text: [Themes: love & dating]
  
  Over the weeks you often come together. As your plans grow in plausibility, your body slowly recuperates in strength. The healmasters even allow you to stand and walk within the confines of your room. This first victory rejuvenates you like nothing else.
  
  Brutus proved himself a useful servant. Though he confirmed your suspicions of his dim wit, he had a knack of being ignored and possessed a good memory. Whenever you were certain you could walk without help, you sent him out. He became your personal eyes and your ears. He kept you updated on everyone, most of all on your wife. She proved that once again she could not be trusted. Her many trips to the dovecote showed you her traitorous loyalty.
  
  You've kept up your charade. You maintained you were too tired, pretending to be asleep whenever she entered, saying your traditional lovewords whenever you failed to do so in time. You think she bought it. However hiding your hatred saps your energy, dims your determination. You have to proceed quickly to the next phase of your plan.
  
  Elaria made it all worth it though. Her mind proved as valuable as you hoped. The last weeks she hired, blackmailed or persuaded an increasing amount of people to her newfound corps of spies. You were the mastermind clustered to this room, she was the expert practitioner out in the fields.
  
  You both agreed that the next phase would be gaining further allies. Her spies told her of grumbling discontent within the duke's palace. She told you the mayors were discontent once again. Your leave had granted them a direct audience with the duke. The latter ignored them as you were ignored once. You would earn a considerable amount of wealth were you to gain their allegiance to this rebellion.
  
  So the question remains, do you want to travel to the capital or remain here to build up your position further?
  
  > Leaving your position at the first opportunity is madness.
  The rebellion is not ready. There is still so much more you can accomplish from within these walls. Let the duke anger his vassals undisturbed, you'll continue on with your own plan. The resentment will only further fermentate the ground for your ambitious schemes.
  
  So you stay in your room, watchful and vigilant. The days blend into each other, but nothing of worth grabs your attention. Sadly your wounds start to fester and the heels of your feet blacken painfully. The healmasters attempt to tow you out of your bed, out of your lair. You resist. Leaving would only leave you vulnerable.
  
  Elaria and Brutus keep you updated on the declining state of affairs within the barony. Their talk of nefarious whispering, suspicious gatherings, and silent insubordination shocks you. Your servants have started to mock you, call you Lord Robert the Idle, Lord Robert the Miserable. Within your forces, the spies have witnessed talks of desertion. You have become the but of many a joke.
  
  Then one day it all pales compared to the news Elaria brings you.
  
  "My lord, I have dire news. My agents have sensed the stirrings of a rebellion against your name." Her flat tone makes you rise up for the first time in weeks.
  
  "Woman, tell me more!"
  
  "It's.. It's Sir Myre, my Lord. He has organized a group of knights in secret, brought them together to restore the realm. They've begun recruiting among your servants. I am afraid we're being surrounded by opposing forces as we speak."
  
  You stay silent. Anger spews from your eyes.
  
  "But there is a chance, my agent gathered they will give you a chance to abdicate. They will lie to you. They will manipulate you. They will make themselves seem overwhelming. My Lord, they are however not aware their betrayal has been revealed to us. I will plan our defense. My lord, trust me and we will end the threat."
  
  Myre.. You've known him for years. He taught you how to swing the sword, how to pierce the spear. He was a loyal man, loyal to your family.
  
  "IT CAN NOT BE! Myre is simply not capable of such treachery," your voice booms up. Your steward is forced to step back.
  
  "I am sorry my Lord. I fear Lady Isabell.."
  
  "Don't speak her name!" you interrupt harshly.
  
  "My apologies. I fear Sir Myre has been corrupted by your wife, my Lord." She casts her eyes downward and makes herself as small as possible.
  
  It could be true, that harpy once even fooled you. You won't be fooled any longer.
  
  "Very well. Whenever they'll ask for an audience, let them in. I want your spies to ambush them, overwhelm them from all sides. I want them brought to the heel. Wounded, but alive. Use poison if you have to." Your voice weakens. Anger has eaten up your reserves. You fall back into your bed as you barely manage to stammer, "Now leave me Elaria. Thank you."
  
  "Thank you my Lord." She curtsies and leaves.
  
  > The betrayal.
  It wasn't long before the day arrived when the so-called 'sir' Myre wanted to speak with you. Elaria was proven right once again. You hated it, you hated the fact you had to leave your room, you hated everything. You let yourself be carted through the castle.
  
  The plan required a larger room to perform the ambush. The old throneroom would do. As Brutus moves you through the cold castle something strikes you. It's abandoned, there are no servants in sight. The once lively sounds of busylife are now muffled and depressed. Elaria accompanies you.
  
  "My Lord, is there something wrong?"
  
  "My castle seems.. empty."
  
  "Now you say it, indeed it is. A lot has happened since your accident my Lord. Since you've been recovering there have been no grand feasts. Lady Isab.. Your wife ordered a decree of silence to help you sleep better. Everyone is working diligently and efficiently."
  
  "Hmpf."
  
  You are not convinced. However, you've arrived at your destination. This hall was built before the rest of your castle, it stemmed from a more grander and more decadent time. Ancient white marble and strange forms give the room a heavenly impression. Somehow, even seated in your elevated seat, you fail to comprehend the whole room. It's as if the architecture withholds its secrets. It wills itself to remain an enigma, even from you.
  
  "It's a good room to hide," you say.
  
  "Yes, there are thirty agents waiting in the shadows as we speak," she remarks with a tint of pride. She feels totally in control.
  
  You freeze up for a moment. "Well, yes of course. Please let Myre and his traitors in."
  
  "Very well." She moves in position to stand behind you.
  
  And so it happens. A group of ten knights enters the hall. A few paces ahead of them is Myre. You almost don't recognize him. In the last months, he had aged considerably. Though it fits him well. It gives him a rugged flair of authority forged by painful struggle. Twenty paces before you he stops and looks at you questionably. Then, seeing something he doesn't like, he reluctantly bows.
  
  "Milord, may I speak?" Myre asks, raising his voice to fill the room.
  
  "You may." You find it hard to hate the man in front of you. Something about his posture makes him seem fatigued rather than devious. Still, you've been misled once. You won't let it happen again.
  
  "Thank you. I come here on behalf of your loyal men Milord. They are suffering.."
  
  "These are the lies I have warned you about," she whispers.
  
  "..They haven't had a worthy meal in weeks. They are kept idle, are being pestered and are made miserable by that wretched steward. Milord, you have been given council by the snake behind you. You are being misled, deceived and your realm is crumbling."
  
  "And the manipulations. Please, my Lord, allow me to end this," she continues to insist.
  
  "Her corruption spread everywhere milord. The servants are too scared to leave their work. Young men from the village are leaving this barony. Milord, please allow me to ask you on behalf of every kind and loyal soul.."
  
  "Alright I'm done hearing your grabble," she interjects. "Sir Myre, you are being arrested for treason. Stand down and do away with your weapons."
  
  "Milord! You cannot allow this! Please, you have to stop her!" Panic stains his words. You hate panic.
  
  But doubt infects your convictions. Myre did everything you were told he would do. He asks for the impossible. He wants you to throw away everything you've worked for. He demands you to do away with the one thing that kept you standing. Still, something in him strikes you as honest. He is as much an open book as he was years before. Did you go down the wrong path?
  
  But Elaria helped you. You've heard her reports. You've heard Brutus. Wealth is entering your barony, with your steadily increasing corps of spies you finally have influence within the duchy. You have made grand plans. You would go against yourself if you turned your back on this.
  
  In the shouting, you have a mere moment to decide. Will you go with the old, or stay with the new?
  
  > warn Myre of the ambush.
  You don't know what to think anymore. Still, Myre is your friend. He doesn't deserve this. You have to save him against all odds.
  
  You raise your fist.
  
  "Silence!" You pause a moment. "Come closer all of you, I want to take a better look at you."
  
  "My Lord, this is madness!" Elaria whispers. You ignore her. Meanwhile, the knights have closed the distance.
  
  "Please tell me everything. We're safe from any vultures."
  
  The words strike true. A flash of recognition shows on their eyes. Elaria is still unaware. She didn't hunt.
  
  Sire Myre starts talking. He tells you everything and the knights position them around you and Elaria.
  
  She can't believe her ears. First, she unsuccessfully tries to interrupt the confession, then true panic sets in and she calls for the attack.
  
  But the knights are ready. The spies are intercepted before they could strike. In a fair one on one match, they are easily outduelled by the experienced man at arms. Several spies lay dead on the floor. Though they manage to regroup. The numerical superiority is still on their side.
  
  Closer to your throne Elaria tries to slip away unnoticed. She had used the chaos to slink back into the shadows. You try to shout. Myre throws himself in the pursuit. She is no match against his trained speed and he easily catches up to her.
  
  You hear shouting and sounds of battle over the whole castle. It seems the servants have taken up arms as well. The tide of battle swings decisively in your favor. One by one the spies are cut down. They receive no mercy, every blow kills. It's become a carnage.
  
  On the far side of the room, sir Myre managed to subdue and put down the traitor. It's over. You still hear shouting elsewhere, but the throne is secured.
  
  > Several months later.
  You've been besieged. Your conscripts man the walls, your man at arms stand by the gates. The enemy is overwhelming, the duke had come for you.
  
  In the chaos, your wife escaped your grasp. Apparently Elaria had been working with her in some way. She fled. She rode for your enemy, betrayed you once more. The duke was seemingly shocked at what had transpired, called for an invasion at once.
  
  So you fought. The last months did wonders for your health, you guessed you had been slowly poisoned. You fought in the woods, called on your old mentor Garreth to help your defense. He refused, told you he saw the darkness in your veins. Whatever that meant. You've fought without him in the streets. You've been pushed back.
  
  Now you fight at the walls. Sir Myre once again stands by your side. The walls shake, they were crumbling even before the siege. Nowadays the only thing that keeps them standing is the pure desperation of your men.
  
  The duke had called for a final assault. This is it.
  
  "Ready men! This is it! Whatever happens, tonight we shall feast as heroes. Our foes have the advantage in both numbers and arms. But they underestimate us! The foreign invaders are here on our terms, on our lands!" you bellow the words using every fiber of your being.
  
  "Be ready, brave sons, valorous daughters. Fight for each other and fight for glory!"
  
  With a roar, your men acknowledge your words. In the last months, they began to trust you again, see you as a fellow victim of filthy foreigners. This will be the wall you'll all die on together. You can see the duke's army approaching. Thousands of ants, pushing huge towers towards your castle. As you glint your eyes you spot the duke himself, and besides him... your wife. You'll show them.
  
  Catapults have renewed their battery on your walls. You can feel it, the very ground you stand on is going to collapse any second. It doesn't bother you. You'll fight in the rubble.
  
  Another barrage, an explosion of sounds send you tumbling to the ground. The world collapses, spins and batters you form every side. The battle had begun in earnest.
  
  You force your body up. Losses around you have been dire. But the blood of your brethren spurs you on. As the first ducal soldiers arrive you fight as bears. You give no inch, no step without reaping offers of flesh.
  
  Eventually, you lose track of time. Everything becomes either a target or an obstacle. You fall into your rhythm. Slash, push, parry, get hit, kill. Stab, dodge, step, slash, kill.
  
  Until you feel someone pull you back by your shoulders. You almost stab the ambusher when you recognize its Myre, battered and bloodied. You can't understand what he yells, but nevertheless you are pulled further back and into your inner keep.
  
  It's here the last of your defenders regroup. Man and woman, old and young, veteran and untrained, they all have the same look of dissociative determination. As the doors break they all charge in. In the close quarters, everybody is equal, chaos and luck reign over skill and grace. Somehow you manage to push back the first assault. Your numbers have thinned considerably. It will do.
  
  A second assault. Once again you throw yourself into the fray. Every kill you make strengthens your resolve. You lose yourself in the battle, everything around you turns into shades of red. For every man you slaughter, two make take its place. You lose yourself. Eventually, you too are cut down.
  
  You survived long enough to hear your Isa barging in. Your story and your life end in her wet embrace. You are sorry. You are too late. You die knowing it all could have ended differently.