Gazing out across the hills, King Anduin imagines himself in a place where frightened boys cower, cut before their bloom. He is observing some soon-forgotten battle, in a time shackled to the past and yet somehow also distant, surreal. These boys flitter about along the blood-soaked landscape until a vicious collision clips their wings. He sees his son on these hills, motionless and peaceful. Yet that last word feels like a lie, because he knows exactly how this would have felt. His own heir, stolen from him and who can he blame but himself? His heart stumbles to a chaotic tune, the melody of terror that his son surely experienced during his final moments on this earth. Peaceful? Nothing is serene about the brutality of death. Not this kind of death, in an unfamiliar territory with your brothers’ cries clogging your ears.

He remembers holding a baby, an angel who was inviolate. Now what is left of that child of God, except a rotting corpse and crows to pick at him? Anduin does not weep as he continues to stare out across the hills, awaiting the world-weary children of battle to limp back to their leader. He does not weep at the thought of Agnuar not being amongst these victims of his own recklessness. His eyes feel dry yet heavy, as if the sockets themselves have given up on carrying the weight of his inconceivable sorrow. Sometimes, not weeping is worse - unable to obtain that cathartic release from the guilt that plagues his mind and body. He does not weep, but stares out across those hills that begin to glare back with their enraged eyes. Alduin mutters his desperate prayers for absolution, but the pale-faced hills do not reply.

The world reeled into slow motion. Battle clattered about him; yet, as he watched the axe come down a mere four strides away, the sinking helplessness that grabbed hold of Abduin tuned his senses down to a hum. His heart beat had remained, and it violently pound in his ears. His son was struck. The crushing blow cracked open his skull, and his body collapsed under the force. There was nothing Abduin could do.

In that moment he was not King, he was not renowned victor, and he was not the bombastic leader who had recklessly succumb to the allure of this sure bet skirmish. If he was anything, he was a man whose insides had turned to liquid and whose mind could not keep up with the reality unfolding before him.

Blood splashed across his face as battle continuing around him, but it went unnoticed by Abduin. He had to get to his son. Abduin’s second in command, a loyal and formidable warrior had been in step with the king in their fighting. Observing both the blow and the king’s stunned horror, he had moved to action without pause. His blade was through the back of the axeman’s neck before Abduin could move in any direction.

Next he knew, Abduin was dismounted and embracing the limp body of his son. Tears were added to the mess of blood. “It can’t be”, was the thought that accompanied the pounding drum of his heart in his head. The bugle announced his army’s victory, but it almost deepened the ache. What had it mattered? His namesake, his first born, his heir was dead. And over what? An insignificant fight spurn by two men’s pride. A lifetime composed of innumerable events, changed irrevocably by this moment.

The kingdom had fallen silent. Everyone knew that a war had been started, but they didn’t know everything. Of course gifts were sent to the king as everyone loved him. All he wanted was his son back, he would do anything, even sacrifice his whole kingdom just to have his son back. He was grieving but he had cut his sons life short, too short as he was supposed to take the throne and the kings wife couldn’t bear anymore children. They had tried and failed many times.

Darkness slowly crept upon the day, and children and servants and Queen's and Knights and Squires went to bed. King Anduin however, stayed up, worried about his son. Queen Varidy stayed up to. Her thin silks were wraped around her skinny frame, and they stayed under the covers, hoping, praying for their son to come back. Their prince, their life, to come back. "Anduin," Queen Varidy finally whispered, breaking the silence. "If our son doesn't come back ... I'll never forgive you for starting this war!"

"Vari--"

"Don't Varidy ME! IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOU STARTED THIS WAR AND YOU FOOLISHLY LET OUR SON! OUR SON, PARTICIPATE IN this WORTHLESS PLAN OF YOURS!"

A knock came at the door, and Anduin called, "Come in!"

"King Anduin, Queen Varidy." He bowed, and kissed Queen Varidy's hand. "I'm afraid to say, my King, my Queen, your son has passed. Regretfully. Reand saw the arrow, but was not quick enough to stop it from killing him."

"Please leave, Drang," King Anduin said flatly.

After the door had shut, Varidy started to scream. "IT's YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN't STARTED THIS WAR, HE'd BE ALIVE!" Tears fell from her amber eyes. "You ARE A HEARTLESS KING, AND I REGRET MARRYING YOU! YOU OF ALL PEOPLE!" She ran out, silks flying behind her, like a swirling storm.