Veni, Vidi, Vici

“There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley, but everyone remembered the fateful day that they had arrived.” The muted voice carried over the biting night breeze, Dante sharing a look with his second in command -and trusted friend, Byran- before the knight nodded and turned away to signal to the rest of their troop, who obediently fanned out in order to surround the rebel scum.

Dante caught glimpses of what looked to be a campsite through the dense foliage, the soft glow of embers aiding his sight, assisting his endeavor to make note of how many rebels sat around the smoldering makeshift fire pit.

“They came in gold carriages with fancy clothes and pretty words.” The voice grew louder, tone low and ominous. Dante drew to a halt at the treeline, using the thick trunk of a sturdy oak as a shield against detection. He held up a fist, the gesture mirrored by Byran, who was crouched behind a large bush a few paces away.

Dante slowly leaned around the bulk of the tree, finally getting a proper look at the enemy of the crown, smirking triumphantly when he laid eyes on Alaric de Valois himself. Father will be most pleased when Dante returns with the man’s head.

“They took advantage of the natives, using them to erect a great, looming castle, its existence like a black mark on the Valley. And once they had no more use for the people that they had unfairly enslaved, they forced them from the beautiful land and into the dangerous forest where they dwelled, weak, bitter… plotting.” Alaric seemed entranced by his own tale, staring at the crackling fire with vacant eyes as he spoke, his voice low and severe.

“Then one day, years later, the natives emerged from their unfair banishment. They were coming for their land, for the false King’s head.” Alaric’s gaze rose from the red hot embers that cast his face in ominous shadow and Dante ducked back behind the cover of the wide trunk and waited a few tense moments, but when nothing happened to indicate that he had been spotted, Dante turned to Byran and gave the other man a single sharp nod.

Byran heeded the silent command and carefully straightened to his feet as he retrieved an arrow from his quiver and deftly nocked it with naught a sound, his hands steady as he took aim. Dante tensed, drawing his sword from its sheath, the night humming with anticipation. Byran released the drawstring as Dante erupted from the forest, the whistle of the arrow slicing through the air accompanying the smooth arch of his blade as he cut through the nearest rebel.

The clearing exploded into chaos, the screams of the wounded and the dying drowning out the clash of metal on metal and shouted orders from both sides as more of Dante’s knights flooded out of the treeline. Bodies dropped like puppets with their stings cut, crimson spraying out of horrendous wounds. Blood colored the grass at a rapid pace, black in the moonlight, staining the ground with the mark of death.

The rebels floundered, scurrying for the nearest weapon like the rats they were, and most were shot or cut down before they could arm themselves. But those that did manage to get their hands on a weapon fought fiercely, pushing back with all their strength. Although, it was a losing battle.

Eventually -as Dante had predicted- those that had remained after the initial assault were swiftly executed, their cries turning into wet gurgles before eventually fading into silence. The quiet rang in Dante’s ears as he flicked his wrist, the blood that coated his blade splashing across the stained grass.

“Sire.”

Dante turned his attention to where the call had originated, taking in his loyal right hand. Byran had shrugged his bow onto his back in favor of using his daggers, one of the well-kept blades pressed tightly to the throat of his hostage as he dragged them forward, into the dim ring of firelight.

“It’s over, you’ve lost.” Dante declared with all the certainty that a victor was afforded, amber eyes flickering down to Alaric’s neck as his grip adjusted on the pommel of his blade.

“It’s never over.” Alaric said mildly, as if he were merely stating fact instead of foolishness.

“Any last words, scum?” Dante sneered, ignoring the traitor’s delusional drivel as he stepped closer.

Alaric’s head rose, the smoldering coals lighting his face enough that his expression was visible, and Dante found himself taken aback by the sheer amount of pure contempt in that gaze, the fire in Alaric’s eyes having nothing to do with the red hot coal still dimly burning to Dante’s right.

“I, Alaric de Valois, serve the scorned natives of the Valley that you unfairly enslaved for your own gain. This land is our birthright and we won’t stop until we rid it of your diseased presence.” Alaric vowed before driving his elbow back with ruthless force that had Byran rearing back with a curse, the rebel leader snagging one of the knight's daggers and kicking dirt onto the already struggling coals, plunging them into sudden and complete darkness.

Dante blinked rapidly in order to encourage his eyes to adjust faster as the panicked shouts of his men filled the dark forest. He brought his sword up, squinting into the darkness as he spun in a slow circle in an attempt to locate the cowardly traitor.

A chill crawled up Dante’s spine, prompting him to heed his gut and twist just in time to block the lethal blow, metal sparking as their blades met. Alaric pressed his weight forward, mirroring Dante step for step so he couldn’t put some much needed distance between them. Dante grit his teeth against the steadfast onslaught, scouring his mind for a strategy that would give him the opening he needed.

Ultimately, his opportunity came in the form of a boot to the knee, Dante’s leg buckling under the unexpected assault. He fell to one knee with enough force to bruise, panting at the ground for a moment before raising his head to glare up at Alaric. Although the rebel leader didn’t look very pleased with the humiliating position he had put Dante in, he looked more...resigned.

Neither of them spoke as Alaric stepped closer and pressed his blade to Dante’s throat, the battle sparked anew, raging around them as the climax neared.

Alaric drew his arm back for the killing blow and Dante’s hand darted to his hip, closing around the hilt of his dagger to pull it free. He lunged into a forward roll to dodge the swing, the rebel’s blade singing overhead, before planting his feet and surging upwards to bury the blade hilt-deep into Alaric’s neck.

He heard Alaric’s blade fall from loose fingers and land on the ground behind him with a heavy thud, Alaric coughing wetly, wetting his lips with blood. Dante dragged the dagger from its resting place, stepping back as a flood of black followed the motion.

He noted distantly that he must’ve hit an important vein with how fast the blood was gushing out.

Alaric wavered for a moment before collapsing to the ground, his hands moving up to his neck in a vain attempt to slow the bleeding, but it was of no use. The hot liquid poured from between his fingers with every beat of his heart, his mouth gaping as he choked on the iron coating his throat.

And, with one last wet groan that rattled in his esophagus, Alaric’s twitching body finally fell still, his muscles relaxing as his eyes glazed over in death. Dante heaved a relieved breath as his men erupted into cheers of triumph, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent forest where the mutinous scum used to dwell.

It was over.

+++

“I didn’t have the time to congratulate you earlier, sire. So allow me to give you my compliments now.” Byran stated as he leaned closer, a subdued grin ticking up the corner of his mouth, and Dante chuckled as he waved away the servant who had been refilling his goblet.

“I appreciate your praise, Byran. But between you and I, it wasn’t much of a challenge.” Dante admitted fondly as he picked up his cup, taking a sip only to be surprised when his taste buds picked up on the light and fruity tones of wine rather than the familiar spiced sweetness of mead that he had expected. Looking down only confirmed the fact that his beverage of choice had been replaced by his father’s preferred liquor, which meant that he was preparing for a speech.

He and Byran shared a knowing look before Dante turned his eyes onto his father, who had pushed to his feet with his embellished golden chalice in one hand and an equally shiny silver knife in the other. He tapped the back of the utensil against the rim in order to signal the room to quiet, a wordless order that was followed with a swiftness that never failed to impress Dante.

“A toast! To my second-born, Dante Dragon, for single-handedly putting an end to the rebellion!” His father declared, delicately setting the knife back onto the table beside his plate, before raising his cup. “His death will bring a new age of prosperity onto the Dragon name!” He boasted, his proud voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the dining hall.

Father proceeded to raise his goblet in a dramatic salute with his chin held high, the beverage sloshing enough that a bit of the dark liquid spilled over the side and dripped onto the pristine cuff of his father’s shirt. “May our reign be endless!” He roared and the previously respectfully silent crowd bursting into applause and cheering as his father brought his goblet to his lips, Dante himself and his three other siblings following suit.

Dante finished his cup in three huge gulps, eager to get back to guzzling mead, and spotted Ivar giving him a disappointed frown from his peripheral vision as his older brother took modest sips from his own identical goblet. He ignored Ivar in favor of engaging Byran in hushed conversation, watching as his friend’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink as the night progressed.

It wasn’t long before Dante and Byran were dismissed from the festivities by his father with strict orders to go straight to his chambers. They leaned onto each other as they stumbled through the stone halls, the two giggling every time either of them tripped or bumped into a wall.

Between one blink and the next, Dante was suddenly in front of his chamber door watching with half-lidded eyes as Byran fumbled with the handle before pulling the obstruction open.

Then he was falling, his eyes snapping open -making him wonder when he’d even closed them- as he flailed to try and catch himself. However, the movement seemed to be hardly necessary since he just landed on something soft and comfortable, his body bouncing a little and making him let out an elated laugh.

“Stop that.” Byran demanded as he wrestled Dante under the covers, ignoring his clumsy attempts at recreating the bounce that had delighted him so. Dante let out a reluctant huff of air and obediently settled under the heavy blankets, keeping track of Byran’s blurry figure as his friend rounded the bed in order to pull the drapes closed.

From there his friend moved toward the wardrobe and hauled out the extra cot -that they kept for situations such as this- beginning to pile any pillows and blankets that weren’t on Dante’s bed onto the stiff fabric. Dante sat up, leveling his ridiculous friend with an incredulous look. “Surely you’re not intending to sleep there, Byran? My bed is big enough for four men far broader in the shoulders than you.”

“We have not shared since boyhood, Dante.” Byran reminded him gently as he continued fussing with his cot, dutifully fluffing one of the throw pillows that he’d stolen from the lounge.

“I do not mind, in fact, I encourage it. You are akin to my very own personal hearth, I'll have you know.” Dante persisted, shifting back to create space for his friend before sloppily patting the empty space that he used to occupy in a way that he hoped was enticing.

"If you insist.” Byran murmured just loud enough for Dante to hear as he seemed to give up on sleeping on the cot, instead transferring the blankets that he’d been struggling with onto the lounge to clean up the next morning.

“Goodnight, dear friend of mine.” Dante hummed as he rolled over, putting his back to Byran as he closed his eyes. He was already well on his way to sleep when Byran’s soft voice registered in his barely conscious state.

“Likewise, Dante.”

+++

“Good morning, Dante. The day awaits.” Byran declared cheerily before Dante’s inside of his eyelids were lit up a bright orange by the sunlight suddenly flooding into his private chambers. He rolled over with a groan and went to pull the covers over his head, though his attempt to fall back into blissful slumber was thwarted by Byran, who grabbed the thick blanket and pulled it down until Dante was laid bare to the open air.

“I’m going to have you hanged.” Dante muttered petulantly, his empty threat being met with an absentminded hum from Byran as he bustled about the room to collect articles of clothing and a comb. By the time his friend had completed his self-appointed mission of gathering all of the necessary items, Dante was wide awake and sitting at the edge of his bed as he patiently waited for Byran to return.

They moved around each other with a familiarity and ease only gained from growing up together, their combined efforts making their task of getting Dante presentable less time consuming. And soon enough, Dante was exiting his chambers, the ever faithful Byran on his heels as they moved through the busy halls of the castle.

“What are my duties today?” Dante asked, stepping to the side in order to let a servant with a laundry basket pass, his shift in position causing him to bump shoulders with Byran as they walked. His friend seemed to consider his question, eyes darting up to the ceiling in thought before he replied.

“King Dragon is holding a meeting at midday to strategize, you are expected to make an appearance.” Byran dutifully relayed as they turned a corner, his friend throwing an arm across Dante’s chest in order to halt their progress as several knights marched by.

“Lovely. Nothing quite like listening to a bunch of old men bicker about who’s tactics worked the best back when they were in charge.” Dante complained mildly as they began walking again, Byran trotting slightly ahead in order to open the door for him before following him out into the extravagant courtyard and reclaiming his spot at Dante’s side.

“They are trusted advisors to the King.” Byran neither confirmed nor denied Dante’s comment and the blatant avoidance made Dante’s lips stretch into a triumphant grin. However, the hilarity of the statement soon faded as Dante was once again reminded that they were in the middle of a war, started by petty invaders who claimed that the place that provided Dante and his family with protection and the means to thrive and grow was theirs by some misconceived notion.

He grew up here, this was his home, and he wasn’t about to give it up so easily.

“Times have changed and so have our enemies, what worked when they were on the battlefield won’t be enough. These disrespectful rodents are far more cunning than any who have made an attempt on the crown before them and twice as desperate.” Dante growled, staring out at the vivid sea of flowers that were carefully maintained by attentive servants. Byran didn’t say anything for a long moment, allowing Dante to calm himself before offering his counsel.

“So what are you going to suggest?” Byran asked as they approached the next set of doors, his friend once again pushed ahead in order to open it for them, letting Dante step through before closing it behind them and leading the way to the war room.

“Why are you assuming that I’m going to speak out during council?” Dante blurted incredulously as he stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face his friend with a raised brow, who mirrored his movements. They stared at each other for a long moment before Byran cracked a smile, his amusement contagious enough to have Dante grinning like a fool as well.

“With all due respect, I have known you long enough to be certain that you will eventually lose your temper with them all.” Byran replied brazenly before taking Dante’s elbow, wordlessly prompting him to continue walking again.

“I find that I cannot fault your words, my friend.” Dante chuckled as he heeded Byran’s silent command, his friend letting go of his arm once it was clear that he was doing as Byran wished. “I intend to propose that we find and assassinate their leader. They may be large in number but if we take out the man controlling it all, I am confident that those that remain will scatter back to their forest to lick their wounds.”

“Alaric de Valois is not an easy man to find and, even if you did, he will be guarded.” Byran stated bluntly and Dante couldn’t repress a smile, his friend was never one to manipulate the truth, no matter how unpleasant.

Dante quickly glanced around -checking to see if anyone seemed interested in the two of them or their conversation- before leaning in closer to Byran, their heads tipping together as he spoke so low that his words would only be for his friend if anyone did happen to be listening in.

“I have on good word that they have made camp behind enemy lines. I intend to gather my men and stage an ambush that is sure to bring an end to the rebellion.” Dante whispered and found himself unsurprised when Byran made no outward indication that he had just heard some very sensitive information that, if utilized properly, could easily win them the war.

They slowed down as they came up on the ornate doors that marked the war room, a symbol of their family and their power. Although, something about those serpentine creatures never failed to make Dante uneasy. He always felt like the golden dragons curling across the stained wood were watching him, their beady ruby eyes boring into his very soul.

He felt the tension that always consumed him when he saw the war room release once he had passed through the threshold, though inside the room wasn’t much better. There was constant noise as everyone in the room tried to talk over each other, his father at the center of it all, standing stoically at the head of the table as he stared down at the maps of the Valley.

At the sound of the doors closing behind himself and Byran, the room fell into silence, all eyes turning to Dante as he scrutinized the old, out of touch advisors that his father seemed insistent on keeping around. Ivar straightened in his seat, his dark eyes settling on Dante in a manner that reminded him of the dragons on the door.

“Father. I come with great news.” Dante declared, taking a few steps inside before stopping at a respectable distance. His father’s gaze rose from the map that he had been marking, pinning Dante to the spot with his intense stare before he gave a single sharp nod signaling Dante to continue. “I believe I have found a way to cut down the rebellion at the source.” Dante announced, to the shock of what looked like the entire room, including Ivar.

“You have found Alaric de Valois?” Ivar demanded, leaning forward in his seat with narrowed eyes.

“Yes.” Dante confirmed curtly before directing his attention back to the man that sat at the head of the table. “Father, if you’ll allow me to take my men, we could stage an ambush-”

“No.” His father denied and everything seemed to freeze for a moment, the abrupt stillness shattering when Dante stalked up to the table, slamming his palms down onto the waxed surface.

“Tell me, do any of you have a better plan to impart to the council?” Dante challenged, gaze sweeping over his father’s advisors, each and every one of them averting their eyes like the cowards they were.

“Dante.” His father barked, drawing said prince’s furious glare to his person.

“I am giving you a sound strategy!” Dante growled, unable to believe what he was hearing. His father hadn’t even let him finish proposing his solution, which wasn’t all that unusual if it were a matter of the court, but this was about the fate of their people.

“Enough!” His father roared, his great booming voice reverberating through the room, leaving a tense silence in its wake.

“Is that an order?” Dante asked, tone arctic.

“Yes.” His father snapped and Dante promptly turned on his heel, storming toward the doors that he had entered through.

“Where do you think you are going?” Ivar called out, tone colored with disbelief.

“I have no patience for those who do not listen to reason.” Dante sneered, not even bothering to pause or turn to look back as he responded.

“You-” Ivar started, probably intending to go on a tirade about priority while in the presence of the King.

“Ivar, leave it.” His father commanded and Ivar obediently fell silent, which only rankled that much more. It didn’t matter who would make the better king, Ivar was the eldest and compliant to father’s every order, that was the only reason he was to be crowned. Ivar didn’t care about their subjects, he cared about what was best for the court.

“Dante.” Byran murmured, catching the prince’s arm as soon as they were away from prying eyes. The stiff line of Dante’s shoulder’s dropped as he slowed his furious stride, allowing Byran to rein him in.

“I know. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I apologize.” Dante sighed, unresistant as his considerate friend guided him to a shadowed corner, using his body as a shield between the prince and the rest of the castle.

“I have no need for your apologies, sire. Your plan was a good one.” Byran hummed, voice lowered to reduce the risk of others being privy to their private conversation. Dante followed his example, volume dropped to a mere whisper.

“Which is exactly why I still intend to carry it out.” Dante revealed and Byran nodded, like he had expected such a venture.

“I figured as much. How are we to leave the castle grounds?” Byran inquired, head tilting.

“Uh… any suggestions?” Dante asked hopefully, prompting a brief huff of laughter from Byran before his features smoothed out into something contemplative, expression brightening after a moment.

“We could go out under the guise of a patrol. If anyone questions you, merely say that the King ordered your personal guard to be doubled due to the war.” Byran looked mighty pleased with himself, as he should considering that it was an impressive scheme.

“Have I told you that you are the most incredible friend that I could possibly ask for lately?” Dante questioned lightly, a hopelessly fond smile blooming on his face.

“Just last night, actually. But hearing it again is pleasant.” Byran shrugged, though he was grinning like the mad man that he was.

“Then I shall tell you for as long as we both shall live.” Dante stated, nudging Byran backward so he could slip out from behind his friend’s considerable bulk, snagging Byran’s wrist before starting down the hall.

“I would appreciate that.” Byran chuckled, easily keeping pace with Dante, his pleased smile blinding.

+++

“I know that Alaric said to stoke the fires to burn bright, but is that not giving away our position?” The muted voice carried over the biting night breeze, Dante sharing a look with his second in command -and trusted friend, Byran- before the knight nodded and turned away to signal to the rest of their scouting party, who obediently fanned out in order to surround the rebel scum.

Dante caught glimpses of what looked to be a campsite through the dense foliage, the soft glow of embers aiding his sight, assisting his endeavor to make note of how many rebels sat around the smoldering makeshift fire pit.

“Alaric knows what he’s doing.” The voices grew louder, signaling that they were nearly upon the enemy. Dante drew to a halt at the treeline, using the thick trunk of a sturdy oak as a shield against detection. He held up a fist, the gesture mirrored by Byran, who was crouched behind a large bush a few paces away.

“For all of our sakes, I hope you are right.” The other man responded before the tap of wood hitting wood rang out, implying that the two rebels had gone back to the task at hand.

Dante turned to give Byran a single sharp nod and the knight heeded the silent command, carefully straightening to his feet as he retrieved an arrow from his quiver and deftly nocked it with naught a sound, his hands steady as he took aim. Dante tensed, drawing his sword from its sheath, the night humming with anticipation.

“Stand down.”

The voice came from behind them and Dante watched as Byran froze when a sword tapped against Dante’s throat, the sharp metal nicking the vulnerable skin of his neck. Byran didn’t wait for instruction, he didn’t have to since he had grown up being told that the prince’s safety came before everything else, even winning a war. His friend obediently set his bow and quiver onto the ground before slowly stepping away from his weapons.

“The daggers as well.” The voice demanded and Dante frowned as Byran’s face screwed up in a mix of anger and confusion. The daggers were carefully hidden, so the man at his back shouldn’t have known of their existence. When Byran didn’t move right away, the pressure of the blade on Dante’s neck increased until he let out an involuntary hiss, causing Byran to snatch his daggers off of his person and throw them with the rest of his supplies like they were on fire.

“Good. Your highness.” The unsaid order made Dante bristle, body tensing despite the precarious situation. “I have three archers ready to riddle your friend with arrows if you try anything.” The threat stopped any thoughts of retaliation, ice crawling through his limbs as he hastily released his blade before retrieving his knife and tossing them to join Byran’s discarded weapons.

As soon as they were unarmed, more rebels stepped out from behind trees. They apprehended Dante and his men, their hands bound behind their backs before they were dragged out into the clearing. Dante was manhandled into a tent, Alaric stepping in behind him before waving off the other rebels, who heeded the command and left their leader to his own devices.

“What do you want?” Dante spat, shifting in his restraints, trying to loosen the ropes.

“What I want is for this war to be over.” Alaric stated simply, hands clasped behind his back.

“Then surrender and I’ll consider letting you live.” Dante grunted, eyes narrowing when Alaric shook his head.

“No. You misunderstand me. The crown winning is what allows the war to continue.” Alaric explained morosely, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I don’t follow.” Dante blurted before he could think better of it.

“The Valley is cursed. Every single living creature on this land is reliving the same day over and over again in an unbreakable loop.” Alaric divulged, a grim sort of amusement overtaking his worn features when Dante scoffed. “You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I? You’re the enemy.” Dante bit out, pointedly adjusting to bring attention to the chafing rope that kept him more or less immobile.

“Okay. Then how did I know you were coming? Or how could I have possibly known where you were positioned or how many men you brought? What about the hidden daggers? How did I know you both had them?” Alaric challenged, gesturing to Dante’s person, who stubbornly stayed silent. “Precisely. It’s because I remember the last time we met, yesterday.”

“I’ve never met you before.” Dante objected, blinking in confusion.

“You have, many times, though you wouldn’t remember because of Godric.” Alaric insisted.

“My father? What does he have to do with this?” Dante asked despite knowing it was better to keep quiet, this man was clearly ill in the mind, but he would be lying if he wasn’t interested in what Alaric had to say. Perhaps he would slip up and give away valuable information?

“Everything!” Alaric lurched into movement with the outburst, restlessly pacing the length of his tent. “He’s the reason we’re trapped in this cycle to begin with! His greed and need for power is a rot in the Valley, this is just the cure. He loses, giving up the throne and his claim to the land, the curse is broken. We’ll all be free.”

“You know, I expected some desperate strategies from rebel scum such as yourself, but I have to say that this is a new low. Time loops? Curses? You’re mad if you think for one second that I believe you.” Dante rolled his eyes, settling back in his chair with an air of disbelief.

Alaric whirled where he stood, brandishing a finger at the prince’s chest. “If he wins this battle, your father will throw a feast to celebrate vanquishing the uprising. You want the truth? Don’t drink the wine.”