Chapter 3

A God awful sound awakens me the following morning and I wince as my head pounds against my skull. "What the bloody hell happened last night?" I think to myself, slowly opening my eyes. I see that dawn is just now approaching from the crack in between my curtains and I begin to recollect the events from the night before, immediately frowning. Looking over, I find a russet skinned woman laying next to me in my bed—still fully clothed thankfully. I remember her from the pub last night faintly, and if memory serves me correctly, she made it very clear she wanted to come home with me. Given her lack of nakedness though it would appear as if she didn't quite achieve what she came for.

Another noise sounds that I recognize to be a snore and I'm confused as to where it came from. Looking around the room, I see a form on the floor that I can't quite make out. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up and turn so that my feet touch the floor see I still wear the trousers from the night before. Standing up, I attempt to walk over to my window when my foot connects with something—or should I say someone—and I stumble forward, catching myself on my dresser.

"Ouch!" I whispered out loud, grabbing the toe that was bent awkwardly while my victim shoots up, cradling their head.

"That was my head you just kicked," a woman says from the darkness. Almost as if remembering the night's events herself, she immediately apologizes. "Forgive me your grace, I had forgotten where I was."

The snore sounds again and I blink hard. "There's another person in here?" I ask dumbfounded. Turning around I pull back the curtains completely to let in the pale morning light.

The curvy woman squints and quickly pulls up a sheet to cover her breast's. She's gorgeous, with long blond hair and red full lips. Next to her I find Rory—nude as well—out cold. Clothes are strewn everywhere and by my door I see a pile of puke on the floor. Wrinkling my nose, I nod my head towards it. "Who did that?" I ask.

As I do, the woman in my bed awakens as well, sitting up and giving her arms a stretch. I give my head a curt shake in greeting. She too, is gorgeous, with straight brown hair that falls in messy waves to her back. Her green eyes are bloodshot for the spirits last night and she blushes at my gaze.

"That would be your brother, my lord. Don't you remember?" the woman on the floor asks, regaining my attention.

"No," I reply. "I don't remember much honestly." I do my best to keep my tone kind—they are Paevian citizens after all, but my pounding headache causes me to come off irritated. "It's alright though, it isn't the first time," I offer.

Sighing, I walk over Rory, passing the blonde who now searches my room for her clothing with her eyes. "Wake up," I say, shaking him with my foot. "We have to leave soon."

Rory groans and reaches blindly next to him, probably for a pillow, but when his hand grips the woman's thigh his eyes slowly open. Peering up at me in confusion, he turns his head and blinks at thee woman. "Oh, right," he says, sitting up. She sits there silently with a red face, unsure what she should do.

Lifting the sheet up that hardly covers his groin, he confirms with himself that he is naked. Giving himself a chuckle, he stands up, letting the linen fabric fall freely to the ground. Averting my eyes, I turn around and scoop of the woman's dress that lays by my wardrobe before handing it to the blonde woman,making sure I don't see something I'm not supposed to.

"Thank you," she says, and I hear her quickly slip on the dress before patting over and retrieving her shoes. Together, both women slip silently out of the room without another word. While all this happens, Rory has begin to dress himself in his trousers.

"I feel like shit," I say, running a hand through my hair.

He gives me a weak laugh and tosses his shirt over his bare shoulder. That is covered in love bites left by the woman. "You and me both. I'm going to say goodbye to father and pack my horse. I'll fill you in on what I remember when we are on the road," he says, turning to leave the room.  When coming upon the pile of vomit by the door, he frowns. "That's disgusting."

"Yeah well apparently that's from you, so," I say, feeling guilty that Moria will have to clean it up. Typically, in cases like these, I would clean up such messes, but given that Rory and the other men have to leave within the hour I am short on time.

"Hm," he hums before he too slips out the door.

Sighing, I turn around and change into a fresh set of underclothing before grabbing my bags and satchel. My weapons should and bed roll should already be waiting for me on my horse giving me one less thing I had to worry about. Brushing my teeth in my sink, I walk over to the wooden wardrobe. Gripping the brass handles, I swing it open and examine my armor.

Generally, Paevian armor is a golden color, each rank falling a darker shade the high up you are. Being the general, mine would almost pass copper, having a deep cider hue to it. The breastplate has our sigil—a griffin—embossed on the front, and is surrounded by almost miniature feather-like links. The vembraces carry a matching design and stop just at the wrist before the gauntlets begin while the cuisse and greaves protect the legs.

I normally do not wear the gauntlets—or helmet for that matter—unless I know I'm about to battle.

In truth, I despise such heavy armor and would much rather wear my light leather set in its place, but for appearances such as the up coming one where we will parade ourselves through the city, it's required. After tonight, I'll pack it away and not even sore a glance at it until we are back at our main encampment.

Sighing, I begin to put the armor, starting with the breastplate. My fingers move with ease having done this countless of times and in moments I'm finished. Giving my shoulders a shrug in protest of its weight, I give myself one last look in the mirror and purse my lips. Appearing relatively unscathed from last nights events, the only evidence of my drunkenness is the bloodshot eyes and bags that droop beneath.

"Not much you can do to fix that," I tell myself, knowing that by afternoon both will subside.

Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I make my way towards my father's room, each step feeling heavier than the last. I realize that this could possibly be the last time I see him given his gradual decline over the past month and half. Thoughts of what I should say begin to surface in my mind and I begin to subconsciously chew on the inside of my cheek. How is a child supposed to say goodbye to a parent, no matter their age? What exactly do they say, "We've had a good run, thanks for making sure I was taken care of?"

Of course not.

Turning the corridor that leads to his chambers, I see that Rory closes the door behind him, his eyes appearing slightly puffy.

My pace quickens immediately. When he notices me down the hall, he wipes the moisture away from his face with the back of his hand.

"Everything okay?" I ask, making sure to keep my voice steady as I reach him.

He shakes his head and picks up his bag from the floor that I failed to notice earlier. Aside from his distress, he looks quite handsome, sporting armor almost identical to mine save for a few details here and there and the shade of gold which is a deep amber tone.

He nods and grips the leather straps. "He's asleep," he answers.

For a moment I am confused as to why he was upset, but then I realized that just like myself, he will not get his final goodbye. Swallowing, I step forward, I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. "He'll pull through. He always has, from when that boar stuck him when we were hunting and he almost bleed out to surviving the Red Fever when he was our age," I offer even though I hardly believe the words myself. "As soon as we finish up this war we can come back home, okay?"

He nods, sniffling his nose and I can't help but feel sorry for him. Even though he was physically the strongest out of the three brothers, he had a tender side that not many got the opportunity to see. Given his size, he has always felt the need to keep up the façade of being resilient in every aspect—mentally, emotionally, and physically—considering that is what most people expect out of him. Only a handful of people understand that he is quite resilient—probably one of our toughest soldiers—but when it comes to those he truly cares about he is as delicate as a butterfly's wing.

"Can you tell I've been crying?" he asks, offering an embarrassed half-smile.

I give my head a nod. "Aye. Make sure you wash your face before meeting me and the men in the courtyard. Can't have them knowing we have cream puff for a captain," I tease.

Rolling his eyes, he follows me back down the hall and slips into his room once again to presumably collect himself. Forcing all thoughts of my father from my mind, I put on an expressionless face and continue through the palace.

Reaching the door to the main court yard, I place both palms flat against the heave wooden doors and push through, not surprised to see twenty of my men that accompanied me to Paevia await me.

Their chatter stops as I come into view and they stand to attention.

"At ease, boys," I say, patting down the stone steps.

Warren—my right hand man—offers me a smile, knowing that my short return home was a hard one.

"Morning Tom. How is he?" he asks, his pale blue eyes slightly red signaling that he too was out drinking the night before. The morning sun's rays reflect off of his bleach blond hair that he keeps tied up into a high bun. He's a year older than me and given the hours we spent training side by side as children as well as the countless laughs shared over a brew, I consider him to be one of my dearest friends.

My eyes scan my men and even though a few are in the middle of their own conversations, I can tell that more than a few eavesdrop in hopes to gain information. Of course, they don't mean it in spite as they care for their king, but being in my position for as long as I have I know that bad news spreads like wildfire and would inevitably lower morale.

"Later," I say under my breath and I by the look he gives me I know that he understands as to why.

While we wait on Rory, I mingle with my men—all clad in golden Pavian armor themselves—and I begin to feel confident in the upcoming war efforts. These men—whose ages range from nineteen to the oldest being a few days shy of fifty—would happily give their lives not only for me but for Paevia as well. All have proved themselves in one way or another and have earned my trust completely and I respect them equally.

"You look like hell," Nickolas says, offering me a blueberry muffin. His jet black hair hangs lose just beneath his shoulders save for a single braid he keeps clipped back and stands a few inches taller than me. His brown almond eyes—like the majority of us—are blood from drink like so many others, but his hangover doesn't seem to bother him. They never do really, he has always been a morning person.

I give a chuckle as I take the muffin, biting into the sweet pastry. "And you look like a woman with all that hair," I tease, earning a laugh from him and a few others.

He gives a shrug and pulls out another baked good from his satchel, taking a bit as well. "Doesn't bother Bree, in fact it's one of the many things she's told me she adores," he accounts.

Nickolas is one of the few soldiers that I believe truly loves his wife. He never speaks ill of her, always picks up trinkets he knows she will love on our travels, and never strays from her in a romantic sense. Women have thrown themselves at him countless of times while away and he always turn them down politely.

"Bree make these?" I ask, holding up my half-eaten muffin. She was one of the four bakers in Paevia and by far my favorite.

"Aye. Figured that a lot of the men wouldn't have had time to eat breakfast," he says, "Guess she was right as usual."

Looking around, I see than many of the soldiers snack on a variety of breakfast pastries from croissants to danishes to of course muffins.

"How is she? With the pregnancy I mean," I ask, finishing up the last bite. Though the two married young, it took them seven years to produce a child.

Nikolas gives a grin, "Amazing. Pregnancy suits her, almost as if she glows. The doctor said he believes it'll be twins," he tells me.

At this I feel excited for my friend and give him a clap on the back. "If all goes according to plan you should be back in time for their birth," I say.

He opens his mouth to respond but someone catches his eye and he motions towards them with is head. Turning around, I see Rory making his way towards us without any trace of the silent tears he shed minutes before.

"Alright men, mount up!" I say loudly and hop on my mare. They do and without another word make our way throughout Paevia. Those that are awake stand idly by at the edge of the streets, waving us goodbye. Given that it's not even eight in the morning, there aren't that many to see us off. The men that leave behind family and friends catch kisses from their loved ones, one even copping a quick flash of his woman's chest.

I shoot him a look and he shrugs. "What? She did that on her own, I can't help it," he says. Max is the youngest of the party, only nineteen, and only recently joined my most trusted circle when he took down a cougar while the two of us were hunting. I never even heard the beast approach us and if it weren't for him I'm sure I'd be dead.

"And how long have you been with this one?" I ask, raising a dark brow.

He smirks, obviously embarrassed by his answer, and pushes his blond hair from his eye. "Met her when we first got back to town. She's nice enough and easy on the eyes I suppose," he tells me.

Shaking my head, I can't help but to force back my smile. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Just make sure she's in it for you and not because of the armor you wear," I warn. I then click my teeth urging my horse forward until I am riding side-by-side to Rory.

Together, we lead the caravan through town and eventually Paevia is nothing but a small sight in the distance.

"Think we can stop by and say hi to Crispin and the kids?" he asks me as we reach the forests edge.

Shaking my head, I veer off to the path and continue right. "They are out of the way and we need to get back to base. The sooner we do the sooner we can get back home," I say.

As we maneuver through the forest on the beaten road, the sun slowly crosses the sky and it's not until mid-afternoon we stop for a break by a creek.

Sliding off my horse, I lead her to the slow-flowing water to where Rory stands, allowing his own stud to drink. "How are you feeling?" I ask.

"My head feels like I've been kicked by this guy," he says, patting his horse on his muscular thigh. "Other than that I'm fine. You?"

I nod, agreeing. "Aye. About the same. What exactly happened last night? The last thing I remember is dropping out of that dice game and headed back to the bar," I say. There are a few pits and pieces that come to mind after, such as my throwing up in some alleyway while we stumbled back home, but that's it.

Rory gives me a half-smile. "Well I ordered us another round of ale, you took to doing a jig when someone pulled out a fiddle—quite impressive, really, the entire place was clapping along—and that's when we met the girls. I think yours was named Ana and mine was....well, I don't remember. The plan was to take them both back to the room and kinda switch back and forth I suppose, but when Ana was working with your trousers you just rolled over and went to sleep," he says.

My eyebrows raise in surprise and I shake my head. "You mean to tell me that we were going to take turns with them...together?"

He gives a laugh and begins to run his fingers through his horses mane, untangling the knots. "Aye. It was your idea believe it or not. I've done it a few times but never with a brother, thought it would be a bonding experience for us but you were done for. Moria cut us off after about fifteen tankards or so," he says.

I can't help but to give a laugh myself before I too work on my mare's white mane. "I bet you still slept with yours didn't you, on the floor I mean," I reply, remembering how she was completely naked this morning.

He lets out a snort of air through his nose. "I did. She really knew how to-" he begins, but is cut off by Warren greeting us as he strolls over, horse in tow.

"Hello boys," he says, "Any idea where we might be stopping for the night? Some of the men are curious."

Looking up at the sun through the tree's canopy, I do my best to establish what time it is, assuming it's probably around two in the afternoon. "We'll probably ride for a couple of more hours and stop outside of Stonereach," I reply.

He gives a nod, "Thanks, I'll be sure to let them know. Ready to move out?"

Looking over to Rory to see if he needs more time, he shakes his head and I turn back to Warren. "Yeah, let's ride," I say before placing my foot in my leather stirrup and hoisting myself up.

"Shake of your willies and finish wiping your arses," I call out to the few men who have strayed away to relieve themselves. The few stragglers return in moments, joking around with each other as they adjust themselves before getting in their saddles as well.

We continue once again through the forest and make our way towards the outskirts of Stonereach. I notice Warren—who rides beside me—has a concerned look on his face. Given our conversation earlier this morning, I assume I already know the cause. "You're worried about my father, aren't you?" I ask. We are about twenty paces ahead of the rest of the men so I'm not worried if someone will overhear us.

He tears his gaze away from the dirt road and looks over at me. "Aye," he answers. "He's not doing too good is he?"

Opening and closing my mouth, I give my head a shake before letting out a slow exhale. "No, no he's not. He has good days and bad days but generally, his health seems to be declining. Rory is pretty tore up about it, had to tell him to pull himself together this morning before joining us."

He frowns and looks behind him, glancing at my brother who appears to be in a conversation with one of the younger men. "Any idea what's causing his illness?" he asks me.

"Nope," I reply, popping the "p."

"Hm," he hums. "It's a shame, really. I've always viewed him as a distant uncle given our childhood," he says and a ghost of a smile forms on my lips as I begin to recollect the memories of my father not only scorning his three sons for causing trouble in the palace walls, but Warren and a few other of my friends as well.

We continue to ride side-by-side in silence and listen to the men banter and sing bawdy songs. When the sun begins its descent, we stop in a clearing in the forest and set up camp. Hitching our horses to the surrounding trees, we remove our armor and begin pitching tents while others set out to hunt. I myself join them and within an hour we are dragging back a deer and two turkeys.

Nikolas loves to cook, so we give him the game and I offer to help skin the doe. He accepts gratefully and our fingers move swiftly as we prepare supper. By nightfall, the meat is almost done cooking over the fire and a few men have pulled out waterskins full of ale.  When Rory hands me one, I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

"I had enough last night," I say, turning my head in aversion. Giving me a shrug, he takes a drag himself and passes it along to Max.

The night goes by quite peacefully, and after assigning a few men to take watch and bantering with others, I call it a night and duck into my tent.

It's not extravagant like the one at our main encampment, but rather simple. The canvas it's made at out of is steel grey and standing up straight is impossible as I have to crane my neck to avoid bumping it on the roof. To the left is a simple bedroll with a thick wool cover. To the right lays my leather duffel bag filled with my belongings. A lantern sits in the far center, its flame casting dancing shadows inside the tent.

Removing my clothing, I strip down until I'm wearing nothing but my undergarments and crawl into the bed roll. It's too hot for the thick blanket so I push it off of me and shut my eyes, feeling my body relax after a long day's ride until sleep finds me with ease.