Roan Ambers's Story

As the young girl - who'd introduced herself as Antheia - began to explain her origin and reasons for seeking out the Rebellion, Simon listened intently with a curious and unfaltering gaze, a single corner of his mouth twitching upwards in approval. It wasn't every day he encountered an outsider so determined to share the Rebellion's goals. Most strayed from them for the sake of living as easy of a life as possible.

Simon approached the young woman, placed a single gloved hand upon her shoulder, and smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Antheia," he returned, his voice as gentle as he could manage considering the circumstances. "I know you are sincere in your convictions, and honestly... Who am I to turn down an offer of help?" he asked rhetorically, another small laugh mixing with his words. With the same hand he'd placed on her shoulder, he gave her a reassuring pat. "Welcome to the Rebellion."

After taking a few small steps backwards, Simon turned to face the other stranger, who shifted his weight with the realisation that his turn was up.

Zio, gentle and respectful as he was, did not show nearly the same level of courtesy for the King as Antheia had done a few moments before. A slight dip of his head was sufficient enough in his mind; after all, the only Prince he truly followed was Alec. Until the two Royals found peace - true peace - passable civility was all that Zio could or would offer.

"I am Zio," the stoic soldier began. "Alec's messenger."

This revelation seemed to twist the King's expression into one of barely-shielded distaste. "And what message does my beloved nephew wish to bestow upon me?

Zio raised a brow but decided not to press that issue. "Information regarding the Fae Queen's prison, and how to get her out of it."

What followed was a very lengthy, very painful silence. Simon appeared to be calculating the best response in the midst of his shock, anger, and desperation. His distress was evident in the moisture that softened the hue of his eyes; barely enough to form tears. A loud swallow was the first thing to break the silence, followed by a scoff. "How would you know a damn thing about her prison?"

Zio's gaze fell to the floor - whether it was out of regret, shame, or some other emotion, Simon couldn't really tell... Something was weighing on his shoulders, it was evident even before he offered the King an answer. "Well," he started, quietly and with hesitation. "I designed it."

Every instinct in Simon's body told him to lunge forward, to wrap his hands around this man's throat and not loosen his grip until the squirming ceased. He even went as far as to take the first step, jaws clenched and eyes dangerously narrow.

Of course, Roan was the more reasonable of the two. It had been that way since they'd met.

Simon had vowed never to raise a hand to harm his friend, and thus - even in his emotional state - he did not retaliate when the soldier stepped into his path. He did, however, direct a fierce glare at the boy. Part of him knew that Roan only had his best interests at heart, which ultimately overruled the part that said he was overstepping his boundaries.

"We need to bring him to the camp. We have been here for too long, it is not safe," Roan warned him, as if Simon had any time to worry about what manner of creature was watching them.

"This is our opportunity to save her."

Simon shook his head, eyes on the floor, and inhaled deeply. Casually, he placed a single hand on Roan's chest and with a gentle push, moved him back to his place.

"How could you?" he asked in a quiet voice. "She was your Queen... and you designed her a prison so foul, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

Zio seemed to accept that, nodding slowly. His eyes held a sadness that the rest of his face failed to convey. "I followed an order," he offered simply, then huffed loudly. "I was a Solitary Fae, I had no love for your Queen... but Alec and I have a history." For the first time since he'd encountered this group and its varying additions, Zio's expression suggested he was growing rather impatient. He wasn't used to explaining himself or his actions, but even so, he parted his lips to begin again.

"Spare me the details," Simon spat back, then turned to the men behind him and - with one swift hand gesture - prompted them to climb atop their mounts and make for the camp. "Ambers, I suggest you find something with which to blindfold our 'guest', wouldn't want him making note of our location."

With that, he called forth his own stag, but did not mount it. Instead he allowed it to walk beside him as the group began their slow walk back.

"Perhaps our guest should ride on your elk."

The King stopped dead in his tracks.

"The terrain can give more information than the eyes, especially in a forest such as Sylvar."

Turning ever-so-slowly, Simon's thunderous countenance was on full show, narrowed eyes focused only on the soldier. The silence that followed was filled with enough tension to crush any man's spirit.

"You'd have me... loan my mount... to the man who... whose foul creation has been the cause of my mother's suffering?" he asked, a frightening quietness to his voice. Were it not for the silence of the forest, it likely wouldn't have carried well over the distance between them.

It was almost as if that final thread - the one that had barely been holding him together since receiving Roan's hawk - had finally snapped. His self-restraint and tolerance were at an all-time low.

Simon's footsteps carried him forward at an alarming speed, until he was so close to Zio that their noses touched. The older gentleman visibly flinched, but refused to step backwards.

Even Ambers should have known that it was better to stay out of the King's way until he'd gotten the bulk of his anger out. It was a less than civilised display, but he'd simply endured too much.

"He's lucky... that I'VE NOT BROKEN HIS DAMNED LEGS," boomed the King's voice, enraged by the suggestion alone and clearly at his wit's end. The fact that this man possessed useful information to help them save Erieda Davenport had seemingly taken a backseat to Simon's hatred for him; for the man who made his mother's suffering possible. Where he tried to see logic, he only saw his mother - weakened, afraid, and alone. He prayed that she hadn't yet given up.

Simon's fingers curled so deeply into his palms that he lacerated the skin with his nails, and small trails of blood began to drip from his fists. He likely hadn't noticed.

Finally his head snapped in Amber's direction. "Carry your new friend then, if you're so worried," he returned darkly.

The journey to the camp had probably felt longer than it was, with the tension hanging over them like a dark cloud. Simon had stared straight ahead the entire time, walking beside his stag, trying not to habitually check that Ambers was managing to support Zio's weight. Part of it was faith in the boy's strength, but most was straight-up stubbornness.

"Camp's just ahead," called one of the men from the head of the group.

Appearing as if from nowhere once the group emerged into a seemingly empty clearing, until they broke through the treeline, at which point a series of complex wooden structures became visible. Countless men, women, and children - of every species imaginable - went about their business, chattering loudly despite the sudden appearance of their King. Such was the casual nature of his leadership - he was the first among equals, except where his fighters were concerned.

With little more than a few swift gestures to surrounding soldiers, Simon had ordered that Zio be placed in a holding cell until further notice - his arms and legs were to be bound, his vision was to be restricted, and he was to be supervised around the clock. Useful as this information may have been, it was not his highest priority to receive the message at that time.

Several soldiers stepped forward to help Zio down from their comrade's back, and carry him to the appropriate location. He fully expected Roan to follow him, but after the way he'd been treated... Simon would understand if the soldier had opted to hang back for a while.

A few words in the right person's ear would, sooner or later, alert the camp of a meeting to be held in the King's private quarters.

Simon marched through the camp without intending to spare a glance in anyone's direction, however came to a fairly swift halt after almost passing his daughter - the second Rebellion leader. Sunday would've wanted to be present for this meeting, and Simon wanted to spare himself the scolding that would come with leaving her out of it yet again.

Trusting his chosen messenger to spread the word fairly quickly on his own, Simon climbed the countless stairways to the uppermost level of the camp, and made his way towards his own private chambers. Pulling back the curtains, he was pleased to find the room empty. Some people had the terrible habit of merely waltzing in without an invitation. I ought to find myself a house with a door, he thought to himself, and a big sign that says 'piss off.'

Simon slowed his pace once he was inside, raising his arms above his head in a much-needed stretch. For the first time that day, he was beginning to feel the effects of a poor night's sleep. His eyes drifted towards his bed for but a moment before he peeled them away, knowing the temptation of sleep would be far too difficult to resist.

"You can get yourself set up at the table," he said absentmindedly, although the comment was directed at Roan, who'd trailed after him this entire time. "The others will be here soon enough, but there's snacks and water... Help yourself to whatever you need."

"Simon... I want to apologise for earlier. What I asked was insensitive, and it was unfair to you. I'm sorry."

The sudden apology prompted a sigh from the young King, barely audible over Roan's voice. Simon lifted his gaze finally, brows furrowed despite the sadness in his eyes. More than anything, he felt guilty that his words and actions led Roan to believe that he somehow deserved any of it.

Simon had witnessed abuse his entire life, with his mother and father's on-and-off relationship, and even as a young boy he'd always thought that if he ever found someone special, he would never hurt them - emotionally or physically. So the fact that he'd taken his anger out on Roan at all - let alone so publicly - left him feeling rather ashamed of himself.

"I promise I will do better."

He shook his head in response, gaze dropping to the floor despite how hard he'd been trying to keep it trained on the soldier. A slow inhale would begin his counter-apology.

"You did nothing wrong," Simon corrected, his voice both quiet and heavy with exhaustion. "If anything, you saved me from my own impulsive nature... I was foolish."

With both hands pressed against the table's surface, he allowed himself to rest his weight a little, if nothing else to ease the aching pain in his feet. Thick brown locks fell over his face and he released another weighty sigh, a slight shake in his voice disrupting the breath. Thus far, he'd been shielding his pain with anger, but that wasn't possible with Roan. It was too difficult to hide.

"I don't mean to get so angry all the time..." At long last, Simon was able to life his eyes, now blurred with tears, and meet Roan's gaze. "It's too hard, I'm tired all the time and I... I have a million different things going through my mind, a million different things to take care of..." he began. "She's not here to help me through it anymore, but I can't do it on my own... It's too hard."

Simon shook his head again, stepping back from the table and straightening up. "I'm sorry, Roan."

Simon's breath caught in his throat as Roan brushed back the strands of hair that covered his eyes. It was an action he hadn't been expecting, but still very much appreciated.

What followed was perhaps the most sincere reassurance Simon had heard in years; not even his daughter had taken so much care to ensure that he felt better about himself and his ability to lead the Rebellion. He watched the soldier with a look of absolute admiration, a knot in his stomach. Of course he'd always known Roan cared deeply for him, but hearing it aloud was another thing entirely, and the way the soldier reached for his hand made his heart pound against his chest.

Roan made many good points, and the calm and considerate way in which he explained them somehow drained Simon of his anger and resentment towards himself. They were closer than ever to finding Erieda, but he'd been too wrapped up in his negative emotions to see it; to feel the fraction of the weight that was lifted from his shoulders, or to realise that - as Ambers said - he wasn't alone in his struggles.

"You're right," he conceded, nodding slowly while lifting a hand to cup his friend's cheek. "Words alone could not describe how much I appreciate you, Roan."

Simon stepped forward to press a soft and ever-so-brief kiss to Roan's lips - which was unusual for the two considering the nature of their relationship thus far - then met his gaze with a smile. "Go on then, eat your fruit before the others get here," he prompted in a much lighter tone, one not fitting for the intimate moment they just shared - he was trying to change the subject. "This meeting might last a while with all that's happened."

"Good call."

Simon returned the soldier's smile, merely glad to be finished with the emotional portion of their conversation. He did, however, feel a little better after Roan's reassurances - this man had gone from being a casual fling to being his anchor among all the chaos, and a close friend.

"Oh- wow. I picked up a lemon... that could have gone over horribly."

With a small chuckle, Simon shook his head. Part of him was disappointed that Roan had actually noticed; it would have made for a hilarious situation.

He took note of the sudden change in the soldier's expression. It had become almost playful, which strangely enough was a side that Simon hadn't seen a lot in Roan's presence.

"Do you dare me to eat it?"

Simon raised a single brow at this challenge, positioning himself to that he was half-leaning against the table. "There's a lot of things I'd dare you to put in your mouth right now; that lemon isn't one of them," he teased, the corners of his lips displaying amusement that didn't show through in his voice. Simon reached behind himself and pulled the bowl closer, grabbed an apple, and tossed it casually in Roan's direction. He then grabbed one for himself. "Knowing your luck, that'd be when everyone decides they want to turn up."

This comment seemed to spark a realisation in the King and his eyes moved towards the entrance of his chambers, a small sigh escaping into the near-empty room. Even his own daughter hadn't bothered to show her face yet. "Give it five minutes before I'm out there dragging those assholes in here by their ears," he grumbled jokingly, as if they could hear his warning, before he took a hearty bite of his apple and placed the rest back on the table.

There were very few methods of torture that his people were barely able to survive with their heads held high, and this was one of them. With red fabric around his eyes, iron burning away the flesh of his wrists and dulling his mind, Zio was experiencing untold levels of pain. Considering he'd only come to this camp to deliver a rather helpful message to the King and his people, he felt that this treatment was a little unfair.

Of course, there was the ever-nagging thought that he deserved this for all he'd done. This wasn't even close to the suffering he'd caused for the King's mother. Luckily that guilt had not yet eaten away at him enough to cause visible distress. He was a relatively stoic man and his levels of endurance were through the roof. When the bandage had been wrapped around his head, he'd not said a word nor flinched a muscle. Even when they shackled his arms together with iron chains and he could feel his senses numbing, he hadn't shown fear. His body was as motionless as a statue, his mind keeping itself occupied in other ways.

That was until something brushed past his neck, and his body reacted with the sudden urge to launch forward. To his utter surprise, he was moving. In a split second, he brought his arms forward to catch his fall, and shot a quick glance upwards to survey his surroundings. Had he been teleported out of camp? He felt a knot in his stomach. This... didn't feel real.

It was at this moment he saw something move in the corner of his eye. A woman in her adult years; stunningly beautiful in a way that he was surprised she wasn't Fey, vain as it might sound.

By her body language, she didn't seem to mean him any harm, but he remained guarded nonetheless. Slowly, he picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his hands. He made no effort to speak until she did.

"Greetings," the stranger began. "What is your name, young man?"

Young man?

"Likely of very little importance to you," he answered. "But you may call me Zio, if need be."

Watching her with a fair deal of caution, Zio decided to cut right to the heart of the matter. There was only ever one reason that strangers felt the need to single him out. He was of no importance to anyone in this world, but Alec was wanted by most - for one reason or another. He would tell this female nothing until she spoke honestly about her own.

"You seek my Master, but so do a lot of people," he continued, taking effort to ensure that all hostility was absent in his tone, "and thus far I've not felt the need to speak his location nor his plans aloud... You would do well to understand that I have a duty to protect him."