Requiem for a King [MxM]

My Hero

Gavrael awoke to the sound of distant commotion. He rubbed his face and rolled over to find Quintus' side of the tent empty as usual. Quintus was always up before the gods. They'd been hiking around the gulf for over a week now and everyday, without fail, he woke up with a sore back from sleeping on the hard ground.

Quintus made him sleep fully clothed, shoes and all, in case they got attacked in the dead of night, but it only served to make his feet sweaty and itchy. He sat up and twisted his body this way and that to alleviate some of the stiffness, then packed up his bedroll and dragged it outside along with his bag.

The knoll they'd made their camp on was just outside of Ewell, with the walls of the village just twenty minutes away on foot. They'd debated going there to rest for a few days, maybe see if anyone recognised Gavrael. Quintus was wary as he'd never traversed this part of the region before and decided they should sleep on it.

Gavrael squinted his eyes against the harsh light of dawn. The dregs of their fire sat a few feet away from the tent, the wood reduced to charcoal and ash. Quintus stood at the edge of the knoll, staring out at the walls of Ewell. Morning light teased the gold undertones from his skin and burnished the wavy strands of his hair.

If not for the noise sounding from his left, Gavrael may have stared for longer than appropriate. Pillars of smoke rose from within Ewell's walls and crashes and screeches echoed through the valley like ghostly wails.

"What's happening?" Gavrael asked. When they'd settled down the night before, it had been peaceful enough to hear the insects chirping and the occasional call of an owl.

Quintus shrugged a shoulder and made a tsking sound. "Netherborne. What a shame. I was actually contemplating going down there. A warm bed and a hot meal would've been nice." Another ghastly screech echoed through the morning. "Well, let's pack up. We'll give it a wide berth."

Gavrael gaped at Quintus' retreating back. "You can't be serious. Quintus, there are people down there. They need help. We can't just abandon them."

"Sure we can." He pulled the stakes anchoring the tent to the ground. "We'll head south towards the water and follow the beach. Should any netherborne bother us, I'll take care of them."

Gavrael looked towards Ewell and then at Quintus. "You're not going to help?"

"No, Gav, I'm not." Quintus kicked over his massive cross, pulled straps and latches and buckles until the bottom case fell free. "If I didn't make it clear before, I'm no hero. I'm not running around this region saving the townsfolk from the big bad evil, alright?"

The words stung, but Gavrael resisted the urge to flinch and squared his shoulders. "You saved me. You didn't have to, but you did."

Miles and miles of silence stretched between them, until it felt as though they were standing on opposite ends of the world. Quintus tensed, hands balling into fists, shoulders rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Gavrael wished he could see Quintus' face; he imagined he'd find some regret in those dark eyes.

"I'll go," Gavrael said, his voice small, hoarse. Turning away from Ewell, from all those people in distress, made his stomach turn. The feeling was akin to when he touched the gold bracer. Just as he knew, in some deep recess of his mind, he shouldn't take it off, he felt some responsibility to help.

Quintus whirled and cut the air with his hand. "Have you lost your mind? There are netherborne down there. They'll kill you."

"I guess." Gavrael shrugged and shouldered his bag. "Maybe. But there are also people down there who need help, and if I'm able to help, then I have to." He took one last look at Quintus. "I'll meet you by the coast if I'm able, and if I'm not, well... I'll see you on the other side." He gave a small wave and jogged down the hill towards Ewell's walls.

He heard Quintus screaming after him, but the words were smothered by the sounds of destruction in front of him. He understood Quintus' reasons for being weary of the people in this region. But he felt, deep down, that he didn't have the luxury of standing idly by while people suffered. Even if he couldn't save them from the netherborne, he could at least help them get to safety.

As soon as Gavrael got to the bottom of the hill, his jog turned into a sprint, and in no time, he was at the gate of the village. It gaped open, one side ripped away completely and the other hanging on like a loose tooth. Lying just inside was a man dressed in blue and gold regalia, holding a sword in a loose grip.

"Sir? Are you okay?" Gavrael stepped closer, but it wasn't until he was a feet away that he noticed the tree growing from the man's leg. Its roots curled around his thigh and climbed up to his chest, while leaves and flowers sprouted along its branches. Bile pooled in Gavrael's mouth and he took an involuntary step back.

"It's the blight."

Gavrael startled and spun to see Quintus standing over him. "I thought you..."

"Can't get my barrel of ale if you're dead." He kneeled next to the guard and grimaced. "He's too far gone. The roots have already reached his heart."

"What in damnation is this?" Gavrael covered his nose, to filter out the sickly sweet scent of potpourri.

Quintus stood. "The blight. It's a flesh rotting disease. If you see anyone else with it, tourniquet the limb around the roots, that'll slow it down. Ice works too if they have it. And take this." He held out his silver bell. "I've hummed my necromancy into it. If any netherborne come near you, ring it. It'll scare them off."

Gavrael accepted the bell with a nod. Then kneeled to pry the guard's sword from his grasp. It wouldn't hurt to be armed too. It was a little heavy for his liking but he'd manage.

"You know how to use that thing?" Quintus asked.

"Strangely," Gavrael gave it a flourish to flick the black sludge from the blade. "I do."

"Alright. The majority of the netherborne are in the east. I hear people in the north so you should head that way." Quintus nodded in the direction.

"And what about you? You're not going to abandon me here are you?" Gavrael asked in a teasing voice.

"On the contrary my dear Gavrael, I'm off to play hero. Or pretend to at least." He gave a salute with two fingers. "Godspeed." And he charged off down the road.

Gavrael looked down at the little bell, stroked its soft, black ribbon. "You were wrong, Quintus. You're my hero."