The Madness of Athos

"STOP!" Exeter commanded, his voice cutting through the screams like thunder.

Athos froze and jerked round to stare at his prince with baleful eyes. "You command me stop? Are you in league with them then, with the filthy beasts who tore my Sparta apart?!"

"These people are blameless in her death, Athos," Exeter replied quietly, stepping closer and lowering his sword. "Sparta died in an attack from the plains riders. No one here had a hand in her death. Now lay down your sword and becalm yourself."

"No! You filthy lying dog!" Athos shouted. "YOU are to blame!" And with that Athos came at his lord, his blood drenched sword ready for the kill.

Prince Exeter had no taste for this fight. Athos was one of his own, a friend and comrade-in-arms. But Athos was filled with madness, a madness Exeter had seen so much of already. A madness that had swept across all the lands of the north, soaking the fields in blood, smothering the cities in the stench of burning bodies. And now it was here, within his own camp.

"DIE!" Athos screamed, swinging his sword at Exeter again and again. The prince deftly blocked each blow but did not return with any of his own. He did not wish to kill this man who was his friend.

But Athos' fury would not be glutted except with the death of his enemies and to his maddened eyes all were now his enemy. And Athos was not unskilled in the use of the sword, his attacks against Exeter were more than proof of that. Sooner or later Athos would score a lethal hit if Exeter did not do more than just parry and shield. Exeter knew this, but still he stayed his hand and sought for a way to subdue his addled knight without killing him.

As the ferocity of Athos' attack grew greater and his thrusts and swings more deadly, Exeter grew more desperate. He backed away, circled around, and retreated when he could, but eventurally he found himself trapped in a corner. Now there was no choice but to kill or be killed. And though bitter it was Exeter fought back as he knew he must.

Athos choked back a scream as Exeter's blade dug deep into his belly. His eyes protruded from his face in shock and pain. He dropped his sword and crumpled onto the floor. Staring up at the man who had killed him, his last words were, "...why, my prince? why did you murder me...." And then he breathed his last.

1. Exeter slumped to the ground, his heart dark with grief

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