Lord Megaran's castle had always been a dark, cold swamp of a place, but was more so now than ever before. The dusk had brought along a mad rain, flooding over the land like a plague and seeping through the thin moulding between the bricks.
Every inch of flooring would rot.
Lord Megaran, however, seemed quite oblivious to the state of his quarters this evening. He stood at the window of his bed chambers, peering out at the raging storm, his hands folded tightly behind his back.
"Have the moats flooded yet?" he asked quietly.
"Not yet, my lord."
He glanced over his shoulder at the armored young man standing in the doorway. His dark, wet hair was plastered to his forehead, hiding one of the pale green eyes. So young...so very young...and yet, so brave.
"You should've fled with the rest of them. I'd turn in my grave before I held it against you."
The knight bowed his head, hand gripping the hilt of his sword, as always. "That was not my oath, my lord. My oath was to protect you, death come if it may."
The lord scoffed at that, "No man should die for an oath, Sayre. It is not enough."
"It is enough for me, my lord."
He heaved a great sigh, tracing the sodden window ledge with his fingertips. "Very well. I suppose you were always the most stubborn of the bunch."
"My lord...perhaps you should seek refuge. The cellars have not flooded either." The knight's voice was quiet, and yet calm. Steady.
"Nonsense! I shan't cower before what comes for me! I will stand and face my demise."
Something slight quirked Sir Sayre's face at that. A smile, if one looked hard enough-though it was difficult to believe, as he was so very serious. "Not if I can help it, my lord."
He sighed again. "If you must, my lad. If you must."
Lightning flashed outside, striking the earth somewhere off in the distance, and the brief luminescence reflected off the knight's polished armor.
"My lord..." Sayre managed, and for once, his voice wavered, "the assassin..."
Megaran's tone was that of a man already defeated. "Yes?"
"He is here."