Good Neighbor

Fredderick stood outside the chicken coop, feeling the sun on his face as he stood upright. For a man of his height, even something as mundane as collecting eggs made him feel like he was being pressed in half. A grunt of relief escaped his lips as his back popped, followed by the rest of his body. He sighed at the cacophony as he trudged back to his house; first his stomach had gone, and with it the best and most flavorful foods, then his knees, then his back... It seemed like he'd just gotten used to one bit of treachary when another piece of would abandon him, or start to creak and groan. At least he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him falling apart, he thought as he walked into the cozy kitchen. The eggs joined a few apples, and a hunk of cheese in the cold-box. The bottle of greenish milk, however, was promptly discarded, along with a colorfully-molded bit of turkey.

"Maybe I should hire someone," he thought out loud. "What do you think?"

Tobias, an arrogant stray dragonling who'd chosen him as its keeper, remained quiet in the sunbeam. He lazily opened one eye, a sapphire in a sea of red and orange, before yawning, and returning to his slumber. Fredderick scratched the beast's ears fondly, and it whuffed in happiness. It woke fully when it realized its human had begun to make itself food, and leapt to the counter to watch (and perhaps get a nibble of something delicious).

"Get down," Fredderick sighed, placing Tobias back on the floor. He sighed harder when his companion simply leapt back up, as though it had no idea what the foolish man had been saying. "You're a troublesome one, y'know that?" Still, Tobias got a bit of ham, and his own saucer for water. Probably the reason he ignored most commands, Fredderick admitted, picking at his own morning meal. Ah, but what was the harm, really? He scratched the dragonling between its wings, and was rewarded with a wheezing rumble as Tobias arched his back eagerly.

Unfortunately, he couldn't sit around all day. Though his military pension allowed for his simple life with his chickens and garden, he wasn't so wealthy he could have someone fix every little thing that sprang a leak, or fell apart. The coop needed fixing up to keep whatever had been clawing hungrily at the roof out; he needed a new watering can, and a good pot to move his tomato plant into; the roof of the house had begun to sprout holes that only made themselves known on rainy days, and he'd never thought to buy a ladder before. A crash followed by the skitter-scatter of claws, and frantic flapping drew him into the next room. Tobias dove past him, a stretch of reddish fabric tangled in his claws. Fredderick grimaced as he saw the tattered remains of the drapes, adding yet another thing had would need.

"Troublesome," he declared, scooping up Tobias, and deftly removing the tangled cloth. He got a flapping wing to his face for his troubles, and Tobias was out the window and into the air a moment later. Fredderick sighed for the hundredth time. So much for having an easy morning at least. Yet another bit of this or that he needed from the city.

It was a fine day for the walk, at least. There wasn't a cloud in sight, and the sun had yet to bake the land with its fire. Returning home would be the feat, and probably see him drenched in sweat, and his legs on fire. His friends always asked why he didn't just buy a mule and cart, and he always answered that the day he couldn't manage a simple walk for supplies was the day they'd be leaving him for the worms, and this day was no different. His battered, wheeled basket was rolled alongside him, where it rattled and creaked over the stones and hard-packed dirt road. Soon enough he was cursing as the first drops of sweat ran down his back; there'd been a time when he could've ran the distance without any heavy breaths. There'd been a lot of things he'd been able to do when he was younger, he thought with a grunt, but there was no use dwelling on it now. Maybe Hornswald would have his cart open, and he could enjoy a glass of fruit-water. The thought was enough to bring a smile to Fredderick's face, and despite his body, he set off even quicker.

The grass, tall as a man in some patches, swam like water as the wind blew through it. The cries of foxes playing, of the thumping of rabbits running, echoed every few breaths. Hawks, and other, more worrisome things, circled above. It was relaxing, in its own, strange way. Sooner than he would've liked though, he began to see other folk crowding on the roads. Oh, they were nice enough as they passed Fredderick, with friendly waves, and cheerful greetings, but they curdled his belly all the same. He offered tiny smiles, and sparse words in return, grimacing after they'd passed him by. There was a reason why he didn't live closer to the city, and as he crested a hill, he felt it flooding into his gut.

A sea of people massed at the foot of the hill, milling about the gates to Verdenhelm. Fredderick wrinkled his nose at the stink of humans and animals mingled and washed over him. Even so early in the day, it'd take some time to get through the crowds. His hands itched furiously as they closed in from every side; a feeling of lightheadedness took him. He built up a touch of speed, and began shoving people out of the way as gently as he could. A few needed more of a boot to the ass, they were so enraptured by the city's walls.

"Pardon me, pardon me, excuse me," he bellowed as he fought through the clumps of people. "Fucking move, thank you, coming by."

"Who do y'think they were?"

Fredderick stuttered to a halt as some random young man tossed the question at him; he followed the youth's slack-jawed stare to see a handful of rotted bodies nailed to the wall. They moved weakly, staring with broken, piteous eyes at the onlookers; the enchanted torcs around their necks -- ugly circles of magic-hammered iron -- kept them from dying from their wounds, but not from the world. Bits of flesh had been torn from their faces where things had eaten at them; maggots crawled in open wounds; a few had arrows from people who'd been using them for target practice, before being run off by the guards. T'was a horrid sight -- if you weren't from the area.

"I heard they were-"

"I don't care," Fredderick huffed, giving the boy his more fearsome glare. "Get the fuck out of m'way, before I run over your foot."

That seemed to do the trick. The boy stumbled back, paling as the older man yanked his cart behind him. Travelers, Fredderick thought, his lip curling at all the gawking faces. A smile fought its way across his face as he saw the usual cutpurses making their rounds through the crowds. A few met his eyes, and he gave them the barest shiver of a wink in greeting. Smirks flashed across their faces before they melted away into the throng of humanity, a handful of coins richer, and hopefully a lesson to Verdenhelm's endless visitors to keep their hands on their purses.

"Hail and well met, stranger!" a voice rang out to him. "You look like someone who used to live around here."

Fredderick actually smiled as he came to the front gates. A young guard with only a hint of beard stood at the ready with a quill and paper. Crow's feet already showed from his smiles, and he offered a bit of jerky from his pouch.

"Mathias," Fredderick nodded in greeting.

"Oi," the young man (more a boy, really, though to Fredderick, almost everyone looked like a boy to him) said, leaning close. He tapped a polished gray badge of bird wings encircling a castle on his cloak, and with a start, Fredderick realized he wore sleek, elegant armor under the rippling cloth. "It's Shieldsman Mathias now," he informed Fredderick with an overly-serious face. Quick as it came, it melted back into his usual smile, and he winked with good cheer.

"Congratulations," Fredderick said, smiling heartily as the guard tried to keep from looking too prideful of his new position.

"Yeah, well, it's just a formality," he grinned sheepishly. "Word is everyone's getting suited, one way or another." Despite the humble tone, he shifted slightly, smiling as the enchanted armor seemed to almost ripple weightlessly. "Anyway," he said suddenly, blushing as he saw the growing queue in front of him. "The usual errands? Go, go on through," he barked. Fredderick smiled, signing his name quickly on the paper, and hustled into the city.

Inside the walls the city was still waking up, to Fredderick's deep thanks. Most were still preparing in their homes, or just opening their shops. Children ran through the streets in play, some under the careful eye of a parent or sibling; a few were grabbed by the scruff and hauled off to help carry errands, squawking all the while. The clang of smiths hard at work echoed through the streets; the smell of fresh bread wafted through the air, making his stomach rumble; mules plodded slowly by, their owners calling out their wares to any who caught their eye. A few Hammermen laughed together at one such cart, their faces barely visible through the massive helmets they all wore. Blows that would fell giants rang on their bulky armor in good fun as they shouted at each other around mouthfuls of spiced rolls. At Fredderick's approach, they moved aside, smiling and giving respectful nods in greeting. He returned their smiles with nods of his own.

"Well, and what did I do to earn this fine honor today?"

"Tarlen," Fredderick smiled. "Picked clean yet?"

Tarlen gave an easy laugh, adjusting the owlish glasses on his face. He opened the hatch on his cart. "Spiced lamb pie, for the old man," he called below. A moment later a pair of hands reached up through the opening, a small meat pie held in them. Tarlen took the pie, and quick as a snake leaned down to kiss the fingers that held it. Giggles floated up from inside the cart, followed by something Fredderick couldn't quite make out. Whatever it was, Tarlen blushed to the roots of his salt-and-pepper hair, beaming all the while.

"I see married life is treating you well," Fredderick murmured, handing over a few coins.

"Ah, well enough as anything else," he said, grinning one last time into the cart before shutting it. "Helps she's doing the cooking now. This little window-box is the best thing that we ever found," he said, patting the side of the cart.

"I think we're all glad you're not cooking anymore."

Tarlen sputtered at the jibe, swatting the air in front of the grinning old man. A knocking came from the cart, and he swung the door open again. He leaned down, before beckoning Fredderick over. "Jenny wants to say good morning."

"Good morning!" A bright-eyed blonde with freckles and an infectious smile stared out at Fredderick. "I see you're still as grumpy as usual."

"And you still as radiant," Fredderick called back. "Why you settled for this lump I shall never know."

Jenny frowned and jutted her chin out at him. "The best lump in the world, I'll have you know!"

"Such high praise," Tarlen sighed, leaning next to Fredderick. His eyes crinkled as his wife blew him a kiss, before stirring something on the stove. Runes glowed red-hot across the stone's surface, and she held up a spoon through the opening. Fredderick darted forward to taste, earning a tap on the nose from it.

"Oi, no free samples!" Jenny said sternly, hand on her hip, and spoon at the ready. She gave a taste to her husband, watching Fredderick all the while.

"Another masterpiece," Tarlen swooned. Jenny rolled her eyes, and looked to Fredderick.

"Perhaps just a pinch less onion," he admitted. She smiled, and flicked an eyebrow up at Tarlen.

"Thank you for the suggestion."

"I can't help it if everything you make is wonderful," Tarlen protested. Jenny turned her nose up at him, making a shoo-ing motion with her free hand. "Love and kisses!"

"Tarlen, can you afford these new things?" Fredderick asked after the latch was shut. "The last time I was here, you had

coals in there to keep everything hot. Almost started a fire, I recall."

Tarlen flushed at the memory, and then swelled with pride. "Our Ellie got in. By end of year, she'll be inducted into the Hawksguard."

"That's wonderful!" Fredderick's face felt like it'd crack in two from the smile. "Truly, truly outstanding! I suppose it's not much of a surprise though. She's had a bow in her hands since she barely came to my knee."

"Aye," Tarlen said, glowing. "I didn't like it at the time, but she insisted on using part of her wage to help modernize the home a tad." His smile wavered slightly. "Hopefully they'll keep the new recruits at home."

"What?"

"You didn't -- of course you didn't hear." Tarlen blew out a breath. "More 'n more accusations flood in from the other empires."

Fredderick spat on the ground. "What of it? People have called us devil-lovers and worse over the years, but they still come to trade with us all the same."

"It's different this time." Tarlen scratched his head in a sharp, nervous gesture. "Hogenhein is massing armies. Word is they're planning to march."

Fredderick's right eye twitched; that was...unfortunate. War benefitted no one but grave-diggers and coffin-makers. He snorted, despite his misgivings. "Hogenhein can't scratch its ass without a week-long senate meeting," he said, with far more confidence than he felt. "I'll believe it's more than rattled sabres when they're knockin' on the door. How's Luke?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"He's well," Tarlen said, happy to be off the topic. "He still enjoys meandering about the commons and the market; sometimes I see him, but he's always so busy all he can do is wave."

"And his entourage?"

Tarlen barked a laugh. "The most harried, exhausted, sorry-looking lot you've ever seen. I think he enjoys making them chase after him, papers flying everywhere." The two laughed at the image, Tarlen flailing his arms about like he was chasing after an uncaring employer. "'Sir! Sir! Please! Just a few more signatures! Please -- oh dammit, he got around the corner! Alexei! Cut him off at the jeweler's!'" Fredderick was guffawing at the thought as he finished the last bite of food.

"Ah, it's been good to see you," he said, wiping his eyes. "But I'm afraid I've a long day ahead of me. I must be off, if I ever want to rest."

Tarlen nodded, raising his hand in farewell. "You're always welcome at our house, should you ever want company."

"The offer is appreciated," Fredderick said, a tad quickly as he grabbed hold of his basket again. "But I enjoy the peace and quiet. I'd be like a cat in a thunderstorm, even for a dinner in these walls." With that, he waved, and set off again down the winding streets.

Fredderick was please to find they were in better condition than during his last trip. Right after a bitter winter, the cold and wagon wheels had broken up huge parts of the stones, making it even more frustrating than usual. It was clear they'd been repaired though, and not just the holes, he saw; his path ended suddenly when he turned a corner to see a dozen men setting fresh stone into the dirt. They worked quietly together, only slight grunts escaping their lips, and the occasional order from their leader. Some stood off to the side, taking great swallows from waterskins, and taking a moment to rest their aching arms and backs. Freddrick watched them for a few moments before turning his cart, and pushed down a side street. It was interesting how you never really forgot a place, he mused; he'd taken the detour without thinking, but as he passed familiar shops and taverns, he realized it was the same street he and Luke took almost every night when they were younger. Younger, and had more time to get into mischief, and more time to recover from it the next day. He smiled quietly to himself as he passed by his old tailor; tall and gaunt, Mirren was one of the oldest in the city. He was also the tightest-lipped, and never asked what the cuts and tears in the young mens' uniforms were from -- just when would they be able to pay for the repairs.

A commotion in the market just ahead drew him out of the past. He could hear people shouting in alarm, and a few sprinted past him in escape. Leaving his basket behind, Fredderick strode curiously to the corner, peering out from around it -- and nearly lost his face as flickering blue fire splashed against the building. He fell backwards into a roll, coming up with his heart hammering against his ribs, and his hands reaching for a sword that hadn't been there for years. Cursing, he edged around the corner again; a few blades and cuffmen were trying to circle around a handful of ragged-looking folk with swords. One was dressed what used to be a fine suit, though it was clear he'd taken a few tumbles in it. Flames licked up his arms, marking him as the careless slinger who'd nearly killed him. Fredderick ignored the fight -- one way or the other, it'd be over soon -- and slammed his boot against the burning door next to him.

Mirren was just a thin as he remembered him, if older, and pale from fear. A young dandy with a silly, lopsided hat brandished a rapier at Fredderick. A lad that might've been Mirren's apprentice, or grandson (or both) pushed the tailor behind him, and held a pair of fabric scissors like a dagger.

"Come no closer!" hissed the dandy, flourishing his sword to hide how scared he was. "You'll find no safety here, fiend!"

"M'lord, stop!" Mirren pushed past the both of them, a frantic smile on his face.

"Is there anyone else here?" Fredderick asked, risking a look outside. The fight seemed to be moving further away. A part of him was thankful; another was guilty of how relieved he was. Wherever it ended, a sick feeling in his gut told him it wouldn't end well.

"Just us." Mirren grabbed a rod from the wall, pointing it at the rapidly-spreading fire. He muttered something under his breath, and a furious gust of wind shook the walls, and sent paint into the air. The acrid smell of spellfire filled Fredderick's nose as whatever Mirren was doing pulled at his clothes. It didn't last long; only a few moments, and the fire had dwindled to nothing. The wealthy youth looked ready to faint in relief, and probably would've, had Mirren's boy not grabbed him by the arm. Fredderick led the charge out the door, pushing the others down the street.

"What's going on?" he gasped alongside Mirren as they tried to match pace with the younger folk.

"Don't know." Mirren stopped against a building, still not far enough away from the market for Fredderick's liking. "I heard the commotion earlier; thought t'was just some thief or somesuch."

"C'mon, master," the boy with the scissors said. He draped Mirren's arm across his shoulders, and began half-carrying the man further away. Mirren's face clouded with wounded pride, but kept his mouth shut, and accepted the aid. Fredderick kept glancing behind them, expecting danger to come charging at them any moment. More people were charging past them now as the fighting moved, and people dared to flee their hiding spots. An explosion tore through the city, followed by screams, and the spitting roar of fire. Fredderick spun, and took off back to the market, ignoring Mirren's cry for him to turn back.

The far end of the market was an inferno.

Fredderick sprinted across the plaza, his legs and chest screaming at the strain. When he reached the outskirts of the fire, others were already throwing water on the blaze, or pointing strange, black rods at it, only to throw them aside furiously when they had little effect. Fredderick grabbed the arms of a woman who was being guided out of a building by a man with cloth around his face; he took her arms, and led her to the grand fountain at the center. She was alright, simply shaken. Fredderick turned back to the buildings, taking children, young men and women -- whomever had escaped, or been pulled from the buildings, he took from their rescuers, and brought them to the fountain. Those who were injured, he helped best he could with strips of clothes, and hastily issued orders to those who still had their wits about them. Soon enough mages arrived, the air shimmering in front of them as they cast, their tattoos of blood and power glowing even in the daylight. The flames vanished as quickly as they'd appeared; wood and stone rumbled and cracked as the mages began removing damaged parts of the buildings to reveal even more people trapped within.

Fredderick had already moved out of the way by then. He was nothing compared to magic that could knit flesh and mend bone. His wobbling legs and screaming arms reminded him that wasn't the only reason he was sitting on a bench, instead of climbing through the rubble. A hand on his shoulder made him jump; a bladesman with a pair of long, thin swords on either hip offered him a waterskin.

"Save it for --" he tried to refuse, but lapsed into a coughing fit. He nodded his embarrassed thanks as the skin was lifted to his lips. "Thank you," he rasped.

"Don' mention it, Uncle." The helmet's visor slid back into the helmet to reveal a smooth-faced young woman beneath it. The helmet continued to retract, along with the rest of the armor, until she was wearing little more than everyday clothes.

"Raquel," Fredderick said with a sad smile. "I heard you'd joined--"

"We apprehended four people. Three others died in the fighting. They'd claimed to be traveling scholars, and had every bit of paper you'd want to prove it." Her lips twitched in apology, but Fredderick only nodded. Of course there was no time to reminisce.

"I...saw very little," he admitted. "I was in Mirren's shop when the explosion occurred."

"Little old to need your uniform stitched up," she said, her eyes twinkling through the stern face. "Anything else?"

Fredderick shook his head slowly. "No. Doesn't anyone know why?"

Raquel's teeth clicked, and her thumbs rubbed the hilts of her swords. "Nothing is known for certain, but there are rumors. This incident is certainly well-timed. Had they not given themselves' away, His Majesty would've been at considerable risk today."

"Even with such fearsome fighters such as you by his side?"

Her jaw tightened, and without warning her armor's plates slid from hiding, covering her in a metal carapace in seconds. The visor pulled back to show her reddening face. "I'm glad you're unhurt, but I have to return to duty. It would be best if you returned home." A spasm twisted her face into something ugly and monstrous. "We have questions for the survivors."

As she turned to leave, Fredderick hauled himself to his feet and hugged her tightly. "He's just a king. Do an old man a favor; keep yourself safe, eh?" His niece returned the hug quickly, but spun on her heel without reply, and marched back towards the rest of the city's protectors. What little happiness he'd felt at seeing her fled, replaced all too sharply by the sounds of loss. Suddenly he didn't care all that much about shredded drapes, or watering cans.

Fredderick had long since removed his shirt by the time he arrived back home. Were it not for the occasional neighbor tending their fields, or heading out for the day, he'd have removed his pants as well. Even with his bare torso, the midday heat still beat relentlessly down on him. It'd been a small blessing from an otherwise terrible day that he'd forgotten his basket back in Verdenhelm; if he hadn't, Fredderick was sure he'd have dumped it alongside the road miles back. His belly growled loudly as he pushed past the fence into his yard. Gods and spirits preserve him, and leave him to putter around his garden in peace, perhaps even read a bit before bed.

"No, no, no, no! Back -- get back, damn you!"

"Evan, stop! Don't hurt the poor thing!"

"'Poor thing?'"

"Oh -- move, move!"

A string of curses swam through the air, followed by a soft whoosh, and the smell of burning grass. Smoke billowed up from near the chicken coop, and Fredderick loped around the side to see what fresh hell would greet him. He was grateful for his careless self leaving the shovel outdoors a week ago; it'd sunk into the ground from rain, but was still sturdy enough in case of trouble. He held it at his waist, ready to thrust like a spear as he peeked around the side: the chickens were raising a fuss from Tobias perching atop their little home. The beastling's wings were spread wide, and with a tiny roar, he loosed another stream of fire at the folk trying to spread out around him. A tall man with a sturdy-looking stick jumped back as the flames licked at his feet; he hastily slapped at his pants, falling to the ground in panic.

"Any time now!" he yelled to his companions as Tobias reared back to spit fire at his hapless foe. A woman with chestnut hair drew her bow.

Her shot went wide as Fredderick's shovel cracked against her shoulder. A blow to the head sent her tumbling to the ground, and with a grunt, Fredderick splintered the bow. He stepped back cautiously, lest the woman have a surprise up her sleeve.

"What're you doing?" he asked the remaining trespasser. Curls red as Tobias's fire bounced around a strong, square jaw that dimpled with a wary smile.

"Just looking to fill our bellies," the stranger said, his hands raised slightly. "Not for trouble." Tobias's tail lashed back and forth angrily as he spoke, and Fredderick could see the warning glow of embers deep within his scaly mouth. They died down when Fredderick let the shovel dip, though not fall, in his hands.

"Try Milligan's down the road," he said, never taking his eyes off any of them. "Old fool hasn't replaced the lock on his barn since the world came about. One good blow ought to do it. Well?" he added, when no one seemed to be in any hurry. The one on the ground pushed himself to his feet, glaring warily at Tobias.

"We came from Milligan's," he huffed, brushing the dirt off his sleeves. He held out a patch of shirt with a few holes. "The loon had attached a repeating crossbow to his window, and let fly as soon as he saw us."

"Isn't that a shame," Fredderick drawled. "Take your chances with him, or me. Though," he said, looking at the man's singed leg, "it seems you're not as good dodging dragonflame as bolts."

"That's your house, correct?" the redhead interrupted, a frown touching his eyes as he looked at his companions. "The one with the holes in the roof?"

"What of it?"

"Well, none of us are eager to another night on the ground with dried rations and mice for our bellies." He shrugged, and gestured airily at the roof, and about the land. "Perhaps we could earn our keep?"

"And rob me blind at night?"

"Poor robbers we'd make, getting held up by your pet at the henhouse." The man smiled, and dipped slightly. "I'm Joren. These are my companions, Evan, and Sera. We've come to seek our fortunes in the city, as I suspect many others do. If you'll give us a roof for a time, we'll do our best to make ourselves useful."

Fredderick pursed his lips. A small voice warned him not to trust Joren, his companions, or his easy smile. Taking in strangers...he'd be lucky if they simply walked off with whatever bits of precious they could find hidden about his little home. The holes in the roof weren't going away any time soon though, and at his age, climbing up and down ladders had even less

thrill for him than it did his younger self. He felt his iron softening; what would it hurt, to have a few extra hands for a while?

"And how long will you all be staying?"

Joren's face blossomed into a shining smile. "Hopefully only a couple weeks. Perhaps a month or so, if things don't go our way. Not that we'll stay indefinitely," he assured Fredderick's souring face. "A month," he declared. "A month, maybe a week more, and we'll find ourselves new beds. Unless you happen to like having us around that is," he added with a wink.

"A month it is," Fredderick said, against his better sense. "I rise early, and I'll expect you lot to do the same. I have spare room in the attic. It's cramped, but it's the best I can offer. Wh-"

A loud rumble interrupted him. He looked around before settling on Sera, who blushed as another gurgled echoed across the yard.

"Any chance of some food?" she asked bashfully, holding her broken bow like a shy child.

Fredderick found himself smiling, despite himself. "Stow whatever y'have upstairs. I'll find something for you lot."

"Thank you," Joren said earnestly as his companions made their way into the house. "You won't regret this, I promise."

For the hundredth morning in a row, Fredderick greeted the dawn with tired, bloodshot eyes. Tobias lay curled by the window, basking in the early morning sunlight; Fredderick scratched him absently behind the ears as he looked outside. The travelers he'd taken in had made good on their word and more, fixing even the tiniest hole or scratch in his home (Evan especially had taken a shine to sewing, and every old, moth-eaten blanket and pillow had new life breathed into them by his deft hands). He hadn't had much to do, besides relax, enjoy the latest serial, and drink tea. It'd been relaxing. At first.

Their arguing started off small enough. Harsh whispers in the night that tricked down through the walls, just enough to keep Fredderick from truly falling asleep. His eyes would waver, then snap open as someone made an angry point, or slammed a hand down on a table. Still, every group was bound to have some trouble. It wasn't worth making a fuss about, and given a few days, it'd work itself out.

Of course, it didn't work itself out after a few days, or a few days after that, or even several later than that. If anything it got worse, with clear voices making their way to his ears. Oddly enough, the nights they didn't argue were just as bad: the three of them would sneak away in the middle of the night, and would only return as the sun peeked over the horizon. Oh, they tried to be quiet, but Fredderick was used to his home's creaks and groans, and every time they slunk in or out, his body lit with energy like he was back with the infantry, and he'd be up most of the night. Whenever he tried to bring it up with them, Joren would simply smile that insufferable smile of his, and assure their host that they would do better in the future. Fredderick supposed he simply nodded and accepted that because he'd been getting accustomed to their help here and there. Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't just sleep during the day now. Unfortunately, there were still some errands that required his personal attention.

"I'm going into the city," he told Sera one morning. She looked up from sharpening his knives curiously.

"Would you like company?"

Fredderick gave her a tight smile. "I think you'd find me inspecting livestock and droning on with my friends to be frightfully boring."

Sera grimaced. "It'd be better than having to pull weeds and collect eggs with the idiots."

"Even so," Fredderick said, gathering up a few letters and a parcel. "I'm afraid I need you to start chipping away at the blackened bits of the house today. Hopefully I'll manage a good price on replacement wood while I'm out. Oh, cheer up," he said, seeing her face twist up in displeasure. "I'm sure work someplace more agreeable with turn up soon."

Sera blushed deeply. "I didn't mean-"

"No need to explain. It's terrible work. Why d'ya think I keep shoving it onto you and your friends? There's still a bit of roast from last night, and the usual fare, when midday finds you. I'll be back in the late afternoon."

Fredderick set a lively pace as soon as he cleared the door. It would be nice to have the day to himself, without having to pretend not to see all the posturing, the back-handed compliments and snide remarks, and the horrid looks they gave each other when they thought no one else was looking. He could at least sympathize with Joren when the other two would sneak off, returning much later, disheveled and full of stories of slippery hills and thorn bushes. It'd been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and to see your friend prance off at every chance with the only friendly one around -- to his eyes, it was enough to sour even the best of companions. Hopefully with him out of the way, the three of them would have a chance to really have it out. Maybe then, Fredderick hoped as the house faded away, they'd all be able to sleep through the night.

Quite the scene greeted him at Verdenhelm's gates: ostentatious green and silver banners were draped across the entrance, and despite the windless day, magical breezes kept the fabric curling and snapping festively across the walls. The bodies had been taken down as well, and the shieldsmen at the gates were in full armor; he only knew it was Mathias by the telltale bag of jerky the guard absently picked from in between inspections.

"I certainly didn't expect this sort of reception," Fredderick joked to him as the young man carefully held a hand up. The tingling of detection magic looking for weapons or worse swept over him, and he sucked on his suddenly odd-tasting teeth. Mathias's visor receded to show his nervous face.

"Hogenhein agreed to send someone to talk," he whispered, tongue licking his lips with sharp flicks. "The whole city is on edge. Best get what you need and get home."

Fredderick frowned as the tingling faded away. "You think someone will attack the diplomat?"

"Don't matter if they do or don't. All I know is I'd rather be scouting up north than here right now. Alright, move along!" he called out, his visor sliding back across his face as he returned to his position.

Fredderick strode through into the remarkably empty city streets. The moment of happiness at not having to shoulder his way through throngs of people curdled as he looked around: the shops were still open, of course, but the quiet chatter of the owners as they sold their wares was absent. Anyone who was out moved like a mouse with an owl overhead, and looked like they'd rather be anyplace else than buying bread that day. Only the booted footsteps of dozens of soldiers and guards in their splendid armor marching through the streets kept the day from being truly silent. It was an odd dichotomy: on one hand, streamers, ribbons, and flowers hung from everything they could, as though a grand marriage would take place that day. On the other, the city looked like it prepared for war. It left Fredderick feeling distinctly uneasy, to say the least.

It did nothing for his nerves when he approached Piotr's stall, and saw it open, but empty. A few fat pigs oinked and snuffled happily in their pen; in one corner a handful of piglets suckled from their mother. Chickens clucked in another, mixed in with ducks and geese, all quacking and honking along with them. As he stood nervously at the front, an old goat sleepily butted his leg.

"Hello Grigori," he muttered, patting the crochety beast's head. It lazily tried to bite his hand, before going back to shoving gently against him. "Ornery as always, I see."

Fredderick stumbled back as a metal hand dropped from the ceiling. Like a possessed gauntlet, it skittered across the counter at him, and he raised an arm to swat it away.

"Bah! Get away from m'hand!"

He froze as the Piotr's bald head stomped into view, his fierce glare melting into a smile when he saw who was at his stall.

"Ha ha!" Piotr crowed, slapping the dust off his shirt, and out of his thinning hair. "Ah, you're not dead yet, eh? It's been too long!"

"It's been a week," Fredderick grunted as he was grabbed in a massive embrace.

"Ah, a week too long to me!" He smiled, grabbing the disembodied hand, which twitched weakly, like a crab out of water.

"A new toy?" Fredderick asked quietly, trying to ignore his crawling skin as Piotr shoved the hand onto his stump. With a twist, it clicked back into place, and the fingers began moving naturally. Well, as naturally as the tiny gears and rods within would allow anyway. To Fredderick, prosthetics always seemed to move with a nauseating fluidity, like tendrils reaching out to gasp something unseen. Piotr smiled at his friend's grimace.

"Want to touch it?" he said, wiggling the fingers in his face. "C'mon, all the ladies have been swooning over its...dexterity."

Fredderick snorted as Piotr waggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively. "I'd expect it when you're paying them. I don't understand why you didn't just have someone fleshcraft you a new hand," he grumbled, pushing it aside. They'd been busy after the fight in the market a few weeks ago, yes, but they had waiting lists...

"What, and miss all the toys? Watch." Piotr's fingers extended to triple their length, and bent and waved in ways normal fingers never could. The tip of his index finger split to reveal a long, sharp-looking blade; another unfolded into a pair of scissors; the others remained thankfully whole, though Fredderick had no doubt they contained even stranger things. He did his best to keep from shuddering at the display.

"Ah, still no fun, I see," Piotr huffed, the hand returning to normal. "Fine. Straight to business, as always."

"I wanted to ask what a good breeding pair would cost me."

Piotr's eyes crinkled. "For what? Pets?"

"I wouldn't mind having fresh ham ever so often, and-" Fredderick politely waited for the merchant to finish with his wheezing guffaws.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Piotr said as he wiped away the tears. "You had the same idea for goats, yeah? A year back? What happened to them?"

"Gertrude and Sir William-"

"Mmm-hmmm," Piotr said around his smile, and shook his head. "You are not a butcher, my friend. And that is no shame in that. I am not a seamstress," he shrugged. "I am...not a scholar. We have our callings."

"My belly is calling for something for lunch, at the very least," Fredderick sighed. Piotr shook his head.

"I cannot. His majesty ordered we begin stockpiling food, in case of a siege."

Fredderick's blood froze in his veins. "What? But I thought a diplomat was arriving today."

"Diplomats," Piotr said, like it was a foul word. He snorted, and spat an impressive wad of phlegm onto the ground. "Pah. A formality. How Hogenhein and the like make their threats." He sneered at the banners that hung all about the city. "Gaudy decorations to make it seem like it's an honor to have a snake in our home. And a quiet warning of what will happen if it stays too long," he added, nodding at a group of soldiers slinking by, strangely silent despite their armor.

"Why are you even out then?" Fredderick asked, puzzled.

Piotr shrugged. "What else is there to do? Either there is war, or there isn't. Staying at home and drawing the curtains won't keep it at bay. My children are old enough to understand what's happening, and where are they? With their masters, same as every other day."

"Is everyone...just for appearances today?" Fredderick asked. He sighed as Piotr nodded slowly.

"I truly am sorry, my friend," Piotr said quietly.

"No need," Fredderick said, forcing a smile. "I'll come back in a few days, and try my luck then."

"May the Lady smile on you," Piotr said, though his own smile was sickly, and fled his face as swift as it'd come.

Disappointed, Fredderick wandered back down the streets, wondering if he should simply head back home, or test Piotr's claim at other stalls. After the fifth merchant informed him of the royal orders, he was forced to admit he just didn't want to have his guests' passive hatred of each other weighing on his mind as well -- there were only so many days full of strained silences, and stares of daggers and blood before a man would find just about any excuse to leave. He was just about out of reasons to stay, though, when a series of horns jerked him from his wandering. Striding quickly to the main road, he pushed through the crowd that'd gathered. Soldiers stood every few paces to keep the rabble out of the way as the men from Hogenhein made their way towards the castle.

A massive warhorse, clad in armor the color of fresh blood, and brushed with deep purple, led the procession. Atop it rode a man in fine clothing of the same colors, and a torc with boar's tusks jutting out on either side of his cheeks. He was far younger than Fredderick would've expected; blonde hair was tied back in a short braid, and his face looked smooth and unblemished as silk. If it weren't for the slight tan from riding in the sun, Fredderick would've guessed him a princeling, sheltered and pampered away from the world. Even so, the youth took him by surprise; since when were children sent to settle matters between nations? The man trotted out of sight soon enough, followed by the sort of men Fredderick had been expecting -- men with hard eyes, and weather-beaten faces that'd seen more than one campaign months from home and hearth. Not some fop who waved to the crowds and blew kisses at maidens like he was a bloody celebrity. He felt his lip curl, and shook his head with tired disgust. He'd seen enough. Might as well go home, and see if a miracle had happened, and his house-guests had made amends. Or found someplace else to live, he thought, making his way towards the gates. Much longer, and he'd need to start charging rent.

"Where are you going?"

Joren's head snapped up as Fredderick approached. He relaxed soon as he saw who it was, his hand letting something drop back into a pocket. Sera let her bow fall off her shoulder into her hands at Fredderick's sudden comment; she shrugged it back into place awkwardly. Evan was the only one who hadn't reacted, his eyes barely open in the afternoon sun.

"Don't tell me I finally have my house to myself again," Fredderick half-joked.

"Might have some work," Sera said with a hesitant smile. "Might be leaving sooner than we'd thought."

"Nothing glamorous," Joren said, his ever-present smile reasserting itself quickly. "It sounds like we'll just be taking inventory, moving boxes, other gruntwork." He patted his pockets quickly, as though he'd just remembered something. "Where...ah! For your troubles," he explained, holding out a small bag. It jingled pleasantly as he passed it to Fredderick.

"It's certainly appreciated," he said with a friendly smile. It was also a bit insulting, given how much they'd eaten over the weeks. Though they'd worked for it at first, the chores and errands certainly hadn't lasted forever. To be honest, Fredderick was more than happy to see his guests go.

"If it's alright, we may end up staying for a couple more weeks," Joren said as he shuffled his feet. "Until we find a more permanent place to stay. Of course with work we'll be paying for the rooms," he added hastily as Fredderick's eye twitched slightly.

"I...suppose that won't be an issue." Just a couple more weeks. They certainly couldn't be any worse than the last few. Joren smiled warmly, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Excellent! Though you'll be free of us at least tonight. I don't expect us to return until fairly late."

"Best of luck to you," Fredderick said, with genuine warmth. He waved as the trio walked briskly down the road. Only common courtesy kept him from cheering as they disappeared around a bend.

They'd left the house immaculate. Every dish had been scrubbed till they shone, every blanket and rug had been beaten; even the dirt had been picked out from between Tobias's nails (a task he and the grumpy dragonling put off till he couldn't deal with the muddy pawprints all over the house anymore). Everything he could've thought of had been done and taken care of -- and no one around to break the delicious silence. With a contented sigh, he found his pipe -- an old vice he hadn't let himself enjoy in quite some time -- and sank into his favorite padded chair. He pulled the tin of Fellis tobacco from the chair pocket, and pressed a thick wad of it into the pipe.

"Tobias!" he called, thumbing through The Travels of Count D'Moncurie for his last place. The dragonling curled up in his lap eagerly, and pressed his head against Fredderick's chest in contentment. A quick scratch on the nose, and a tiny puff of flame quickly ignited the tobacco. Tobias sneezed, then resumed forcefully snuggling into his human's lap and chest. Thick, dark smoke puffed out from Fredderick's mouth and nose as he relaxed deep into the chair's cushions.

Fredderick wasn't sure what woke him first -- his belly's angry rumbling, or the sounds of people trying to argue as quietly as possible.

Tobias had long since left him, probably to find his dinner and curl up in his usual nook for the night. Fredderick wiped the sleep from his eyes and stumbled to his feet. Scratching himself, he wandered over to the kitchen to help himself to a thick slice of bread. A sudden thump from above finished waking him, and raised voices trickled through the ceiling. As usual, he couldn't make anything out beyond the sound of hushed accusations and threats. The sound of someone weeping quietly outside caught his ears. Curiosity got the better of him, and he padded softly to the back, near the chicken coop. He slowly opened the back door, and saw Evan sitting on an old tree stump, wiping his eyes.

"You can piss righ-"

He sat up straight, his mouth falling open when he saw Fredderick. Getting to his feet, he hastily gave his face one last wipe before nodding in greeting. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Fredderick shrugged one shoulder, still chewing. An explosion of insults, clear as day, sang out into the night from above. Evan tensed, and a low growl escaped his throat. "The job not work out as planned?" Fredderick asked.

Evan let out a despairing snorting chuckle. "Ah...no. No, it did not."

Fredderick hesitated. "I know Joren offered to pay for staying. If you need more time to find work..." He trailed off, not quite sure how to offer without hurting the younger man's pride, though he only smiled sadly.

"You're a good man," Evan said finally. "But no. It's only a minor setback," he stated. "Just...discouraging. Very...discouraging." He blew out a long breath.

"Use my name," Fredderick suggested. "If y'like. Gods and spirits know I've been around long enough it's got a bit of weight behind it." He frowned, and wiggled his hand slightly. "Only a bit though. Don't expect it to get you out of the dungeons."

Evan exploded with laughter, making Fredderick jump. His guest clapped a hand over his mouth, reducing it to muffled, wheezing giggles. He wiped fresh tears out of his eyes, and slowly forced his breathing to go back to normal.

"Thank you," he said with a shaky smile. His voice still shook with repressed giggles. "Your offer...thank you. Truly." Evan sighed, one last giggle shaking through him. "I should head back upstairs. It's going to be a long day." He waved goodnight as he strode back in, ready to face whatever arguments waited him. Fredderick

followed shortly after, a pang of sympathy for the boy in his belly. They must've been away all night; the sky was just starting to lighten as he shut the door.

"Ah! Crotchety little shit!" Fredderick sucked his thumb where the chicken had given it a fierce peck. Apparently it was fine with sitting in old, dirty hay, rather than the fresh handfuls he'd brought to replace it. Bah, he'd try again later. Maybe after a pot of tea, and another few chapters of his book. He sighed, remembering that wasn't much of an option -- his wonderfully helpful house-guests had the day to themselves, for whatever that was worth. He'd dressed it up as thanks for all their hard work, though he could see in their eyes they knew it for what it was. They'd all headed out frightfully early for as little sleep as they must've had, and only after Fredderick had forced some food and a pot of the strongest tea he could make down their throats. They'd looked a bit livelier after that, and maybe just a bit hopeful. Of course, this meant that the day's chores would revert back to Fredderick. He eyed fresh weeds sprouting in his garden with a weary sigh. He'd have to show them how to properly remove the blasted things when they got back.

"Pardon, good sir. Are you...Fredrick?"

"Fredderick," he corrected automatically, and looked up from kneeling at a particularly stubborn weed. A boy who looked young enough to still have his milk teeth sat on a cream-and-brown horse. He awkwardly leapt down from the saddle, and clicked his heels sharply as he presented his sigil -- an iron circle with a spread-winged dove carrying a scroll.

"By royal decree, His Majesty Lucas, the First of His line, may He reign for as long-" The messenger's mouth snapped shut when Fredderick motioned for him to cut the rambling recitation short. "Ah, I-I've been in-instructed to..." Flustered by the old man's scowl, he snapped to attention again. "All citizens are hearby requested to temporarily relocate within Verdenhelm's walls. If you have animals, they will be sent for; if you are unable to travel, wagons will come for you within one day of hearing this req-"

"What?" Fredderick snapped, waving away the rest of speech. "What? Why?"

The boy gulped nervously. He sucked in another breath, and rubbed his sigil, as if for strength. "Last night High Royal Carden of the Nation of Hogenhein was discovered to be involved with treachery most foul. He and several conspirators were found to have broken into the royal dungeons, and slain several captives being held for questioning regarding the attack in the market three weeks prior. Others escaped; those caught will be summarily executed this day at-"

Fredderick cut him off with a slash of his hand, and he gaped like a fish. "I'm not bloody going!" he roared. "Tell your master that. I moved out here to be away from all of you. The last thing I want is to be smashed in with everyone else in those damned walls!"

The messenger paled, and shook in his boots; he gripped his sigil like it was a talisman against evil, just short of thrusting it at him and yelling "Back!" Fredderick sucked a breath through his teeth, and counted silently. When he opened his eyes again, the messenger's face had at least regained a healthy color to his face.

"It was not meant to imply you would have to stay with the chickens," the boy joked nervously. "Arrangements have been made. You'll stay in some of the most comfortable-" Again, he was cut off by an angry motion from Fredderick.

"Damn your eyes, I'll go," he muttered. "I don't need bloody help!" he exploded when the messenger tried to guide him to the horse, like you might and elderly or infirm relative. "If I die on the way, it'll be one less old codger to worry about! Now scat!"

Fredderick was tempted to wave his arms and roar as the distraught messenger launched himself hastily away from his home. Instead, he harumphed loudly to himself, and went inside to grab his purse, and what few keepsakes he couldn't bare to leave behind. He left extra food out for the animals, including the few bits of leftover beef he'd saved from his last lunch at a tavern. He didn't know if Tobias would like the heavily-flavored meat, but it was worth it if it'd keep the beastie from eating everything else. Hopefully this would keep him sated until he returned. No matter what some squeaking messenger said, he'd be damned if he left for more than a couple days. Scratching the gluttonous dragonling between its horns, he left for Verdenhelm immediately.

The city was, as he'd feared, filled to excess. Families were camped outside the walls with their animals and lives stuffed into wagons and carts; they played distractedly with their children, trying to keep them from worrying too much. They might as well have done nothing. Young or no, children understood more than adults thought. Fredderick saw the songs and games doing more to distract their parents; the older carried or shepherded the younger, who stared at the walls with wide, frightened eyes. The usual merchants and grifters were noticeably absent; census-takers and guards took their place, moving swiftly through the throngs of humanity to see who needed aid, who had family in the city, and whatever else crossed their minds.

Fredderick quietly moved through the crowd, and through the gates, ignoring the screaming in his head. He was there often enough the guards simply waved him through (much to the displeasure of the rabble). He pushed past the lost and confused, and marched towards the gallows. If anything the crowd grew even thicker, half the city there to watch the grisly spectacle, it seemed. He checked his annoyance as people shuffled and stepped on his feet, or elbowed him as they tried to angle for a better vantage. He drew the line when someone put a hand on his shoulder, and tried to boost themselves onto a beam; the squawk and splash as the boy fell bodily into the mud was most satisfying. Fredderick finally shoved his way close enough to the front he could hear the magistrate reading the list of charges against someone. He realized it was the handsome diplomat he'd seen ride into the city just the other day. Well, not so handsome now: his face was a mask of bruises and swollen lips; his jaw was broken, giving him a permanent fool's mask, and he only stood by the small mercy of guards on either side of him, keeping him on his feet.

"...Conspiracy to murder; conspiracy to spy on his majesty and the subjects under his rule; attempted murder of the highest order..."

Fredderick sighed. He'd never understand the bureaucrats and their love for lists and their own voices. As the bearded magistrate droned on, Fredderick glanced across the faces assembled at the top of the steps: young men, barely any older than the messenger who'd visited him this morning. Not a trace of fear in the lot of them, he realized with a small bit of respect. Even as their fate loomed in front of them, they glared defiantly out at their enemies. One with a bandage over his left eye seemed determined to meet the gaze of everyone there. He held Fredderick's for a few heartbeats, a hidden righteous fury behind his eyes daring him to hold his gaze. Fredderick returned it, unflinching and cold as the stones under his feet. A sudden wind distracted the both of them, and their game was forgotten. The stench of rotting meat burning bones filled the gallows, and the crowd fell into an expectant silence.

In front of the prisoners, a large stone pit had been set into the ground. It was an unassuming thing; in any other city, it could've been mistaken for a pond for birds -- if you ignored the strange crawling that worked its way up the back of your neck whenever you looked at it. Though everyone who lived there had gotten used to the thing, Fredderick could see it unsettled even the oldest voyeur there. He had to admit, even on quiet, empty days, it seemed...too innocent. As though it were trying to appear harmless, amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. It was the man in a pub who stared just a little too long at you from across the room; the forest that fell silent when you weren't paying attention; the door in a house that no one ever opened, for some unspoken reason. As the magister's voice grew louder and louder, until he was roaring the judgements, cracks began to appear in the smooth pit. Small at first, but quickly spreading and growing wider with each condemnation. A foul-smelling black ichor began to ooze from them, like an infected wound.

"May whatever comes after take mercy on you," the magistrate finished solemnly. "For those who wait below will certainly not." He nodded curtly to the guards.

The diplomat was held up, and his eyes forced open. One by one, his men were shoved forward until they had all stumbled into the pit. Fredderick stifled a laugh; the damned thing was barely big enough to hold them all, and the guards had to shove them in like fish in a crate. The men made faces as they waded into the ankle-deep sludge, confused, and very, very afraid. They stood there awkwardly, watching and waiting for...something. One of the men opened his mouth with a smirk, though whatever wit he had died as something caressed his boots. He didn't have time to even be surprised before a whip rose up from the muck to encircle his neck. Wicked barbs bit into his flesh as it dragged him choking and struggling below.

Chaos erupted then as the condemned men tried to leap from the pit. Hooks and chains and nets and other, strange, unknowable appendages exploded from beneath them, impaling, tangling, grasping. One by one they were taken from the world to whatever lay in the dark place below. The man who'd met Fredderick's eyes lasted the longest, leaping and dashing about. He was the last, and for a moment, the ichor stilled. He looked around, bleeding and breathless. At the quiet, something approaching hope reached his eyes -- and fled just as quickly.

"Please," was all he said. A second later he was gone, sucked into the pit. The ichor stilled again, leaving only the diplomat. A sword was placed in the man's hand, though he was surely in no shape to use it. They led him almost gently into the pit, letting him fall into the liquid. Slowly, he was drawn into it, same as all the others. He let it take him without a fight, having long since lost the will to resist.

Fredderick was the first to move, pushing his way back through the crowd as the magistrate began droning on about the fate that would befall their enemies, and so on. His belly rumbled angrily as he reached the edge of the crowd. For some odd reason, executions had always made him hungry. At least here he could relax as someone made the food for him. He wandered down the streets, trying to keep his temper at bay as more and more people funneled into Verdenhelm. Finally he gave up and shouldered into the nearest tavern, the Resplendent Squid. Inside it was surprisingly empty; only a few patrons sat at tables, or made their way upstairs. Fredderick strode towards the bar where a bald man in an apron stood, washing glasses.

"A room, and a meal, please," he asked, pulling a few coins from his purse, and setting them in front of him. The bartender stroked a bushy mustache that drooped on either side of his face before collecting the payment. He placed a small brass key in front of Fredderick.

"This'll only get you a night," he warned.

"I know. I won't be staying long."

The bartender raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't ask any questions. Fredderick felt a rush of gratitude for his silence. An extra coin saw a boy run to take his meager possessions to his room for him. Fredderick sat at the nearest table and rested his aching feet. It wasn't too long before a plate of mutton and potatoes was set in front of him. He dug into it eagerly, feeling his soreness fade away. He must've enjoyed it more than he'd thought, for the next thing he knew, someone was shaking him awake. He snorted, righting himself on his chair.

"I was wondering if they'd manage to drag you out of your hole." Tarlen smiled down at him. Fredderick laughed, and smiled back as he pushed out another chair for his friend. He pretended not to notice the dark circles under the man's eyes, or the days' of beard sweeping across his cheeks in patchy bunches. He held up two fingers to the bartender, still standing and wiping down the counter.

"It's good-"

"They declared war today." Tarlen accepted the pair of drinks gratefuly, taking a quaff of his with a sharp, nervous jerk of his head. Fredderick tapped the side of his own thoughtfully. It was hardly a surprise. Executing a diplomat, spy or no, would enrage most nations to arms. To be announced so quickly, however...the kingdom had been assuming war long before Hogenhein sent their people.

"You have family though. The...Briskarlen Steppes, yes? Surely they'll take you and yours for the time."

Tarlen had already finished his drink, and held a finger up for another. "Ellie is being deployed within a fortnight. She's smart; said they'll be giving her rank by the time she's put out." His lips quivered, and he hid them behind another cup. "Agh...you should've seen her in her uniform."

"Tarlen," Fredderick said gently, but his friend only shook his head.

"I didn't come here for bedtime lies," he said sharply. "You remember the game?"

Fredderick frowned deeply. "We're a bit old to do that any more."

"We'll keep it simple then. Half the taverns in the city. As the champion, I'll take pity on you."

"Champion, eh?" Fredderick said, smiling broadly. "As I recall, we left you horking onto some lass's shoes before midnight."

"Turned out alright," Tarlen grinned. "Ended up marrying her."

They both laughed, though to Fredderick, the sound was forced, and sour -- the laugh of men who were trying to ignore tomorrow, and knew damn well what they were doing. The barkeeper passed by at their raised fingers, swiftly retrieving empty mugs, and deposited fresh ales in front of them. They drank deeply, and spoke of years past, of conquests and deeds long since forgotten by anyone else; of the weather, of aching backs, and knees; of the troupe Fredderick had missed months ago, and how good it was to see him again. They talked about anything, and everything, to avoid thinking about what the future would hold for them, and the children who fought for them, the old and crochety. They decided to find a new place to drink when more patrons began funneling into the tavern. Slightly unsteady on their feet, the two slightly tipsy men shuffled out into the street (trying to push each other over as they went).

The sun had already begun its descent, and the sky was awash with brilliant purples and reds. Its beauty was lost on Fredderick and Tarlen, who simply bickered as to which tavern to head to next. The Iron Crow was the next to recieve the dubious honor of their presence. Slightly more upscale than their usual favorites, the doorman was thankfully too busy to turn his nose up at them, and send them on their way. The worst they recieved was a disapproving glare from across the room as they ordered cheap wine, insisting they be served in large tankards. Tarlen began snorting into the sour purple drink when Fredderick began to drink with his pinky extended, and with obnoxiously proper posture.

"Stop, stop, stop," Tarlen hissed between high-pitched giggles. "You're gonna get us thrown out!"

Fredderick let out a mocking titter, causing Tarlen to push his face into his arm. "Mmmmnoooo, I think noooot," Fredderick drawled, his face drooping into a strange mix of a bored nobleman, and a cow chewing its cud. He didn't even bat an eye when a tiny trickle of wine seeped out of the corner of his mouth.

"Mmmmm, I seem to have sprung'a leak," he slurred, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Sirs."

The two looked up to see an impossibly serious young man with a sharp widow's peak, and jaw that loooked like it could crush bolders. He was looking down his nose at them (no small feat, as even seated Tarlen was easily half a head taller), and adjusted the sleeves of his fine shirt. Tarlen flushed, and quietly put his drink, and a hefty tip, on the counter. He tugged at Fredderick's sleeve.

"C'mon," he whispered, getting to his feet. "Think we should find a new seat to plant our asses."

Fredderick stomped to his feet, attracting the eyes of more than a few. Drawing himself up, he pushed his chest against the doorman, breathing heavily into his face. To his credit, the fumes of wine and ale didn't immediately knock the man to the floor. "Why?" he demanded. "I'm comfortable here. Are you gonna drag me out, boy?"

"Fredderick." Tarlen cleared his throat, and nodded to one side. Three large men, more muscled arms and torsos than anything else, had been slinking towards them ever since Fredderick got to his feet. Tarlen grabbed his friend's arm a bit firmer, and ever-so-gently began pulling him away from the doorman. He nodded at the intimidating men, who glowered in response. Fredderick, thankfully, kept his temper -- for three paces.

Drunk and off-balance, his clumsy swing was easily caught, and his arms were pinned to his sides. He was dragged roaring and cursing to the door, and swiftly tossed onto his face in the street.

"I'm going, I'm -- let go!" Tarlen squawked as he was half-led half-tossed out to stumble next to Fredderick. "This seems oddly familiar," he huffed. "Oh, on your feet." He grunted, grabbing Fredderick under an arm, and hauling him upright.

"Fucking whor-"

"We're done here," Tarlen snapped, heaving him away from the tarvern as the guards began to turn back to them. Certainly no small feat -- Fredderick all but pulled him from his feet like a charging bull. "Go, go, go, go!"

"I'm, I'm, I'm...." Fredderick fell blessedly silent as he was shoved down the street, and around the corner. "I'm..." He put an arm against a wall to steady himself, his face contorting as he focusd. "What am I?"

"Drunk. Already." Tarlen got under his arm again, and began to lead him away.

"Where'ee gone?"

"Back to my house."

"Oh. My stuff!"

"It'll still be there tomorrow. Now I remember...I remember this is why we stopped doing this."

"Because yer a faintin' lilly?"

Tarlen's only response was to continue helping his drunken friend stumble down the road. He had to dissuade Fredderick from calling out to a few of the whores standing outside their guildhouses; he almost had to drag him away by the neck when a group of familiar faces called for them to join them on their drunken adventures. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of listening to Fredderick slur on and on about whatever passed into view, they arrived.

"Wha's this?" Fredderick asked, as he was propped against a wall.

"My house," Tarlen said simply. He placed his hand against the door, and whispered a jumbled string of words. It opened soundlessly, and Fredderick was pushed through.

A cold breeze brought some of Fredderick's senses back to him. He stepped out of his filthy shoes onto the wooden floor, and sank down onto a bench. The smell of past suppers lingering in the walls, and quiet, dim lights immediately had his eyes drooping. Tarlen said...something...and he was lifted back up. They walked into another room, with a pair of chairs, and a strange-looking bed. He gently fell onto the padded thing, and closed his eyes to keep the world from spinning.

"Just like always," he heard Tarlen mutter, not unkindly. His friend padded softly out of the room, leaving him to his sleep. A woman's voice mumbled through the walls -- curious, but unalarmed -- and Tarlen rumbled something reassuring to it, and the unmistakeable tone of loving chiding flowed alongside a bubbling giggle. Tarlen said something else, and the giggling became laughter; chairs scraping on the floor as he chased her around the room. Loud, obnoxious kissing echoed through the house. Fredderick closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise. He never understood how people could stand such a noisy life...

The torturous trilling of birds woke Fredderick come sunrise. He slowly lifted his head, and was surprised by how clear it was. Only a slight wincing at the sunlight, and the painful echo of birds reminded him of last night's excitement. The way he'd acted though -- as though he'd spent the whole night wandering from tavern to tavern, though he knew he'd barely made it past the second. An almost gentle queasiness slid up his throat at the memory, and he sighed in aggravation. He should've known better than to drink like it was twenty years ago.

He stood cautiously, and peered out a window. It was just barely morning, but plenty of people were already crawling through the streets. More citizens being brought within Verdenhelm's walls in preparation for the oncoming battle. Not that Hogenhein's army would ever see the walls, but his majesty always believed in caution during war. Fredderick's tongue played in his mouth as he saw the tired and frightened wander through the unfamiliar sights, and sighed again. He should find his feet now; retrieve his things from his unused tavern room, and head home. His majesty could go hang. Fredderick knew he would rather spend the war, however long it lasted, in peace, rather than crammed in here with everyone else. Besides, he knew Tarlen would find some way to convince him to stay here, damn the man's tongue. He scrawled a note thanking his friend for looking out for his drunken self, but left long before anyone woke.

The air was already getting warm, but not unbearably so. Fredderick strode swiftly past the strange faces, and retrieved his belongings with minimal effort. A girl with a freckled, easy smile and fiery hair in braids took his key back.

"Found another place to stay?" she asked as she inspected the room, and Fredderick gathered his things.

"Yes."

"We'll be sad to see you go," she said quietly, though they both knew the room would be full by midday. "Where're you staying now?"

Fredderick bit back a rude comment, electing to simply grunt instead. "With friends," he not-quite lied. After all, if a man wasn't friends with himself, who else could he name as such? The girl still smiled, but kept silent at his laconic response. Thankful she didn't pry more, he placed a few heavy coins in her palm before he left. He allowed himself a twinge of satisfaction when her eyes bulged, and she stumbled over her thanks.

Those at the gates paid him no attention as he slunk out. Most likely they'd been working double shifts to account for the flood of people. He could see in their haggard faces that some old codger leaving was the last thing on their minds. Marching horns echoed through the field, and he saw scouts melt into lupine shapes to flash through the fields; others took to the skies on leathery wings, their roars and screeches bringing fierce smiles to the people below. More horns followed, and the first wave of soldiers began striding in crisp formation through the gates. Their armor shone in the sunlight, covering them from head to toe in enchanted steel. They held no weapons, nor did they bring supplies -- their armor would be all they needed. He watched alongside everyone else for a while, remembering what it was like to be in one of those suits. His blood sang with joy as the mass of people began to cheer -- one or two at first, and before another dozen soldiers had made it into view, everyone was howling for them. Fredderick smiled at them, and the adoration; he wished them all well, but for him, those days were long over, and to be honest, he was glad for it.

Fredderick made his way through the tall grass, rather than the roads, avoiding the makeshift camps and checkpoints. Scouts on horseback trotted through the grass, and others on foot, skulking in the trees; most of them reassigned guards from the city gates, they stopped him just long enough to recognize him. He just had to assure them he would be back before sundown, and oh, he just had a few more things he wanted to collect. He could see they didn't believe him in the least, but they had more important things to do than argue with him. When his house came into view -- still standing and unburnt -- he gave his aching legs a rest, and slowed from his forceful march. A nagging curiosity prodded the back of his mind; a trio of horses were tied to the fence. They nibbled the grass and flicked their tails, not caring much for the old man approaching the house. Several pairs of heavy footprints sank into the dirt, leading into his home. Caution won the day, and Fredderick slunk around the side, towards the kitchen. It wouldn't be much of a surprise if thieves were taking advantage of all the confusion, and taking what they could from those on the outskirts.

He froze as a window was thrown open in front of him. Caught without a hiding spot in sight, he knelt down and lifted a heavy stone, should it come to a fight. A mustachioed man with skin browned from riding in the sun stuck his head out. A fashionable folded hat with a quail feather sat atop his head, and bobbed and he lit a small cigar. Someone called from inside, and the strange man turned his head sleepily -- missing Fredderick entirely. He let out a slow breath as the thief withdrew, and knelt down under the window. The acrid stink of the smoke lingered, and he crinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze. More voices trickled from inside, none of them familiar, or even in any local tongue. Fear gripped him as he recognized the smooth, velvety sounds of Hogenhein's tongue. Even more so when he heard Joren respond fluently. Fredderick shuffled to his feet, the stone gripped tight in his hand. He had to get back to Verdenhelm to let them know their enemies were already here. And had been here, he thought, cursing his fool self for being so trusting.

The tiny, casual snap of a twig was all the warning he had.

The rock was in motion as Fredderick turned, and flew true into the face of the one-eyed man who'd been sneaking up on him. He yelled and stumbled back, his nose bloody and broken, and stars in his eyes. Fredderick leapt forward to grab and twist the arm that held a truncheon sharply; there was a crunch, and a yelp, and Fredderick savagely clubbed the side of his head. The man fell bonelessly to the ground, but there was no time to savor the victory. Doors slammed, and the alarm was raised as Fredderick charged away from his home, making for the trees that seemed further away than they ever had before. His heart sunk as footfalls came closer and closer, till he thought they were right next to him. Gambling, he slid to a halt and braced himself quickly; he twisted as the closest pursuer slammed into him, unable to stop in time, and found himself flopping and rolling on the ground. Fredderick's heart sank as he saw the runner had friends -- three of them, in fact, who'd already begun to spread out and approach.

"We thought you were staying inside the walls," Sera said, shrugging her bow into her hands. Her breath came steady as she knocked an arrow.

"Never was one for the city," Fredderick gasped, the truncheon clenched in his hand. Sera's companions edged cautiously towards him, and he swung the club wildly to keep them at bay. An arrow splintered in the dirt by his feet. Sera already had another one ready and at his chest when he turned. Her mouth was sad, but her eyes hard, and he didn't doubt the next shot would find its mark. He dropped the truncheon, and let them each grab an arm. They muscled him back to the house where the riders waited, along with his houseguests. Joren smiled, and shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No you're not," Fredderick spat. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

One of the new men said something to Joren, who rubbed his eye. "Well, it was nice to meet you. Unfortunately we do have to kill you. Nothing personal," he said, drawing a long, thin knife. Fredderick struggled in his captors' grip as the knife pressed gently into his throat. A lightheadedness took him, and the world began to swim in front of him. There was a flash of something hot in his mouth, and a scream, and the world faded into blinding white.

Fredderick stirred as something lapped at his eyelid. He pushed weakly at whatever it was, and heard Tobias's familiar growling coo in response. The tongue returned to prod and slather his face until he rolled onto his back.

"Yes, yes, I'm glad I'm alive too," he murmured, and grunted as Tobias happily curled up on his belly. Fredderick sat up slowly, his entire body one giant, throbbing bruise. Even his hair seemed to ache, if that was even possible. He pushed the dragonling off, much to its irritation, and himself to his feet. His legs weren't too bad, this time, nor his mouth (getting teeth replaced was always such a chore). As usual, the worst of it were his arms and hands, which looked like pulped meat. The fingers worked -- barely -- and clotting blood sloughed off every bit of him, like a disgusting shed skin. Fredderick stumbled over someone's arm, torn off at the shoulder, as he walked towards his house.

He sighed. Any repairs his guests had made were undone, or worse. A body hung by a pair of swords thrust into the side of the house, its belly slit and spilling onto the ground. Another was missing most of its face, with great bite marks working up and down its neck and shoulders. Crows cawed from all over his bit of land, and Fredderick knew if he bothered to look he'd find what was left of his houseguests and their friends. He made his way into the house through a gaping hole -- Evan's pulverized form lay on the floor, boot prints clear through his back.

"Yech," Fredderick muttered, disgusted. He'd have to redo the whole floor; he didn't feel like kneeling for a solid week to scrub the blood out of every nook and cranny. He was pleased to find that the kettle was still in its cubby, and he began making tea. It was still uncomfortably warm out, but it would clear his head, and get the taste of blood out of his mouth. Making a face, he picked at a few chunks of flesh stuck between his teeth, spitting them onto the floor. Tobias flapped onto the counter, his claws skidding as he settled himself, and rubbed at Fredderick in worry. Scratches along the jaw placated him, however, and soon he was content to curl up in his usual sunbeam. The sound of hoofbeats pounding in the dirt drew him from the calming task of boiling water.

A dozen men were on his property. From Verdenhelm this time, thankfully. A few road horses, though most stood, tense and quietly terrifying in their faceless armor. For those without, expressions ranging from terror to a calm readiness swam across their faces. Fredderick made sure to make a good deal of noise before he emerged; it wouldn't do to survive all this, and then get cut down by a jumpy soldier.

"Colonel Haegen?" The broadest of the armored soldiers strode swiftly towards him, his voice strangely sonorous.

Fredderick sighed, trying not to let on how weary he really was, for vanity's sake. "No longer a colonel. State your business, boy, and be off with you. There's a war on, and I don't think they're going to waste people to clean up my home."

The soldier was quiet for a moment, and tilted his head. Without a sound, the helm retracted into itself to reveal a youthful, handsome man whose great, bushy mustache and beard had just began to see gray. Under the mound of hair, Fredderick could just make out a mouth twitching in a grin. The retired colonel laughed loudly as he recognized him.

"Lamar!" he said, embracing his old friend. "Ah, it's been too long! I see you've given up on dying that poor thing," he said, gesturing to the twitching facial hair.

"Finally decided to accept the pains of aging?"

"Luke sent us out to round up any stubborn hold horses," he said evenly. A quick glare was all that was needed to silence the stifled chuckles of his men, who quickly found other things to pay attention to. Fredderick curled his lip and spat.

"You can tell that ass I didn't take his orders before he crowned himself, and I'm not likely to do so now."

"You sound like a brat," Lamar scoffed. "Or does the Mad Bear honestly plan on hiding away out here, the lone defender of the nation?"

The sound of a scuffle drew their eyes; Tobias had found a hand, somewhere, and was gleefully batting it about. One of the soldiers (apparently a little too unnerved by the macabre sight) had gotten a lash from the beast's tail across his face when he tried to take it away.

"Get away!" Fredderick roared, the warning pain between his eyes throbbing fiercely again. It calmed when the soldier leapt back, awkwardly shuffling back to his horse. Others slowly let their hands droop towards their weapons, or let their armor ripple with intent; Lamar frowned, and again, they stilled. "If Hogenhein reaches my door, then yes, I'll fall back to the city's walls. Will that suffice?"

Lamar rubbed between his eyes. "He's been on the throne for twenty years, and I'm still getting caught between the two of you butting heads," he grumbled. "If

it's losing control you're worried about -"

"That's not it at all," Fredderick laughed.

"Then-"

"I said I don't want to." Fredderick shrugged as his friend's face turned purple with frustration. "Lamar, I'm happy out here, by myself. Besides; you and I both know Hogenhein will never get this far. This little war of theirs will be crushed in a month at most, and everyone will go home, the same as the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that."

Lamar looked away, sucking his teeth. "Your belly tells me you're still friends with Tarlen," he stated. Fredderick's eyes narrowed, and he stood a bit straighter.

"Everyone gains a bit when they retire," he grumbled.

"Gain any more and we'll have to start calling you the Mad Pig," Lamar sang. "They're daughter. Ellie?" The fire in his friend's eyes died, and turned to wariness.

"Quite the prodigy. Very promising hawkguard."

"Indeed," Fredderick growled. "Her parents are exceptionally proud."

"As they should be. Though...I'm sure they would sleep much better if she were assigned to..." Lamar made a few nonsense noises, as though he was thinking about something. Fredderick breathed slowly, and tried not to think about knocking that pensive look right off his face. "Guard the walls," he finished, smirking as he cut off Fredderick's bellow.

The building irritation still simmered, and Fredderick took a few calming breaths before he dared respond. "Stationed at home, you say?"

"Of course! In fact, I have it on good authority that her commanders -- though impressed -- believe the young lady would benefit from more training, and time to ease into her new position."

"How wonderful," Fredderick bit out.

"I know! Isn't it just? Though I'm not quite sure why I brought it up." Lamar sighed dramatically, waving to the skies in frustration. "You were, of course, just telling me that you couldn't be swayed to live in the city for a time-"

"Lamar-"

"No, I understand! Perish the thought! The great Mad Bear of old would rather die than give up his sol-"

"Lamar!"

"What shall I tell the poor King Lucas, long may he reign, and strong may his children be?" he continued, ignoring Fredderick entirely now. "How will I form the words to impart such a woeful message?" He grabbed Fredderick's lapels. "How?"

Fredderick sighed deeply, matching Lamar's tormented sorrow with one of deep, long suffering. "And people wonder why I live by myself. Tobias!" he called. The dragonling flew, hand dangling from his mouth, to Fredderick's shoulders. He settled there like a cat, contentedly chewing on his favorite perch.

"I knew you'd see reason," Lamar oozed. He went to clap Fredderick on the shoulder, but thought better of it given his stormy expression. "Alright, you heard the man," he said to his men. "Tomas, grab his tea; Patricia, his robe and slippers will be on the floor by a chair somewhere in there; Xan, there'll be a pipe on top of a book. The rest of you, piss if you have to. We leave soon as we can. Oh, relax," he said at Fredderick's puckered face. "It'll be over before you know it."

"Save it for your wife," Fredderick said, loud enough for the others to hear. He allowed himself a smile at a cough from the nearest solider. "You're right, of course. It'll just be for a little while, and I'll have my feet up the whole time. Nothing to do but lounge about, read...catch up with old friends for early morning tea... very early morning," he said evenly.

"I'll have to pass," Lamar said. "And before you think to go pounding on my door, that's what the locks up and down the gates are for."

Fredderick nodded. "Are you still married to Ophelia? Ah, wonderful woman! Always loved my stories, if I remember."

"A pox on your black heart," Lamar growled.

He let himself smile in earnest at Lamar's stony glare. Suddenly it felt like his stay wouldn't be so aggravating after all. With one final look at his home, and the now desperate repairs it needed, he began walking with the soldiers towards Verdenhelm, and civilization. A faint throbbing pulsed on the side of his head, and he sucked in a long, cool breath to keep the throbbing headache at bay.

Just a month. Maybe two. Not long.

Not long.

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Good Neighbor

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