Arwen was quiet as she rode into the distant graveyard, her bodyguard sitting across from her, her hand fiddling with the edge of her skirt. She wasn't supposed to be out this far from the castle. They both knew that. If her father, the King, were to find out that her guard had permitted this trip, the knight's head would be served to him on a silver platter, dead eyes wide open, staring blankly into the sky. It had happened before. But somehow she had talked him into it, saying that as long as they did not speak of the journey, no one would learn about it. She needed to visit a particular grave. The one of her ancestor, the great King Ram, who had begun a long standing period of prosperity in her family and kingdom.
As the carriage came to a stop, she silently rose from her seat and descended out into the graveyard. There was no noise, save for the clack of the knight's metal armor as he walked behind her - no wind in the trees, the horses quietly resting, as if the solemnity of the grounds was casting a spell over them. To some, that silence would have been unnerving and uncomfortable, but to Arwen it was restful. It put her heart and mind at ease, where they were normally on edge and panicked at every moment, fearful that her father might come around the corner and punish her for something that she didn't even realize that she was doing.
It was a short walk to King Ram's grave. It was not the first time she had visited it, nor would it likely be the last. She knew the spot well, and as she knelt before it, she could swear she could feel a presence reaching out from it to comfort her - to assure her that things would be ok. She bent her head down, her eyes closed, and prayed to the old, great king that he would watch over them from the land beyond, to ensure his promise that he would keep his land safe. There were days that she feared their future was not protected. Not with her father as king.
The silence was broken by the guttural, drowning gasp of her bodyguard. She jumped, neck practically snapping as she turned to see the blade piercing through an opening in her guard's armor, blood spilling out. She didn't have time to watch him die. She ran as hard as she could.
She wasn't familiar with the rest of the graveyard, and she knew that she couldn't just hide in the carriage. It didn't take long for her to get lost, and as she tried to find her way, she could see the bandits' that had assaulted her guard coming for her. She didn't know what they wanted from her. Presumably just her life, as useless as it may be to them.She backed herself into a corner, cowering, and covered her eyes. She didn't want to see them drop down on her.
But the sound of a killing blow did not come from her body. She looked up, scared, to see her knight standing above her, the bodies of the bandits discarded and thrown aside, blood pooling beneath them. The blood from the knight's wound stained his armor, but was no longer flowing from a wound. It had only been a matter of minutes at most, but he seemed to have already recovered.
"I am sorry, sir knight," she said, afraid of her own voice. "I thought you were dead, and I ran. But you saved me."
The knight gently scooped her up in his arms, which caught her off guard. She had never been treated this way before. She was not sure how to take it. "It is a bit of a story," he said, voice low. "I will explain on the way. But suffice to say, I am not your knight."
Confused, Arwen searched his face. The features were the same. Surely it was the same man whom she had arrived with. But his eyes were much paler than they had been before. As though the life had been drained from them already. "Who are you, then?" she asked timidly.
"A friend, to be sure," he responded. "Though an unlikely one at that. I am Sir Allone."
She knew that name. It was written on King Ram's tombstone, and in all of the history books. It was his knight. The greatest knight of them all, Great Sir Allone. But he had died with his king, serving to the last.
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