish my companions upon their return as you see fit; the Flaming Lands will not hold it against you."

"It is my hope," the duke said, "that they will in fact return."

"If they do not return, with Your Grace's permission, I will ride out to bring them back myself," Enorwin immediately proposed.

The duke slightly raised his right hand to decline the offer. "I will send one of my own men," he said. "I am glad that you are willing to take responsibility for your people, but I would not want anything to happen to you. After all, you are still my guest."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Enorwin said. "That is very kind of you."

"As long as you live under my roof, you are under my protection, Sir Enorwin," duke Hadufried said. "It is only natural that I should send my own people to bring back your companions. I would not have the right to call myself a knight if I did not show you hospitality."

Enorwin bowed his head in gratitude.

"Your companions have until dinner to return by their own accord," the duke said. "If they do not, I will send someone after them. Now please leave, Sir Enorwin; I asked Sir Tarnhald to come here after I finished speaking to you."

"Very well, Your Grace," Enorwin said. He bowed deeply and left the room.

When he stepped out the door, he suddenly stood face to face with Sir Tarnhald. The knight eyed him suspiciously and said, "Maybe His Grace has been forgiving to you once more," he said, "but please keep in mind that I, Sir Tarnhald of Wirengond, am not known for my forgiveness. If you do anything that could even make me suspect that you're trying to harm my liege lord, then you will have to deal with me."

Enorwin swallowed. Sir Tarnhald was about half a head taller than himself, and standing so close to him, Enorwin couldn't deny that the knight frightened him. The prince tried to get himself together.

"Your loyalty is admirable, my lord," he said carefully, before turning around and walking away, trying to get away from Sir Tarnhald as quickly as he could without looking suspicious.

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"Nibelinde," Hageriech said, putting his arms around the woman, "my wife."

"I am so glad you came," Nibelinde said, resting her head on her husband's shoulder, her eyes closed.

Arwund, Vaciana and Maréin stood near the door of the house, looking at the reunited couple. Maréin smiled; he was happy that the two were back together, especially since so little violence had been used in the process. In the end, finding a peaceful solution was infinitely preferable to simply beating someone in battle.

Adalmaer had been awake until the group of liberated prisoners had come home. He had cried tears of joy as both of his parents had come home; in the end, a laughing Hageriech had sent him to bed. He was now asleep in a second room in the small house.

Hageriech and Nibelinde let go of each other and turned to their guests. "Thank you so much for helping us all," Nibelinde said, and her husband nodded in confirmation. She added, "Feel free to stay at our house for the night. We don't have much to offer you; actually, we only have three beds. I would gladly give up mine, though, and I suppose Hageriech would be willing to do the same. Two of you can sleep in our beds. We'll sleep in the hay over there." She gestured to the pile of hay in the corner of the room.

Maréin raised a hand slightly to decline the offer. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said. "Please don't give up your beds. The three of us can sleep can sleep in the hay, can't we?" He threw a quick look at Arwund and Vaciana.

"Definitely," the rogue said, smiling. "I've slept on hard soil sometimes. I think I can handle a haystack." Vaciana, too, nodded in agreement.

"You are too kind," Nibelinde said, bowing her head slightly in a kind of subordination that made Maréin feel a bit strange; he wasn't used to people behaving like this towards him.

"It's okay, really," the knight said. "Let's just all be equals here."

Hageriech cleared his throat. "The question is what we're going to do now," he said in his usual, rough-sounding voice. "I'm sure the duke's men will come tomorrow. They're certainly not going to let the escape of all their prisoners go unpunished. Knowing them, they're probably going to abduct people again."

"And I'm not going to let them, as far as I'm concerned," Arwund said.

"Neither am I," Maréin said. "I don't intend to be an idle bystander when people get kidnapped."

"Your powers didn't work on Sir Tarnhald last time," Arwund said to the knight. Maréin cast a sideway look at his friend. He didn't know what to make of Arwund's intonation: there seemed to be a hint of disappointment in there which the draconic human didn't really want to feel. Vaciana also looked at him; she had probably noticed the same.

"The thing is that I don't hypnotise people, Arwund," Maréin said. "It may look like that, but that's not the way my powers work. What I do is mentally allow people to see things from my perspective. However, for a person to actually act differently than they intended, somehow, they need to agree with me when I show them, even if only temporarily. If they don't, then using my powers on them is like trying to grow a palm tree during a Northlands winter; the weather just isn't right."

"And that's what happened to Sir Tarnhald?" Arwund asked.

"Yes," Maréin said. "I don't know why not; maybe his loyalty to his lord is stronger than his empathy."

Arwund nodded. "I think I get it," he said. "So deep down, those guards at the castle gates were aware of the fact that holding innocent people prisoner in a dirty, cold and dark dungeon isn't right?"

"I suppose they did believe that," Maréin affirmed. "However, my experience is that people are often blinded to the reality right in front of them; because of loyalty, because of fear, because of desires that are stronger than one's conscience... There are many reasons."

"Maybe," Arwund said. He leaned back against the wall. "I think we should go to sleep. We'll need our energy tomorrow."

The two draconic humans and the wanderer proceeded to make themselves comfortable in the hay. Hageriech, however, seemed to be less tired than the others, for he sat down at the table, grabbed a piece of wood from the floor and drew his knife. He began to carve into it with his knife, removing bits and chunks of wood, probably with the intent of turning it into a statuette of sorts.

"Aren't you tired?" Arwund asked, curious.

Hageriech turned his head to look at his guest and for a brief moment, one of the saddest smiles Maréin had ever seen flashed across the middle-aged man's face. When he spoke, his voice was much gentler than usual. "I don't sleep much since our son Laubrand disappeared."

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Hadufried raised his head slightly as Sir Tarnhald entered the room and bowed down to him. "Your Grace," the knight said.

"Sir Tarnhald," duke Hadufried said in acknowledgement. He gave a brief nod to the court doctor, who bowed down and left the room, closing the door behind his back.

"Your Grace sent for me?" the knight asked in his deep, rough voice.

"I did," the duke said. "As you probably expected, I do not intend to let those escaped prisoners and their helpers go unpunished."

"What do you want me to do, Your Grace?" Sir Tarnhald asked. Hadufried looked at him with a kind of fascination; there was an ice-cold determination in the knight's eyes, a will to serve his lord that enabled him to methodically, ruthlessly execute any order he received.

"Go to the town in the valley," the duke said. He swallowed before he continued. Frankly, he wasn't completely comfortable giving the order he was about to give; however, it was necessary. He could not tolerate any insubordination in his lands, and he had to stop all forms of rebellion before they got the chance to spark a fire. "Take as many men with you as you need. I want all my prisoners back tonight. On top of that, punish one member of every prisoner's family in whatever way you see fit. Don't kill too many; we need workers here in Dracherwold. However, do make sure that Dracherwold will realise what it means to sneak into my castle and set my prisoners free. Make them remember."

Sir Tarnhald's face was emotionless as he replied, "Yes, Your Grace." His tone wasn't the one of a person who had just been ordered to wreak havoc on a town filled with civilians; it was the one of a person who had been asked to do the dishes.

A strange feeling nestled in Hadufried's stomach. For a moment, he wondered whether an act like this was justified. He looked Sir Tarnhald in the eye, somehow hoping to find even the slightest trace of compassion there; there was none.

"What is it, Your Grace?" the knight asked.

Hadufried looked away. "Do you have a conscience, Sir Tarnhald?" he asked.

"No," the knight said simply, before, on second thought, adding, "Your Grace."

Hadufried let out a brief, joyless laugh. "You really are heartless," he said, not as an accusation, but as a mere statement.

"Heartless, Your Grace?" Sir Tarnhald asked. "I wonder who is more heartless: the one who doesn't have a conscience, or the one who willingly ignores it."

Hadufried looked at the other man from the corner of his eyes. "I could have you stripped of all your titles for talking to me like that."

"You could, Your Grace," Sir Tarnhald affirmed, his tone neutral, "but you won't."

"And why not?" the duke asked.

"Because you need me," Sir Tarnhald said. "You need someone to follow all of your orders, no matter how cruel or merciless they may be. If I wouldn't do that for you, you would end up being confronted with the horrors you've inflicted on your lands. If you saw those with your own eyes, your conscience would drive you mad. But now that I do everything you order, you only rationally know what happens down there in the valley; you don't see it. You don't feel it. And that's how you remain sane."

Hadufried briefly closed his eyes. Sir Tarnhald was right. The duke had no idea how the knight had done it, but he had seen straight through his lord. And yet he needed a man like Tarnhald. The common rabble only listened to force. As a noble, you had to learn how to bypass your conscience and do what had to be done. It was something Enorwin still had to learn, and something Hadufried's father, Hildefried, had never learnt. But his mother had, and she'd made sure to drill it into young Hadufried during his upbringing. And she'd been right - after Hildefried's passing, his son had inherited a disordered duchy full of ungrateful subjects. Mountain tribes raiding the villages in the north of Dracherwold... famine and scarcity... local outbreaks of dragon's fever... If Dracherwold wanted to survive such threats, then its people needed to get in line.

Hadufried's blue eyes rested on the spotlessly white sheets of his bed. "How do you deal with it? The things you do?" he asked, suddenly too tired to look up at his knight.

"By not feeling," the knight simply said. "At least nothing but anger."

Hadufried could hear Sir Tarnhald walk to the door. In his peripheral vision, he saw the knight with the reddish-brown hair bow down. "Your Grace," he said. Not awaiting a response, he left the room.

Duke Hadufried just sat there, realising that there was no way to undo what he had just done anymore. He was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea.

It's probably just the wound, he thought to himself. Just the wound.

At that moment, the door was opened again. Hadufried looked up, the movement suddenly requiring a lot more energy than it ever had. The court doctor re-entered the room.

The dark-haired young man's eyes widened in surprise. "Your Grace, please forgive me for saying so," he said, clearly worried, "but you look as though you have seen a ghost."

The duke chuckled cynically. "Not a ghost," he said. "Something far more frightening." Once more, he lowered his gaze to the sheets. "I've seen the truth."

The physician gave him a puzzled look, clearly thinking his liege was delirious, but said nothing.

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Maréin was the first to wake up. The knight did not need as much sleep as humans.

As quietly as possible, so as not to awaken Vaciana, Arwund, Nibelinde, Adalmaer and Hageriech, who had meanwhile managed to fall asleep in another room, he walked to the glassless opening in the wooden wall which served as a window. Looking through it, he could see that it was still night; however, the first traces of sunlight began to make their way into the lands of Garowain from behind the mountains. The town was quiet.

The calm before the storm, Maréin thought.

The temperature was low, and a shiver ran down the wanderer's spine. He wrapped his cloak around himself. Then, once more paying attention not to make too much noise, he opened the door and walked out onto the street. There, he sat down, his back leaning against the wall of Hageriech and Nibelinde's house.

A conflict was approaching. He felt it. This would be Dracherwold's last stand against duke Hadufried. Unknowingly, the duke had planted the seeds of rebellion, and now he would have to reap his harvest.

Would there be deaths? How many would be wounded? How many people would give their lives for this uprising, how many would give their lives... in order to kill?

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Why was it so hard for so many people to just live and let live? To live in peace with one another? And why did so many of the Garowainian nobles treat their people so badly? Now, because of those deeds, civil war would break out. Unless... unless duke Hadufried suddenly got some miraculous epiphany that convinced him to change his ways.

The wandering knight shook his head. Unfortunately, that was not a very likely scenario.

It had begun to snow. Tiny snowflakes were falling from the skies, some of them landing on Maréin's face, where they melted. The wanderer looked up at Collack, the planet's moon. It was full. Would this day, the twenty-second of the Month of Snow, in the year 284 After Darfith's Disappearance be remembered by the generations to come?

He suddenly remembered another day in another Month of Snow many years – many centuries – ago. It had been the prelude of another battle, and he had stood beside his then-friend Rociane, watching the sun rise with him...

"You are still determined not to fight?" Rociane asked his friend.

"I am," Maréin said. "I can no longer prevent this senseless bloodshed; the least I can do now is refrain from participating."

Rociane laughed. "Always so nonviolent."

"Someone needs to speak out against war. Otherwise we'll keep killing each other until the end of time," Maréin said.

"Not until the end of time," Rociane said. "We fight now so that future generations will live in peace."

"In peace?" Maréin said, feeling anger rise in his body. He turned to face his friend. "And what kind of peace would that be? Trying to make peace by waging war is like trying to light a campfire by drenching the wood. All war has ever done is lay the foundation for another war."

It was as if for a brief moment, a fire blazed in Rociane's eyes. "So you would rather have the dragons kill us all?"

"The dragons are not our enemies, Rociane!" Maréin yelled. "The Middle Order calls them our enemies, but when was the last time a knight of the Middle Order ever even spoke to a dragon? All we've been doing these past years is making the dragons mad."

Rociane shook his head, disappointment in his eyes. "Maybe there once was room for your peace in this world," he said, "but that room no longer exists. Open your eyes! You're a knight, a warrior! So by Wainur, start acting like one!"

At that moment, it was as if the thin thread that had connected Rociane and Maréin all these many years was severed, cut through with a sword; a blood-stained sword called war. Maréin looked Rociane in the eye and said, "Knights were never warriors. But if that is what you think they are, what society thinks they are, then I'd rather not be a knight."

Rociane let out a scornful laugh. "What in the world are you up to now?"

"Something I should have done a lot earlier," Maréin said grimly. "When Wainur died... No, when the knights, our people, went to war against him and his kin. I give up being a knight. I refuse to take part in any more of this senseless fighting. From now on, I'll hide my identity from the world."

"What will you call yourself, then?" Rociane asked, a mocking smile on his face.

"Here in the Northlands, I'll call myself Maréin Aurácez," Maréin declared.

Rociane laughed once more. "How clever," he said sarcastically. "Couldn't you come up with a better alias?"

Maréin actually managed to smile, but the expression was sad, melancholic. "You know I'm a bad liar. I can't pretend to be someone I'm not."

And without awaiting a response, the wanderer turned around and walked away...

Maréin sighed at the memory. Rociane had been one of his best friends, but at some point, Maréin had no longer been able to agree with him.

He did not know very well what had become of Rociane after Maréin had left him at that battlefield. He had heard his former friend's name come up on a few occasions, but at some point, Sir Rociane of Salbridge had disappeared into history. He had probably died at some point, killed in one of those wars he thought necessary. If that was how he had died, then it had been a sad end to a sad story.

He heard someone open the door and looked up. Vaciana came out of the house, her cloak tightly wrapped around her. She sat down next to him in the snow.

"Man," she said, smiling, "you really do smell like wool."

"What's wrong with wool?" Maréin asked.

Vaciana shrugged. "Most knights smell very differently. Like warm fires in stone castles, like roasted meat and vegetable stew, or like soap and expensive perfumes. And when they're armed, well, then they smell like metal."

Maréin smiled. "That's not the kind of knight I am."

"I figured," Vaciana said. "You're one of the original knights." She pronounced the last two words with a kind of mock amazement.

Maréin let out a laugh. "I know," he said. Suddenly, he thought about Rociane again, and how he was likely to have died. His grin disappeared. "There aren't many of us left," he said softly. "Many fell in battles. Usually battles against the dragons. And when the dragons had been weakened, well, then they fought alongside feudal lords against other feudal lords and their armies. In his hatred towards the dragons, Rociane sowed the seeds of many wars to come."

Vaciana laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Maréin said. "All those people who have ever fallen in battles need your pity harder than I do. I'm not a victim."

"You are," Vaciana said. "You lost many friends. I know what that feels like. I was in the Southern Rebellion."

Maréin looked at her. Now that he thought about it, he came to the conclusion that she had a point. He was in pain. And so was she.

"Those days must have been terrible," he said.

"They were," Vaciana agreed. "I only told you about Enracio, but a lot more happened."

"I wasn't in the Southlands at the time of the rebellion," Maréin said, "but I've heard some of the stories."

"No words can express what it was really like," Vaciana said. Something seemed to occur to her. "You know, when I was ill and I had all those weird dreams, your were there. You saved me from Enracio."

"I did?" the knight asked.

"Yes, you did," Vaciana said. "You saved me from dragon's fever. A few hours ago you helped save Nibelinde and the other prisoners. And no-one got killed in the process."

"What are you trying to say?" Maréin asked.

"I'm trying to say that you can still save people," Vaciana said. "You can still play a role in this world. All is not lost. You prevented so much bloodshed last night. You can do the same today. Show the world what being a knight really means."

Maréin smiled. "I'll try." Although he tried to sound convinced, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his head. Yes, he had saved Vaciana's life. However, the infected guard had died.

"I know you may doubt yourself," Vaciana said. "But I want you to know that you have given me something back I thought I'd lost in the rebellion."

"Which is?" Maréin asked. He was surprised at how well Vaciana seemed to understand him. Somehow, he had come to feel more comfortable around her than around anyone else.

"Hope," she said. "After Enracio kidnapped me, after he put down the Southern Rebellion and killed many of my loved ones, I thought there was no more hope in the world. I thought I would never be happy again, I feared that I would never be at peace again." A single tear ran down her cheek. "You changed that," she said quietly. "I don't know how, but after all those times, it's as though I finally see a light at the end of the tunnel. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I've already let go of everything. But I do believe – I know – that things will change, that they will get better."

"I'm glad," Maréin said.

Vaciana smiled. "Let's give it all we've got," she said. "Let's try and make sure that the story of Dracherwold won't be like that of the Southern Rebellion."

"Yeah," Maréin said, "let's do that."

The sun was still rising, and the sky grew more blue with the minute. Soon, it would be time.

Vaciana was right – there was still hope. This story did not have to end in bloodshed. It did not have to end in all-out war.

He hoped this story, unlike that of the Southern Rebellion and unlike that of Rociane and the dragons, would have a happy ending.