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The world was on fire. The clang of metal on metal, sword on sword lingered in the air. The smell of gunpowder, ash, and smoke drifted along the breeze tickling at the noses of those who were still breathing. The soft smell of Scott’s lilies clashed with the harsh scent of death a manic Sausage was producing. Compared to other battles that had been fought on those very lands, this one was silent. There was hardly any noise besides the whistling of the wind in the ears of the survivors, making the battle all the more eerie.
But then, a single, high pitched scream cut through the silence like a knife, sharp and deadly. Nom, who had been prowling the scorched remains of Cherri and Apo’s house, froze.
He knew that scream better than he knew his own. It dragged him back to sunlit memories of wooden training swords, practise dummies, the taste of sand in his mouth and laughter, so much laughter, mixed with that same high scream.
This scream, however, was laced with terror, something every other scream before had lacked. It was this same terror that had Nom running, leaping over burning walls, shouting her name over and over. He inhaled far too much smoke, enough to have him doubled over coughing by the time he reached the main gates of the Red Kingdom. He knew his trainer would have berated him for the panicked, terror filled mistakes he made, but frankly, he didn’t care at that point.
And there she was. Facing Nom, with her back to the river stood Katie the Brave. Her sword lay at the feet of the only obstacle between Nom and his terrified, panicked sister.
Owain had her backed into a corner, with nowhere to go. He was advancing slowly, raising his sword as he crossed the short few feet between himself and the other, defenceless, knight. Nom had mere seconds before the man in the lion armour slit his sister's throat. Or perhaps he would gut her, slice her clean through with that enormous sword of his, and pull it out in one swift movement, leaving her to die by the riverside.
Katie cast panic filled eyes around her surroundings, looking for something, anything to save her.
Owain took another step towards her.
And this was it wasn’t it? This was the ultimatum Owain had presented him all those weeks ago on the mountainside. His duty, or his sister. His ears began to fill with a faint ringing, drowning out the plea for help that escapes Katie’s throat, or perhaps she is begging for mercy, or maybe she is throwing vulgar words, with disdain, uncaring of who, if anyone, will catch them.
Owain took another step.
This was it. The ringing in Nom’s ears faded to the steady thump, thump, thump, of his heartbeat. He knew it was either Owain, or Katie who died in that instant, and he knew that he was not about to let his sister, his dear, sweet, brave sister, who only left the Blue Kingdom because of him, who only joined the Red kingdom because of him, who was only in this position because of him, die.
He unsheathed the javelin from where it was strapped across his back and aimed.
Owain took one final step, raising his sword to the throat of the scared young woman in front of him, and—stopped?
The scene was painted as such: a young woman, with a throat raw from the terror, horror and death she had seen, a face painted with tears and blood, and devoid of any weapons for which to protect herself with, stood in front of a knight, clad in the golden armour of a lion, holding a sword near twice the size of him to the girl’s neck. Behind it all, another knight, with dark hair, and darker eyes, eyes that had seen the horrors of that night, and catalogued them along with the countless other memories that matched those, stood at the gates, several feet away from where the two stood, javelin poised and ready to throw, aimed with deadly intent.
The wind died down and the lion spoke,
“Nom. Choose wisely.” He said, loud enough to be heard over the rushing of the river and the blustering of the wind.
“I will, Owain. Don’t worry.” Nom whispered, knowing the other would never catch the response.
He drew his arm back, praying to whatever gods were out there for his throw to strike true, to strike the lion in the weak chink between his shoulder blade and arm.
It whistled through the air, spinning and spinning, and the time it took for it to find its mark, felt like an eternity to all members of the odd little party assembled.
The god must have taken a liking to him on that particular day, Nom thinks bitterly, as the javelin sinks into flesh, embedding itself into Owain’s shoulder.
Unseen to the siblings, Owain’s eyes widen behind his helmet, and he gasps for air as his body, already feeling the effects of the spars and battles fought mere hours beforehand, locks up. His knees buckle, and he drops to the ground with a grunt, keeling over onto his side, javelin still wedged between his armour plates.
As soon as Owain’s knees hit the ground Nom is running. He meets Katie a little over half way, as she is sporting a limp in her right foot. Despite her injuries, she collapses into Nom’s waiting arms, and the two simply stand there, holding onto each other, savouring the pain and sensations that mean being alive; a fate neither knew if they possessed seconds ago.
Eventually, the two pulled away from each other. Katie’s hair was damp with her brother’s tears, as was Nom’s armour. They turned to Owain in sync, who had pushed himself onto unsteady feet.
“I suppose it’s to be expected, huh?” He said with a grin, filled with pain
“Yeah. I did tell you.” Nom returned, nothing but resignation in his voice.
“I suppose you did. Do you regret it?”
“No… I suppose I am selfish after all.”
And although neither Katie nor Nom can see it, Owain grins, a bloody, hate filled grin.