Henry Braxton

Elderstone, the capital city of Jorden

SUMMER PULSED WITHIN the city of Elderstone, the heat nearly unbearable. The sun beamed brightly in the clear blue skies, and no stone went unscorched. The city and it's residents walked upon the brink of war, and such sentiment showed in every corner of the city. Men who polished the mugs of their tavern now polished a sword of the armory. Boys with the memory of their mother's embrace were now in the hands of battle hardened warriors.

Nearly four days had passed since the court hearing of the King, and the hidden truth was finally unveiled to the general populace. Elves were among them. Not in great number, but for the common man, one was too great an existence. Fear and speculation gripped the common people like a father scolding his child, and the unrest of the citizens was known, namely to the castle guards. Civil protests were commonplace in the past half week, and no person's voice was unheard, those enlisted in the service of the king sometimes the loudest.

Henry Braxton had just risen, eating an unfulfilling breakfast of porridge and ale, as he had awoken later than he intended. A book nestled between his hands, titled The Glory of the Knight, the fictitious story of a young knight's quest to rescue a princess from a man who could form into a thorn wolf. Not only was it a good tale, it was the tale that inspired Braxton's chosen path. His spoon missed his mouth and the porridge spilt onto his cheek. He cursed, and wiped the breakfast food off his light brown skin.

Loud thumps echoed off the wooden door to his quarters, followed by a voice that interrupted the immersive trance the tale had on Henry.

"Braxton? You up yet? Patrols moving!"

Braxton recognized the voice as one of his fellow guardsmen. "Just a minute!" he said as he set his book down. He armored himself in the steel plate that was custom for Jordein warriors to wear, as well as the red sash that tied their waist. Though he desired to fight for noble causes and have grand adventures, such as the knight from his favorite story, he was assigned to patrol duty.

It was the usual patrol for the guardsmen of Castle Elderstone, beginning at the first light of day, and continuing until night. Four marched the halls, as was routine for their mornings.

"So the north wants war, then?" The young Braxton asked, his sword dangling from his waist. He walked quickly, as to keep up with the remainder of his patrol. His coarse, black hair had been stuffed under his helmet, lined with a red leather. The coils and pauldrons of his steel plate armor clanked as he and his patrol strode through the halls of Elderstone.

"You heard what the king said, Henry...elves," said the man to his left. He brushed his brown bangs from the center of his forehead so his left and tucked the strands of hair under his helmet.

"I still don't believe it. We didn't see them. There's no possible way elves still walk the land, and if they did, their heads would all be on pikes," said another man, the sun reflecting off his bald head.

"But why would the king lie? We're going to war. Every man and his mother knows it. So why lie?" Henry asked.

The bald man shrugged. "Maybe Joras was fucking Prince Agner's wife and he found out, maybe Joras was-"

"Fucking Princess Marilyn from all the way out here, in Jorden? You are as stupid as you are bald, Carrick," said the man with the brown bangs.

"Piss off...makes sense to me. The king's always away from his castle. And I see the way queen Victoria looks at him...a stare that cold and you'd think he'd freeze where he stood."

"And elves are the way to go about covering up such an affair?" said Henry.

"To the abyss with both of you," Carrick grunted.

They turned a corner, and it seemed their pace quickened with each step.

"All that I'm saying is that seeing is believing," Carrick continued, "and I haven't seen any elves. If the king wants to save them like he says he does, then why can't we see them? They'll be walking among us one day, if the king has his way."

"King may not get his way. The other king's have plenty to say about King Joras' elves," the man with the brown bangs retorted.

"They haven't said much. They let their banners do the talking. And how much talking can a banner do?" Carrick asked.

"Enough to declare war, it seems."

Carrick scoffed. "War with Arnland and Farrenhelm...we may not win this one."

As they turned the next corner, their silent patrol leader stopped dead in his tracks, bringing the troops to an abrupt halt. He shushed them.

"What is it, Sir Caulder?" asked Henry.

Ahead of him were the doors to the royal chamber, of which the Freemane family have slept for generations. "The door...it's open." He gestured to the ajar door of the royal chambers.

"So?" said Carrick, shrugging his armored shoulders.

"The king never rises this early," said the man with the brown bangs.

"Maybe the new prince woke him up and he couldn't go back to bed," said Henry.

"No...that's not it...where are his guards?" said Sir Caulder.

The air suddenly seemed hard to breathe, and each warrior reached for the hilt of the sword at their waist.

Sir Caulder turned to the patrolman with the brown bangs. "Nathyn, fetch Sir Bayer. Tell him it's an emergency. After that, go to the princes chambers, ensure the baby is safe."

Nathyn quickly left to fulfill his orders, leaving without a word. Sir Caulder turned to Carrick.

"Carrick, find Sir Grayson of the Kingsguard. Tell him to escort the elves to the Tower of Rorden. No doubt whoever did this would do the same to them. Take them to the Arch Ranager."

"Aye. Farewell," he said, quickly hurrying away.

"Henry...with me," said Sir Caulder, looking back to the door. As they stepped closer, it seemed the door went further and further. Henry found it odd the tricks the mind could play. As the room drew closer, the air smelled more metallic. Sir Caulder stopped just before the entrance, and took a strong whiff.

"Blood...Gods above." He stepped into the darkened room, his hand gripping his hilt with tight fingers. Henry followed behind.

"Shit," Henry softly exclaimed as he stepped into a thick, viscous puddle of dark red liquid.

Sir Caulder gasped in disbelief. He ran to the center of the room, where the corpse of the King lay. He knelt next to the King, taking his head in his arms. He peeled his armored glove off with the aid of his teeth, and put two of his fingers to the king's neck. He sighed solemnly. "No beating...he's dead. Check the queen."

Henry did so, and ran to the grand, decorated bed that fostered the royal couple during the many nights they shared. The white sheets and blankets were painted red, and the queen laid face down, her arm hanging off the side. Henry rolled her over, and nearly gagged from the sight of the red gash that ran along her throat. He quickly pulled his hand away from the ghostly body of the dead monarch. He took heavy breaths, and looked back to Sir Caulder.

"Who could've done this?" Henry asked in a small voice.

Sir Caulder shook his head. "I don't...I don't know."

Running footsteps echoed off the walls. "This way, Sir!" shouted the voice of Nathyn. He and Sir Bayer stopped in the doorway, Nathyn's eyes opened wide.

"Gods above!" He exclaimed.

Bayer's eyes squinted at the sight of the corpses, his eyes studying the scene. "What happened here?" he said in his deep, gruff voice. His frizzled white hair fell to his shoulders, and sleep still lingered in his eyes. His untucked white shirt fell over his gray two toned pants. His sleeves were rolled up, and a dagger was strapped to his leg.

"We don't know, Sir. We found the scene like this," said Sir Caulder.

Bayer stared at him with feigned skepticism. "How did this happen? Where were the guards when this occurred?"

"We don't know, Sir Bayer. We know as much as you," said Sir Caulder.

"The guards, who were they?"

"Which guards, Sir?" Sir Caulder asked.

"What, are you fucking dense? The guards stationed here last night! What were their names!" Bayer shouted.

Sir Caulder kept his calm. "Sir Walcott and Sir Bastian."

"Take me to them!" The ashen hair warrior commanded. Sir Bayer turned, and demanded Sir Caulder's companionship. The two went on quickly, Henry and Nathyn left alone. Nathyn examined the scene, horrified.

"What kind of man slaughters a woman in the dark of the night? And King Joras...he was the noblest of them all...who do you think did this?"

Henry kept his gazed focused on the dead king, unable to tear his eyes away. Much raced through his mind, yet nothing stayed.

"Henry?"

The patrolman faced his companion with a stare of steel. "The Prince."

Nathyn raised his eyebrow. "Prince Aldrien? You think he did all this?"

"Maybe not alone...who else could crave enough power to commit such an act? You saw the way he shouted at the king after the court hearing. Miraculous he didn't have his head chopped off then and there. He has access to all of Elderstone too."

Nathyn saw the logic in his estimate, nodding slowly in understanding. "Joras wouldn't be the first king to fall to his brother. Gods...you may be right...keep that to yourself for now...until the panic has gone."

Henry nodded in agreeance. "Was the young baby safe?"

Nathyn nodded. "There were guards outside his chamber still. The prince is fine."

Henry sighed with relief. "Good. Come on...let's get out of here before the chaos settles in."

The two patrolman left the chambers quickly, just missing nearly a dozen of knights swarm the tomb of the Freemanes.

*****

"Sir Grayson! Sir Grayson!" Carrick called out, hoping his words would find the hearing of the Commander of the Kingsguard. He ran down the hall and shoved open the grand door that housed the knight commander who vowed to protect the royal family. Sir Grayson was sitting at a wooden table, buttered loaf of bread topped with meat and cheese in one hand and a tall horn of ale next to his plate. His armor was still upon his mannequin and his sword still sheathed. His graying, dark brown hair was cut short, hugging his scalp, and his face was shaved clean. He swallowed the food within his mouth and set the remainder of his breakfast down on his plate.

"Damn it, patrolman, do you know what hour it is?" he asked.

"Sir Grayson, the King," said Carrick in a huff. He had tired himself from sprinting the long, stretched hallways of Elderstone.

Sir Grayson was standing now, tall and firm, his eyes doused in worry. "Aye, the king, what is it?"

"We believe him to be in trouble. Sir Caulder had asked me to tell you to move the elves to the Tower of Rorden." Said Carrick, still trying to regain his breath.

Panic rushed into the Sir Grayson, the expression now one of a man worried. "How do you know this? Does he still breathe?"

"We saw his door open on our patrol. He never rises this early. We fear the worst. Sir Caulder urged me to tell you to move the elves."

"That command is not within his power! Only the king's," Grayson rebutted.

"The king may be dead, Sir Grayson!"

Sir Grayson's expression softened. He shook his head in lack of understanding. Without word, he went to his mannequin, removing the armor pieces and adding them to his uniform, strapping the bracers and buckling the pauldrons and plates. He grabbed his sword by the sheathe and strapped it to it's waist. Once dressed in full uniform, he returned to Carrick.

"Fine then. I will have two of my men move the elves to the Tower. I myself must rush to the king. It is my sworn duty."

He quickly rushed out the room, leaving Carrick alone. He walked with quickened pace, the unknown fate of the king nipping at the back of his nervous mind. He swung the corner and planted his hands onto the doors that sheltered his Kingsguard. With a mighty push, the doors rushed open. The sleeping knights awoke quickly, startled.

"Sir Grayson, what is it?" Asked a drowsy guardsman, still wiping the tired away from his eyes.

"Sir Forrester, Sir Morwind, get up and get armored immediately. I need your services."

"Is it the king?" Asked the groggy Sir Morwind.

"Yes, but that is for me and the remainder. I need you two for something else."

"For what purpose?" Inquired Sir Morwind. He rose from his bed with haste, quickly armoring himself, as did Sir Forrester, opposite from Sir Morwinds side of the room. They both pulled on their boots and strapped their hilts to their belt. Sir Grayson wasted no time.

"You two, go to the elves chamber. Disguise them and move them to the Tower of Rorden, and secure them with the Arch Ranger, no one else. Am I understood?"

"Aye Sir," said both.

"Excellent. Go, now. The rest of you," he said, turning his attention to the rest of the awoken guardsmen. "With me. Your king needs you."

Sir Forrester and Morwind moved quicker than Sir Grayson could give the command. As the remainder of the kingsguard assembled, the two escorts raced down the castle halls, wasting neither time nor breath. Their armor clanked as they took each step and their swords slapped against their legs in their sheaths. Minutes had passed until they were before the door of the elves sanctuary. Two more kingsguard stood post outside, their hands resting on their hilts, and shields strapped to their arms. They appeared as statues in their armor, still and unmoving.

Sir Forrester and Sir Morwind skidded before them, regaining their lost breath.

"Quick," Said Sir Forrester, "open the door."

One guard loosened at the sight of the fellow king's guardsmen, but remained vigilant and in tact.

"On whose orders?" Asked the guardsmen.

"Sir Grayson. The king may be in trouble and we need to help the elves," Sir Morwind informed the two sentries.

The guardsmen looked at each other, each wearing an expression of concern.

"What kind of trouble?" Asked the other guardsmen. His eyes were skeptical, but trusting.

"We don't know, but we wish to spare the elves a similar fate," said Sir Forrester.

One of the guardsmen guffawed. "You'd rather save the elves than your king?"

Sir Forrester stared back with hard eyes. "I'd rather follow an order given from our commander...open the door."

The two guardsmen looked at each other, confirming their actions within their silent gaze. "Fine," said the one to the right, unlocking the door, "but if I find out Sir Gray-"

"Save it for the crows, Sir Harlow. Now go, your king needs you. We'll take it from here," said Sir Forrester. They entered the room and the two guardsmen raced off to the royal chambers after exchanging confused gazes.

The elves had not risen yet, neither had the half elf. All three laid lazily in their beds, a mess of black and blonde hair. Sir Forrester remained by the door as Sir Morwind proceeded to awake each by shaking their shoulders. The startled elves' eyes shot open and magick brewed within their hands upon the shock, but was quickly subdued.

"Quickly, we must move, you may be in danger," Sir Forrester said in a hushed, ominous tone. The elves stared back with unsure eyes.

"What kind of danger?" asked the male elf with the long black hair.

The half elf was halfway dressed by the time the others rose from their bed. He finished pulling a white tunic over his arms and sliding the buttons through the holes that lined his shirt.

"Doesn't matter, Valyn. Danger is danger. And they're kingsguard. We'd better move," he said, pulling a dark brown cloak over his shoulders. He hid his shaggy blond hair under the hood, and his soft blue eyes were concealed from the shadow.

"I like this one," said Sir Morwind to Sir Forrester, gesturing at the half elf.

The other two had finished dressing, each in brown pants and black robes, hoods over the long ears, hiding their distinctive racial features. Sir Morwind inspected them closely, making sure nothing could give them away. He looked back to Sir Forrester and nodded.

"We're good," he said, taking his place at the rear.

Sir Forrester nodded back. "Right then. Let's move. To the Tower with ya..."