Chapter Text
Harrow, first of his name, King of Katolis could not find peace in what he believed would be his last moments.
Viren had finally left him alone. The man had slunk away like the dirty coward he was. Seething with rage over how his latest attempt to manipulate Harrow failed to work. Harrow found no victory in Viren’s humiliation. Only dissatisfaction and frustration. The same way he felt when they took down Thunder. There was no catharsis. Just a suspended moment to ask “what now?” as the crushing reality that his actions neither helped him move forward, nor benefitted anyone in the long run hit him hard.
Harrow sighed as he looked to Pip, who stared back, equally silent. Keeping him vigil, as if knowing that was what he needed most. The King’s eyes narrowed as he looked to the basket Viren left. His hand tightened around the frame of the picture he held, and he lifted it again to find Sarai staring back at him with their two boys. He smiled wistfully, a thumb gently resting over her cheek.
“I should have listened to you.” He almost wanted to laugh at himself for that. What good did it do now? “After all I know you‘ve been through...” His eyes glanced to the flickering candlelight and then to the window. “Nothing can change things now though. It seems I’ll be joining you soon.” One candle mark left until sundown.
Some found peace in death. Harrow could not forget how Kenjiro — Sir Ken as the common folk often called him — looked after a skirmish at the border ended in Xadia’s favour. Injured beyond help, Kenjiro slowly slipped from their fingers despite Viren’s attempts at reviving the old Knight. Yet, Sir Ken had the most serene and gentlest smile when he fell asleep for the very last time.
In hindsight, Harrow wondered how much Viren actually did to help. The Lord had little love for the old knight, even if said man was the father of the next Queen. Sarai and Harrow had been on the cusp of their thirties. Harrow hadn’t yet taken the crown but it was clear it was bound to happen soon, given his own father’s illness. So much so that everyone in the castle had been ordered by the infirm King to follow Harrow while he “recovered”, but many, seeing the writing on the wall, referred to Harrow as the prince to his face, and the king outside the castle walls.
Sarai had already been both a mother and a widow. Her husband had served alongside her father, Sir Ken, and died after an exploration mission for some magical supplies that had went wrong two years before. She was grieving someone she loved so dearly and she felt guilty for being in love with Harrow and finding happiness with him. Harrow remembered Sarai finding it as much of a tumultuous time as he did.
Viren called the incident that killed Sarai’s husband unfortunate. Opelei questioned if it had even been necessary or if the man’s death was senseless in the end. Kenjiro blamed himself for the loss of his son-in-law and the event that left his grandson fatherless. Callum himself wondered if Sarai was trying to replace the Dad he loved with Harrow. He was so young back then. Death was hard to explain to one so small.
What Harrow remembered most was that it was a time of rapid change for them all.
Sir Ken was seeing the end of his fifties back then. He would be the first to tell you he was no longer a sprightly knight convinced of his invincibility. Kenjiro would insist he was far more cautious than daring now, even as he beat all who challenged him nearly effortlessly, even when they ganged up on him. Harrow always doubled down on his belief in Sir Ken. The young not quite king noted that what Kenjiro couldn’t bring in youthful vitality he brought in hard earned experience.
Viren, however, was Harrow’s contrarian. The young Lord insisted that injuries added up, famous names made targets and knowledge that wasn’t passed down to a successor was doomed to be lost. Viren argued that may have been better for Kenjiro to retire and pass on the mantle of the Border Guard to his youngest, Amaya, staying on in the background to help her grow into the role. Harrow adamantly refused. Kenjiro was tried, trusted, and most of all, undefeated. Perhaps in his youthfulness, Harrow wanted to believe that alone made the knight untouchable.
After seeing Sarai’s grief for her former husband, he couldn’t bear the thought of having Amaya, who herself admitted she felt too inexperienced for the task, take over before she was ready. Though to be honest, Harrow wasn’t sure how much his desire to protect Amaya like this was motivated by watching Sarai’s grief and how much of it was his own. If Sarai’s father was undefeated and untouchable, then perhaps his own father would return from the brink of death? He and Sarai married. When they found out they were about to have a child, Harrow’s father had already fallen into a deep slumber just ten days before. Though the King still breathed, he had yet to open his eyes again.
Regardless of his reasons when he argued with Viren on this — rather tactlessly in front of the man in question — Kenjiro would always shrug and say the same thing in response Viren’s barbed words and Harrow’s pushback.
“With all due respect, my young Lord Viren, I truly do not think it is in the place of a Court Mage, who has rarely seen frontline battle if I may add, to say where a warrior is best needed.” Then, as Viren predictably seethed at his words, Kenjiro would bow and tell Harrow. “I am a Servant of Katolis, first and foremost, Your Majesty. Where the King says I am needed, I will go, without hesitation.”
Kenjiro’s death was another vicious blow, yet Sarai had not an ounce of vengeance in her. Only more grief. Enough that Harrow sometimes wondered if it would swallow her whole. It hadn’t been long since she lost her first husband either, and yet where she could have remained stuck, could have vibrated with hatred she simply moved on and moved forward. She sought love instead of anger
“We have made them hurt too, Harrow.” She would explain whenever he asked her why she wasn’t angrier. “And they had dreams, and hopes. We took those away.”
“But aren’t you upset about what you lost?”
Sarai gave him a smile then. A sad, wistful thing. “Of course I am.” She sighed, refusing to let herself meet his eyes. “But if we avenge them for taking my father, then will their kids seek vengeance on us?”
“Perhaps. But if we make the power of Katolis clear to them~”
“No, Harrow.” Sarai interrupted. “Fear will only work for so long.” Her eyes were hard and focused. “When it stops working, they will lash out.” Sarai sighed. “once they do, they could very well seek to even the score.”
“Maybe.” Harrow wasn’t fully convinced.
“If they do, what will happen to our kids? When does it stop, Harrow? Does it ever?”
“I…”
“It’s not easy losing a parent,” Sarai sighed as her cheeks flushed, “and it wasn’t easy being such a young widow.” Her voice nearly broke. “But Harrow, killing in return only puts that fate onto someone else. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” Sarai sighed again. “Besides. Dad died…” she paused, wincing. “happy.”
“Happy, huh?” Harrow had tilted his head, confused.
“He died with a smile. Because he had no regrets. He spent his last moments saving the men who served under him and protecting our home. And maybe no one’s life ever ends up the way they expected, but I...would like that for myself.” Sarai’s eyes skittishly darted away with that admission and Harrow reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “For you too.” Her voice was thick, and judging by how she kept her head bowed, she was holding back tears. “After all, we’re all going to die someday, right?”
Harrow felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He heard a hiss, but before he could bother with what it was, the candle went out, there was shouting and commotion outside, and then, barely visible, a figure in the shadow.
He felt weak. He didn’t bother to stand. The picture he held fell back to the bed, slipping from his suddenly shaky, twitching fingers. He could feel eyes staring at him now. Sizing him up within the darkness. Pausing when they realized Harrow wouldn’t even lift a finger to defend himself.
Finally he heard it. A soft voice from a man only a little younger than himself.
“Do you have any last words, Harrow, King of Katolis?”
A sharp pain. Harrow tried to smile, but it crumpled away as a tear escaped his eye.
“You’re like me, aren’t you?” He aske d the shadow. There was something, a hesitation to answer and finally, a rasp of anger.
“I do this for my people and the Dragon Queen, human, not for my pleasure or power like you do.” Harrow bit back a laugh at that irony. Still the smile flitted to his face and he sensed an anger as the blade in his chest was driven deeper,
“When your time comes,” he took a breath and it rattled in his chest, “I hope you die happy.”