Duty and Destiny

Xander carried the tray of soup and bread into the dining room. But before he went in, he paused at the door, and added a little seasoning of his own. Adalia wouldn’t speak to him, so that meant they couldn’t get married. He had tried to be the gentleman and wait it out. His advances had been met with cold rejection and icy words. But this wasn’t going to fail him, he was sure of it.

He picked the tray back up and marched into the dining room. “Sire, your snack,” he put it in front of Gabrielle and stood beside him as he watched him drink it.

With each sip he took, Xander could feel himself get closer and closer to the throne room. A few more snacks like this and Gabrielle wouldn’t be a problem, and Adalia would be too weak to resist him anymore.

***

Adalia was staring at her diary. She hadn’t written anything in it since she was in the North. She didn’t feel inspired to write anything. The dark thought looming in her mind prevented her from communicating with anyone that included a blank piece of paper. She had a knock on the door and like a scavenger rat she scurried to the darkest part of her room.

“Father?” Adalia sat in a corner of her room and watched as Gabrielle walked in looking for her.

Gabrielle spun towards her voice, but he couldn’t see her. “Where are you?”

Adalia stood up and took a step out of the shadows. “I’m here, father.”

“You can’t keep this up,” his eyes roamed over her.

Nothing about how she looked shouted princess or life. Adalia had let herself go. She was in her training trousers and shirt, and her hair seemed to have assumed a life of its own. Gabrielle walked towards the windows, reached for the gigantic curtains and pulled them open. Adalia staggered back, escaping from the ferocity of the sun as its rays spilled into her room.

“Father, close them,” her hands were covering her eyes, protecting them from the light that seemed to burn through them.

Gabrielle went on to open all the windows and curtains. Adalia slipped under her bed the only place the light wouldn’t get to her. She vowed to stay there until her room was just as how her father had found it. But Gabrielle didn’t leave. He sat on a chair across from her and waited for her.

***

“Adalia,” Archer murmured.

She occupied his mind night and day. It was no wonder that when he got his pen and paper, it was her name that he wrote down first.

“Who’s that?” Fiona was standing close enough to hear Archer but not that close to invade his privacy, in a way.

“Who?”

“Adalia,” she moved closer to him. “When you were unconscious, you would always say that name. You would wake up exhausted and fighting as if you were up against an army. Then you would cry,” her tone was low and empathetic, but all Archer could hear was pity. There was nothing he despised more than pity. “You know, the only Adalia I know is the princess of the South.”

“That’s not her,” he didn’t want her to make a connection. “Although I hear the princess is beautiful.”

“That’s what I hear,” a frown came on her face as she went on. “I used to know someone who is in the Southern Army. He says that her hair was raven black, her lips as red as a rose, and her skin as white as snow.”

Archer couldn’t help but gloat. He felt proud listening to someone else describe Adalia in the same words that he would. But then a thought crossed his mind, what was a Southerner doing in the North without permission. “What was the soldier doing here?”

“He was trying to get the rebels to stop their attacks.”

“Rebels?” Archer felt at ease knowing that he wasn’t taking refuge in enemy camp. “How long was he here?”

“Almost a year. He left about a week or so ago,” her face seemed to sag inwardly.

For a moment Archer could see how he felt in her eyes. She was obviously in love with this man, and she longed for him. He had to get better. He would first go to the South and find Adalia then he would find the soldier who left with Fiona’s heart.

“Don’t worry, if he loves you, he will come back.”

“But he doesn’t, he’s in love with her or her power,” Fiona stood up and marched out of the room in a huff.

Just as Archer was about to follow her out an older man walked in, he had a bow and a sachet of arrows tucked under his arm. Archer assumed that this was the owner of the hut, Lola’s father. Respectfully he stood up and waited for him to address him first.

“How are you feeling?” the man grunted.

“Better, thank you for your hospitality,” Archer remained on his feet as the man walked around his small hut, picking things up and throwing some of them to the side.

“You should thank my daughter, she saw you lying on the side of the road. She’s the one who brought you here.”

“Lola?” Archer couldn’t imagine her tiny hands dragging him to this place. He wasn’t sure how far it was from where the ambush took place but still, he wasn’t convinced that her tiny body could handle a weight like his.

“No, Fiona. She’s my eldest,” he pointed at his bandage. “I see your wound has been redressed, so you must have met her.”

“I have, she’s a nice girl,” he didn’t understand why she hadn’t told him this was her house. But then if she was the one who dragged him there, she knew that he was a royal or part of the royal guards.

“She has a kind heart. If it were up to me, I would have left you there,” his face seemed to sag inwardly as he glared at Archer. “Your kind has already caused us enough problems. They may have been from the South, but you are still a soldier. You are all the same in my books.”

“What do you mean?” Archer picked up on the way he referred to him as a ‘soldier’ his identity was safe.

“There was this one soldier who came here. He wanted us to join the rebels. He stayed for a while, lied to my daughter then left.”

“I promise you I have no such intention,” he felt like he was defending himself, separating himself from ‘his kind’ but Archer needed to make his intentions clear. There was only one woman for him. And if he was lucky, she was safe behind his palace walls. “As soon as I am healed, I will leave.”

“I think that would be best. There have been a couple of people going to the place Fiona found you. I guess they are looking for your body, or something else,” he looked at Archer from the corner of his eye. “I bet it’s your body they are after Prince Archer.”

“What?” It was a halt. His mind was reeling with excuses and ways to deny his identity, but he couldn’t find one. “Who else knows about this, about my identity?”

“Just me and that is how it will remain Arthur,” he chuckled. “I used to work for your father. I was Doran’s training officer,” he lowered his hand to his knee. “You were this high when I left, and still fighting with a wooden sword. I gave you your first bow and arrow.”

Archer searched his memories but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t remember him. “I’m sorry I don’t-,”

“I’m not going to take it personally,” he laughed. “Samson is the name.”

“Why did you give it up?”

“My wife was expecting Fiona at the time, and the rebellion was just rising. She didn’t want our child to grow up in that environment,” he smiled then said. “That is why we came here. It was peaceful until the Southern guards started recruiting rebels.”

“Are you sure?” he didn’t believe that any wrongdoing could happen under Gabrielle’s nose. “I know King Gabrielle and he wouldn’t stand for that.”

“That is because he doesn’t know,” his grin dropped, and a worried look came over his face. “There is something going on, a plan of some sort. We are trying to find that out and as soon as we do, we will visit your father and King Gabrielle.”

“You have to take me with you,” Archer was getting excited at the thought of seeing Adalia and his family once more. He knew that there was danger looming for both families, but he needed to settle his hearts yearning first.

“I’m afraid I cannot let you leave,” his face seemed to take an odd form of expression. “Someone is trying to kill you. If you leave here, they will know you are still alive.”

“Even so, my family cannot continue knowing I’m dead. Besides I must go to the south-,”

“Your beloved will have to wait. Your impatience will put princess Adalia in danger. The traitor is from the inner circle of the Southern commanders. You need to stay here, heal, train then go save your beloved,” he left the tent without saying another word.

Archer fell back on his straw bed. He was getting dizzy from everything he had just found out. The soldier in him told him it was right to remain behind, wait to heal, find out more information before leaving. But the romantic in him wanted to burst through the South gates and protect Adalia. He couldn’t imagine who the mastermind behind all of this was, Conan or Xander; those were the only senior commanders he knew. His fists punched into his makeshift bed as he let out a loud growl of frustration. He had never felt this useless in his life.

After a labored supper he went to bed. Archer was back in the forest where Novia and Randi’s carriage had been ambushed. He had just gotten there with Adalia. He remembered sending her into the forest to look for his sister, then getting into the fight. Archer looked around as the fight came to life in his mind, he could see everyone there, Doran, Conan, Lionell and Gabrielle but there was one person he didn’t see. The fight was slowly dying down. Adalia, Novi and Randi emerged from the trees. He turned around towards her, and then he saw the look of terror in her eyes. Archer turned around and saw the shadows begin to ripple and coalesce. The dark become man like shape of pure liquid black. He saw the silver sword drawn out, and then felt the pain.

But before he dropped to the ground, he saw the darkness deepen in the man’s eyes. He heard the coldness in his voice as he said. “She’s mine. I win and you lose.”

Archer woke up in a panic. He was drenched in sweat and felt his bandage warm and wet. There was trouble and not knowing the source of it made him frightened. He sat impatiently waiting for the sun to come up. He needed to see Samson; he needed a horse and a handful of men to help him into the South without delay.

“Samson!” he called out once he saw him leave a different hut.

“Your wound,” he pointed at Archer’s side the crimson color of his blood dyed the white bindings. Samson forced him back into the hut. “You need to take care of this. Fiona!” he called out.

“We need to go now,” a horrible dread tugged at him, sinking into his gut and lower.

“We are not going anywhere,” he said in a firm voice. “What happens if your wound gets septic? You will die and you won’t be any good to your girlfriend, family or people.”

“Yes father?” Fiona rushed in.

“Come and redress Arthur’s wound.”

“Yes father.”

Archer sat still as Fiona went about the first aid. He knew how bad it would sting but this time it didn’t bother him. He had other things on his mind that worried him. When the burning started, he made a low growl that was mostly out of anger than it was of pain. He waited for Fiona to leave before taking up the subject with Samson once more.

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing,” he said in a deadly firm growl.

“Well, you have to,” he pushed back with the same ferocity. “Stop thinking like a lovesick puppy and start thinking like a Prince. Start thinking like the future King. If you can’t do that then the rebels are the least of our problems.”

Archer felt helpless. He wasn’t used to getting orders from anyone but his father. He wasn’t used to sitting and doing nothing. He didn’t believe in waiting and letting things unfold, but in striking before they happened. Samson had him on lock down for the rest of the week. He wasn’t allowed to take a walk alone, or near any of the horses and the weapons.

When Fiona and Lola took him out for a walk it was a much-needed change of scenery. He loved being with them, they reminded him of his siblings. He especially liked watching Lola getting into trouble with her mother. It felt like home, but the feeling of nostalgia still followed him around. The North palace and the sound of his mother humming a melody never left him.

“Your wound is already healed,” she said proudly.

“But I still feel a bit stiff and sore,” Archer tried to flex his left arm, but he couldn’t.

“It’s your wing. That I cannot help you with, it will take much longer to heal,” she pointed out.

“I hope I will be able to use it soon,”

Samson’s argument of him not taking action was that he wasn’t well. He needed to get back into the sky as soon as possible. And with a bad arm it meant he was useless with a bow and arrow, but his right hand would still wield a sword.

“Arthur!” he heard Samson call him by his alias.

“That is strange. Papa is never back in the middle of the day.”

“It is strange,” Samson was never home during the day. He was busy trying to get information about the traitor.

Archer ran into the hut behind him a knot of nerves in his throat. “What is it? What is wrong?”

“It’s Gabrielle, he’s sick,” he huffed out. The old man paced about as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “These changes everything.”

Archer paced around the room, his fingers running through his overgrown hair. “What exactly is wrong with him?” His stomach turned. He could imagine the panic the kingdom must be in. He could also feel how scared Adalia would be. She would be forced to marry very soon, and Archer had no doubt in his mind that Xander would volunteer for that job. He needed to get back as soon as possible.

“No one knows. They can’t find a cure,” Samson put his hand on Archer’s shoulder to stop his pacing. “You need to start training. Figure out a way to cope without your wings.”

Archer picked up Samson’s sword and started familiarizing himself with the weapon once more. He looked over at his bow and arrows and he turned into a bundle of nervous nerves.