The Fall of Athos

He sat there with his head in his hands. Outside he could hear them trying to force their way through the gates. Wham. Wham. Wham. It wouldn't be long now. He had been preparing for this day for weeks. Ever since he heard they were marching towards the city. Wham. Wham. Wham. He'd known that by the time the news reached him, they would already have been within a week's march. He could have run, but with his enemies that close, what good would it have done? He knew that even if he had run, he wouldn't have been able to stay free for long. He was a wanted man, everyone knew his face, where could he hide?

So he stayed. He spent his last few weeks in relative luxury, waiting for a miracle, and more and more, wishing he'd tried to escape. Logically he knew it wouldn't have done any good. Still, when they surrounded the city and he had to close the gates, he wished he'd tried. They were inside the walls now. The pounding had stopped, and he could hear the sounds of men dying. Perhaps there was something he could have done, something he could still do. Perhaps there was something he could offer them to ransom him his safety.

Closer now. He knew there was nothing. He'd looked at it from every angle and come up empty. Even if there had been something, after the losses they'd suffered over the last week, they could accept nothing less than his head. He knew that, still, he prayed. Not too anyone in particular. He wasn't so lost as to think any god would listen now. Just in desperation. They had to be right outside. His men would fight, they had no choice, but they wouldn't hold for long. We are all dead men, he thought to himself. We cast our lots, and now, we pay even on our debts. In these last moments he couldn't help but wish he'd never found the statue, but then, he'd never regretted it before.

When the sounds of fighting stopped, he knew it was over.

The door to his throne room opened. Ragged men stood in the passage outside. Their armor was a rough mismatch of pieces. He could see they wore bits from the imperial infantry, the border legion, even some they must have taken off the bodies of his own men. Scavengers every one. They took from this world what they could use. Their arms were crude, but clearly effective. On the floor behind them he could see the bodies of men. Some theirs, more his own.

The man removed his helmet and addressed his king.

"Athos." His long blonde hair was red and matted from a wound he'd suffered in the fighting. "The time has come. I am Caren, and as commander of these men I place you under arrest."

The king continued to stare at the bodies of his fallen soldiers. He felt no pain at their loss, they meant no more to him than any other tool, and less now that they could no more serve their purpose than a dull knife. Still, that simple peasants could overcome the Red Century, that was shocking in it's own way. Just another sign he supposed. They had made their deal with the thing in the statue as well. They knew this day would come. He looked at the man who spoke.

"You have come to my home, killed my men, and now would place me under arrest? Who are you peasant, to have so much victory in one day?" He was their King. He would not be treated this way.

"I am your conqueror Athos." He waved his men forward. "Your day is ended." They grabbed Athos by the arms and dragged him down from his throne.

He had intended to be strong. He had meant to show them how a king dies, but now, surrounded, defeated, and at the mercy of rough men, he broke. He screamed. He struggled. And all the while they dragged him out, past the bodies of his dreaded Red Century. Out of the Spire, and through the streets of Dail. All the while he strained at the grip of the men who held him. Their faces grim, they ignored his cries. In the city, the fighting was mostly over. As they passed, men, busy stripping the dead and finishing the wounded, stopped and rose quietly to watch. It was almost reverent. And all the while Athos cursed his captors for dogs, and fought with every ounce of mad strength left to be free.

They took him past the gates and out to the edge of the cliff that the city was built against. Down below, almost too far to be heard, the waves were crashing against the rocks. For a moment, Athos thought back to when he was a child, and his father would take him to the sea.

He remembered how his father would stand on the cliff with his mother while young Athos looked out over the ocean with his attendants. They had a small summer home out here, past the city gates. Enough room for the family and their guests, some horses in the stables and livestock in the fields. Just a few dozen servants, grooms, cooks, and hereditary help. He remembered the sun shining down on him one day as he looked up at his father. He'd shielded his eyes against the glare so he could see his father smiling down at him. He remembered the great king lifting him up on his shoulders so he could see the masts of the ships coming in to the harbor below. The sound of the waves had always brought him peace.

As he pitched end over end towards that dark water, the men at the top of the cliff watched in silence. This was what they had spent a year of their lives for. Plotting in dark farmhouses with veterans too tired to do more than offer advice, and young men too ignorant to know better. Sacrificing their lives, their land, and their honor. Becoming little more than a band of vicious cutthroats. All for a greater cause. To rid their land of the Tyrant Athos and the Bastard Armiin. And now it was done.

Armiin had fallen in the battle at Taayo.

Athos was king no more.