He stood still for what had to be years. His eyes remained transfixed on the slowly rotting corpses of his parents in front of him. The knife he had held within his hands had fallen loose, clattering to the ground and splashing in the puddle of blood which had long since seeped through the leather shoes that Argo was wearing. His eyes stung, red, unblinking. 

This was how they eventually found Argo. It was midmorning and both Cinn and Iri had been nervous as Argo had not come down. After pestering their parents all morning Wren had finally decided to make the trek up the mountain. He had come up the hill to speak to Firan and Wyn about the letter he had read the day before, and the council's response to it. Yet as he passed through the house doorframe he was instantly aware that something was wrong. Moments later he found Argo, kneeling, tears streaming down his air dry eyes. His pants were crusted in dry blood, a knife by his side and the two headless corpses of his parents in front of him.

“Wyn…” He could hardly speak, his throat closed in on itself, what had happened here? He knelt down, touching her body lightly. Argo hissed manically and scrambled to the side to pick up the knife he had dropped. He could see Wren, he could put together his identity and their relationship. Yet that failed to compute in his brain, in that moment, in that small house atop the closest mountain to Riverfell, Argo was an animal, protecting the last dregs of his hope in the world. “Argo?” Wren’s voice was faint, fainter than he had ever heard it. It was dripping with sorrow, pity, grief. “What happened here, Argo.” His voice was comforting, warm. Argo let the tension that was building up within him start to fade. Perhaps he could rest. He looked towards Wren, letting his mind forget the sight rotting in front of him.

He collapsed.

* * *

Beige. That was the colour of the roof in the room where Argo awoke. Fitting, a neutral, just as his mind. One might think that following such a sight, such a night he would be found an inconsolable wreck. That, however, was far from the case. He sat up in the bed on which he lay, he didn’t question how he had gotten there. It was simply where he was. To his side, on a wooden bedside table, sat a simple glass of water which had reached up to about half the cup's height. He took it, taking slow, simple sips. They ran down his throat with a slight sting of pain, and the absolute relief which followed as said pain faded.

The door creaked open, a face peering in towards Argo. The dim light of the lamp fire above cast down rays of orange onto their darkened face. It was Iri, she walked in, quietly and came to his bedside table. “Ar?” Her voice was quiet and careful, treating him as if he were someone who had been broken. Why was that? He simply was. Yet those thoughts felt disingenuous even to himself. At a deeper level he was broken, why wasn’t he feeling anything? Had he even loved his parents to begin with? He must not have, a son who loved their parents wouldn’t have let their killer escape. 

“Yes?” He turned his head as if it were on an axle to face her. Her face was pale, far too pale to have been from Riverfell. Her brown eyes shook as she looked at him, quivering in her skull.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine.” He cut her off. He couldn’t handle her finishing the question. So he answered, a simple, clean and obvious lie. She saw it in his face, but it was clear enough from the way that his hands tightly gripped the sheets which lay overtop him that she should not ask him that question again. 

“Do you need anything?” He glanced over towards his mostly finished water.

“Another glass please.”

“Okay.” She nodded, taking the glass and running off. He was left alone again, in that room. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness of his eyelids shield him from his thoughts.

* * *

He was running side by side with Tristan and Dela over the walls of one of the great kingdom's capitals. A dragon approached, big, red, covered in scales as hard as the bedrock of a mountain. He wore simple armour, a leather tunic thick enough to stop an arrow but not much more. Tristan wore his knightly armour, plate from head to toe whereas Dela wore none, simply with her cloak on her back. All three held some form of weapon in their hand, Argo held a crossbow, his sword hilted to his side. Tristan a great sword and Dela two knives.

“Tristan!” Argo called out. “I’ll get it’s wing. You go for the head.”

“Got it Ar! Dela, come back me up.” She grunted in the affirmative and the three were off. This was everything Argo had ever wanted. He knocked an arrow into the string of his crossbow and pulled it back. He held it in place, waiting. The dragon flew past the tower of the palace, knocking it in half and sending stones tumbling below. Just a moment longer. Tristan and Dela continued to sprint along the wall, getting closer and closer to the dragon. Now!

He pulled the crossbow’s trigger and a bolt shot forward towards the hulking dragon, spearing it through the wing and sending it crashing into the wall. Argo dropped his bow and pulled out his sword, rushing after the pair. He arrived to see them standing in front of the dragon.

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you attacking it?” His vision flashed, forcing him to blink. He looked forward, the dragon was gone, a man wearing a blue striped mask in its place. Tristan looked towards him, eyes bleeding.

“Why didn’t you take revenge for us Ar?” He spoke with the voice of his father, twisted, changed. 

“Why Ar? Why didn’t you fight him.” Dela spoke with the voice of his mother. A moment later the man behind them ripped both their heads from their body, blood began to leak from the open wound like a faucet.

“Why…”

* * *

He woke up in a cold sweat, water trailing down his forehead. Iri and Cinn sat by his side, watching him with worried eyes. Had he been speaking in his sleep? They seemed to relax as they saw him awake, and he let his eyes close once again before he turned to face the beige ceiling. What day was it now? How long had he been out? Argo truly had no clue.

He could hear a hushed conversation from just outside of the door, however, he let the words die on his ears, why should he listen to them? Why should he do anything? “Where am I?” He croaked, his dry throat cracking. He sat up and looked to his side. Both Iri and Cinn looked at him with such sad eyes. He grabbed the water which sat on the bedside table and took a sip.

“My home,” Iri spoke slowly. She was being careful, Argo could see that, see her care, but still, the mention of a home hurt. He was thrown back to his failure. Maybe if he had stayed he could have helped, his dad had been helping train him after all.

“How long?” Iri looked at him slightly confused, Cinn understood what he meant.

“You’ve been here for four days.” He paused and they shared a glance. They had something they needed to tell him. It couldn’t be worse than what he’d been through, why were they hesitating? “Ar…” He faded into silence, looking down at his clenched hands on his lap.

“The council has requested your presence for when you wake up.” Of course. Those bastards would need information on what happened. They wouldn’t care about his pain, his grief. They simply cared that Riverfell no longer had two strong guardians, their settlement was unguarded, save for a freshly traumatised Argo and what little fight he would be able to hold up against any intruders.

“Okay. Tell them they can come.” He took another sip from the water, letting the cold flood over the fire of his anger.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He replied to Iri. He was being cold to them, he didn’t mean to be, but it was all he could do not to let his emotions fall down upon him.

“Okay.” The two stood up and moved out of the room. The conversation outside the room seemed to stop as they entered. A moment later three people walked into the room. Each had a simple badge on their chest, denoting them as a member of the council.

“It is nice to see you awake and well Argo.” One of them, a man who was in his sixties spoke as he rounded to the side of the bed. A fake smile plastered on his face. “I must extend the greatest of apologies on behalf of the council. What occurred truly was a tragedy.”

“A tragedy indeed.” One of them hurried to add.

“But, we must have some information, that I believe only you could have.” The first man continued, his fingers interlocked infront of him, as he looked down on where Argo lay. “What exactly happened up there?”

“My parents died.”

“Yes.” A third one said, a slight twitch in the corner of his eyes. “But how, who did it? Firan and Wyn were some of the strongest people in the unclaimed east.” He paused, and before he could continue the first man began again.

“You see, we simply don’t believe it possible that they were killed by some random bandit.” He reached into a bag on his hip.

“It simply isn’t possible.” The second man added.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. A man in a striped blue, white mask claimed he had killed them in revenge.”

“Yes. Well, that is what you claim.” The second man, who had so far only echoed the words of the first spoke, a sneer on his face. Argo had to remind himself that there had been a reason why his father had left the council. Why Wren hadn’t even lasted a day before his resignation. 

“You see.” The first began again, an expression reminiscent of a smile forming on his crooked face. “We found this knife inside, coated in blood.” He pulled out his father's knife, the ancient runes had been stained red with the blood of his parents. His grip tightened on the sheets of his bed, what were these men getting out of interrogating him like this? “Wren says it was by your side. Could it possibly be the case that you were the one to attack your parents?” What.

“Yes, it only makes sense that you would.” The weasel of a second council member spoke, hiding in the shadow of the first. 

“How… How dare you.” Tears began to well in the corner of Argo’s eyes. His fists clenched, nails stabbing through the fabric of his bed sheets. He bit down on his lip, attempting to get his rapidly beating heart under control. “How-”

“So then explain Argo, son of Firan. How exactly did they die? These two were powerful enough to face off against entire coalitions of bandits by themselves, how did they meet their end.” Argo opened his mouth to respond but was swiftly cut off by the first man again. “That is unless they were taken unawares by someone who they trusted wholeheartedly.” Argo felt his blood begin to boil. These men had already thought him guilty. His parents were dead. He was alone. The fire of the lamp above began to flicker. “Argo answer us this. Why did you kill your parents.”

He launched forward, grabbing the man by the collar and punching him square in the face. The scrawny face of the man who only mimicked widened in shock whilst the third man stood still for just a moment. The first man, now with blood dripping out of his nose screamed out, but Argo didn’t stop. He brought his head back and smashed it hard into the face of the council member. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the floor unconscious. Five people rushed through the door, two of them were farmers that Argo had seen on occasion in town. Both were geared, one with a pitchfork and the other a hoe. They rushed towards the body of the fallen council member. Wren, Cinn and Iri rushed in behind them, heading to Argo’s side whilst the weasel hid behind the farmers.
“Cease him!” The third council member ordered. “On charges of assault and murder.”

“Murder?” Wren scoffed, his gruff voice booming. Iri and Cinn looked at Argo before moving between him and the two armed farmers. “Of who? Don’t be an idiot Kazar. Finton is perfectly fine.”

“Not him Wren. His parents, the boy killed them.”

“Oh, that’s just outrageous.” The accent that Wren seemed to hold pride in maintaining faded, his voice becoming more like one who was born within the unclaimed easter. He stared down the council member known as Kazar, a muscle on his neck twitched.

“Oh really? Just how did they die then? You know better than anyone else how powerful they are. You were there in the battle of Crinton Hill.” Wren paused for a moment, doubt flashing on his face, the doubt vanished nearly instantly.

“You don’t really think them immortal, do you? You never did pay their words mind, there is always someone stronger. And you have got to be out of your god damned mind if you think I will let you take the boy off to the hole you call a prison.”

“You don’t really have a choice, Wren.” The farmers approached, weapons held. Their faces gave away that they didn’t want to do this. So why were they? “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your daughter, to your wife would you?” His words were so kind yet the look in his eyes gave away the threat laced within every word. “This boy has robbed our village of its protectors. He will be made to pay for it.”

“Dad, please.” Iri turned to her father.

“Everything will be fine Iri.” He looked at her before turning back to the farmers. “Kazar, you and me both know that your words do not hold against me.”

“Nonsense. Now go you two, restrain the boy.”

“Iri?” He turned back, a look equal parts resigned and determined on his face. “Take him and run.”

“But dad?”

“I’ll be fine hun. No need ta worry bout me.” His accent slipped back as he tried to reassure his daughter. “Now go. I’m sure you kids got someplace ta hideout.” She nodded, resolute as they ran towards the door. The farmers tried to block their path but Wren dived on them, taking them to the ground. The weasel of a council member screamed out and Kazar hushed him.

“This was a stupid move, Wren. Even for you. Seize him.” Any further words were lost on Argo’s ears as they ran through the town towards the mountain.