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Coop written with YLC


Apulia, 1182

A few hours later...

Water is splashed upon the face of the unconscious Markos ek Sinopis, and as he stirs, he is hauled to his feet by two of Helarionas's bodyguards. "Oh, good, he lives. Helarionas will be pleased." Searching for the voice, Markos recognizes the voice from earlier, Chara, dressed in fully battlegear and looking smugly at Markos. "For a mere bureaucrat, you put up quite a fight, I am impressed. Now, if you will follow me, Lord Anargiros wishes to speak with you."

Without a word, Markos shuffles clumsily behind the woman, his expensive armor now teared or nonexistent in many places and covered in blood. Each steps seems harder than the last, yet he manages to stay upright in a slightly hunched position, dragging an injured leg.

Chara seems either to not care or is ignorant of it, and continues on in silence as the group finally makes it back to Helarionas's camp. There, the survivors from both armies are tended to, with both food, rest, medical attention, or in many sad cases, last rites. Markos' wavering attention is brought back by a sharp clearing of the throat by Chara. "M'lord, the command tent - Lord Anagiros awaits you inside."

Inside, Helarionas is speaking to his second in command and Lady Aleksandra sips tea off to one side in a most comfortable chair. "M'lord, if we head south from here, we may gain sanctuary amongst the Sicilians, and it will lead the Basileus farther away from the Venetian front - forcing him to choose."

Helarionas shook his head. "No, no, we must head north! See what assistance we can provide. Also, even if the Venetians are our enemies, there is likely priest among them that would love to-"

Chara yet again clears her throat, an action she has seemingly been growing tired of as lately. When Helarionas and his second turn to look, a warm smile crosses Helarionas's face. "Markos! Good to see you live! I feared you had died! Sit, drink! Chara, find him a physician, he is limping terribly! How are you good man?"

"What is this?" Markos croaks quizzically, his pleasant features now marred by a gruesome laceration across the left jawline. His sole visible eye, also on the left side of his face seems devoid of life, staring into nothingness as the other one is hidden behind a large amount of swelling. His light brown hair now caked in blood and sticking in disarray to his sweaty forehead.

Aleksandra gags on her tea as she caught sight of Markos and spits it out in pain. "Helarionas! Can you not see the poor man is injured! Help him!" Helarionas frowned as Aleksandra got up and lead Markos to her seat. "You are Markos I take it? Is there anything you would wish for right now?" Helarionas smiled at Markos. "Indeed, Aleksandra is right, you deserve whatever rest you can manage - I will have my chef cook you something and you may relax while we discuss your fate. It is poor of me not to treat my guests better."

The injured man sits down, still bewildered but too much in shock to show such emotions. Again, his voice, serious as always, comes out as a rasp. "Are you toying with me Helarionas? You have defeated me, there is nothing more to say save for me to ask you to end my life swiftly."

It is Helarionas' turn to look utterly bewildered. "Markos, what are you talking about, why on earth would I end your life? What point is there to that? I have no quarrel with you. No, I will have no more talk of killing, do not utter a word about it. Eat some food, drink some tea, and rest."

The loser takes a small sip from an offered goblet, his eye perpetually blank. "It's what I deserve is it not? I have brought so many to die today, should I not join them? What is to happen to me if you keep me alive? What purpose will THAT serve." He nearly spits the end of the sentence in disdain.

Helarionas and Aleksandra exchange glances with each other before Helarionas speaks tentatively. "Markos...you do not deserve death for this...if anything, you deserve rewarded. You did only what you saw was the best course of action in the face of a very stubborn man, and you loyal kept your oath to the Empire, and never wavered in your duty, and neither did your own men. You must be commended for your loyalty, honesty, steadfastness and determination, not executed for it."

"And I ask only that you that you return to the Empire and let those in it know of me and Aleksandra, and what my fiancee and I face, what we will do, for our love for each other."

Helarionas walks over and grabs a small stack of papers and hands them to Markos. "Here, these papers will get that fool of a captain on board those ships to transport you. The dead from this battle will go with you, and my army will escort you safely to them. There is enough salt in the ships cargo hold to preserve the bodies so that they make it. You can then set sail back to the Imperium with the rest of your surviving bodyguard, and tell our tale."

Markos grasps the bundle with a bloody hand, while taking another sip. "Perhaps you are the better man after all, Helarionas." While still gloomy, he regains some composure. "Very well, I will do what you ask. I pray that we never meet again, for that would mostly certain mean you have failed." With a wince, the injured man rises and then bows as best he can to the princess, his marred features contorting in a grimace of pain. "My lady." Without another word, Markos drags himself out of the tent and into the hands of the waiting physicians.