Aeron Wilmot was heir to a name revered by nobles across vast hills and histories, riches stretching beyond the comprehension of a human mind, and a knack for zoning out during his history lessons. It wasn’t that the subject was dull; learning history had always been his favorite pastime. But at a time like this, when revolutionaries were outside destroying the future, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care for long-winded lectures about the rise of the English crown.
In his mind, he heard the whispers of Welsh rebels, saw their repulsive smiles as they overtook yet another city. Within the last few months, the news of Owen Glendower, freedom fighter extraordinaire, had spread through the country like wildfire. His armies had landed victories over Ruthin and Denbigh; it was only a matter of time before they appeared in Aeron’s home fortress, Rhuddlan, and tore apart his life.
----
It was an alarm that snatched Aeron from his thoughts. Its distressed notes overflowed from the bell tower and into the classroom. Around him, students leapt from their seats. Parchment scattered across the floor as boys and professors attempted to see out the window. Across the courtyard, an army of silver and black and brown strode toward them, crushing the manicured gardens beneath their sandaled feet. The air was still, a collective breath being held by the room itself. A voice shouted, “Cover!”
Legs and arms and skin and bone smashed into each other as the building’s dwellers rushed toward the lowest floor. Feet ran along the stone floors, singing a tune of fear and distress. Who will save us who will save us who will--
Aeron remained on the top floor, watching his friends erupt into terror and race down the halls. His hands trembled; whether out of fear or anger, it was difficult to tell. Through the scratched window, his eyes locked on a certain man at the center of the mob, resting fearlessly atop a stallion. The one, the only. Glendower. He was there to destroy Aeron’s land. He was there to destroy Aeron’s people--his mother, his father, his friends. He was there to send them into cowardly retreat. He would not allow himself to accept defeat in such a way. No, Aeron was not a fool, and he wouldn’t step down until he was dead on the floor.
----
It didn’t take much time to reach the courtyard. This was both good and bad: good in the obvious sense, and bad as in he had yet to decide what, exactly, he was going to do. Glendower’s army, a makeshift clan of rebels, had few weapons, but until the king’s soldiers received word, it was only Aeron on the defense. He ducked behind a large pillar, his breath coming in quick, shaky beats, courage draining away.
He closed his eyes. It was him against the--
“Aeron! Wake up!”
Aeron startled. Why would a rebel know his name? How? His family was well-known in the area, of course, but the whole fortress was loyal to the king. Had Glendower spent his years before the revolt studying the people he planned to conquer?
A hand gripped his shoulder. His eyes flew open. It was only Alec, his friend.
Alec grinned. “Off to save the day?”
Aeron rolled his eyes, his hands still shaking slightly. “You know me so well.”
“Figured,” Alec retorted. “Here, I stopped at the weaponry. Take one.” He held out two spears.
The words rested in Aeron’s ears for a moment before his mind finally registered them. A spear. A spear! The courage that had been dripping away suddenly welled within his chest as he grabbed a weapon.
“Come on,” Alec said, “the army’s almost here.”
They stepped out on either side of the pillar. Alec was right: the group was nearly upon them now. Despite this, Aeron felt invincible. His body moved on its own accord, sprinting through the crowd of people.
An arrow flew by, unnervingly close to his exposed face.
A soldier flung himself onto Aeron’s front. He collapsed to the ground, nails clawing into his face. He struggled, stabbing into the man’s side.
A shield clattered somewhere near his feet.
Suddenly, Aeron’s eyes glimpsed Glendower’s. They were fearless, uncaring. Glendower was not cold-blooded, he realized. He was heartless.
Aeron surged forward, veins boiling with adrenaline. He lifted his spear into the air. Finally, his people would be free of the ruthless revolution. Finally, there would be no one to lead the revolts . Finally.
An arrow shot directly into Aeron’s heart. Blood began to seep through his thin layer of clothing. Another placed itself into his forearm, another his chest. His breath came in violent trills. Thick liquid spilled from between his lips.
It was over. The thought echoed in his mind. Glendower was going to overtake his land. HIs people. His family. How would they survive? No one could tell what happened once a fortress was conquered. It was over. Everything was over…
He collapsed onto the blood-stained grass.