Miguel advanced along the snow-covered road, his heavy coat billowing in the cold wind as he approached the prison that had been constructed over the past year. The structure, built with bricks and wood, was located in a secluded area of the city, far from the constant traffic and the sound of hammers and saws shaping the new kingdom of Drakmoor. The prison, though simple, was sturdy, designed to house those captured during the second battle that sealed Drakmoor's independence.
The wind whistled around him, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city. Miguel's mind was heavy as he walked, reflecting on all that had happened. Over the past year, many of the prisoners who had fought against him were put to work on the city's construction. It was a decision he made not just out of necessity but also because he believed everyone deserved a second chance. Some of the prisoners, showing remorse and good behavior, had already been released, reintegrating into the civil life of Drakmoor.
As he neared the iron gates of the prison, Miguel could see the guards on duty lining up in respectful positions. He nodded briefly at them, maintaining a steady pace until he reached the inner courtyard. There, the cold seemed even sharper, but Miguel was accustomed to it. The responsibility weighed on his shoulders, but he had never shied away from what needed to be done.
As he passed by the cells, he saw familiar faces, men he had faced in battle, but who now looked at him with a mixture of respect and apprehension. Miguel stopped in front of a more isolated cell, where Erondir, the warrior who had proven to be one of the most formidable enemies, was imprisoned. Erondir, even after months of confinement, remained in a firm posture. His beard had grown dense, as had his hair, but his body remained strong, a testament to the fact that time had not weakened his resolve.
Upon seeing Miguel approach, Erondir slowly rose from where he had been sitting. He crossed the small cell in a few steps, stopping in front of the iron bars that separated them. His eyes, though tired, still shone with the intensity of a man who had never lost the spirit of battle. They stared at each other for a long moment, the sound of the wind outside being the only noise to break the heavy silence between them.
Miguel kept his gaze fixed on Erondir, perceiving the strength and pride that still emanated from him. There was something respectable about this man, something that made him deserving of consideration. He had fought with honor, and even as a prisoner, he had never lost his dignity. The king of Drakmoor knew that the time had come to decide Erondir's fate, and this decision weighed as much as the others he had to make to keep his kingdom standing.
Erondir, for his part, looked at Miguel with a veiled curiosity. He had not expected a visit from the king, especially not after so much time. Words were not necessary at that moment, but the tension between the two men, a king and a prisoner, was palpable. Both knew that the conversation that would follow could once again change the course of their lives.
Erondir, with a relaxed yet still imposing posture, looked at Miguel and said, "You seem well, Miguel. More mature, more... with an air of a king." His voice, still laden with the firmness of a warrior, carried an unexpected tone of admiration.
Miguel smiled slightly, his lips curving in an almost imperceptible but genuine gesture. Beside him, Ricardo and Amelia observed the exchange of words between the two men, each with their own thoughts about this scene that, months before, would have been impossible to imagine.
"I've enjoyed our conversations over the past year," Erondir continued, crossing his arms, without taking his eyes off Miguel. "At first, it was difficult. I confess I didn't expect... well, this." He made a sweeping gesture, referring not just to the prison but to the relationship that had developed between them. The mutual respect had gradually emerged, born from the exchanged words and the shared understanding between two soldiers who, despite their differences, fought for what they believed in.
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Miguel nodded, acknowledging the truth in Erondir's words. "Many of your men have already been released," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Some returned to their families in Ardia, others chose to live here, to start anew in Drakmoor." Miguel paused, reflecting on how those prisoners, who had once been his enemies, now contributed to the construction of his kingdom. "Only a few dozen remain, including you."
Erondir, with an expression that mixed gratitude and surprise, lowered his head slightly in a sign of respect. "I appreciate the treatment you gave my men. I must admit, if it were the other way around... I wouldn't have done the same. I never had to consider such things."
Amelia, who had been observing in silence, intervened with a disdainful smile. "I'm learning many things from my brother, Erondir. But if it were up to me, you and your men would have been hanged long ago." Her voice carried a mix of sincerity and provocation, not hiding the resentment she still felt.
Miguel placed a hand on Amelia's shoulder, a gesture of calm and control. "Relax a bit, sister," he said softly, like someone advising a friend to calm down after an argument. He knew that Amelia was still struggling with her own shadows, but he also recognized that her presence and support were crucial for the new kingdom they were building together.
Erondir let out a short laugh, appreciating Amelia's frankness. "I understand, Amelia. Some time ago, I would have thought exactly like you." He turned to Ricardo, who stood a few steps behind Miguel, but close enough to observe and intervene if necessary.
Ricardo, always observant, made an observation that surprised Erondir. "You are a great swordsman, Erondir. You could serve the forces of the new kingdom of Drakmoor." His voice was firm but carried a genuine invitation, something Erondir did not expect to hear.
The surprise was evident in Erondir's eyes. He frowned, confused. "So, this means... that I will be freed?" He looked directly at Miguel, waiting for confirmation or explanation, still trying to understand the intentions behind that offer.
Miguel remained silent for a moment, looking into Erondir's eyes, letting the doubt hang in the air, while the cold wind outside brought with it the sense that something big was about to change.
---
Erondir sighed deeply upon hearing Miguel’s response, as if an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Miguel, with the serenity of someone who understood the value of freedom, declared that Erondir and the men still under his custody were free to go.
“I thank you,” Erondir said, running his hand through his disheveled, long hair, which had grown considerably during his time in prison.
Miguel nodded to two guards, who immediately opened Erondir’s cell. One of the guards handed him clean clothes, something simple, but that represented a return to the dignity lost during his imprisonment.
Miguel, always attentive to the details that shaped a man’s character, calmly asked, “And now, Erondir? What do you plan to do?”
Erondir sighed again, this time with a mix of relief and sadness. “I’d love to stay… but I have someone waiting for me at home. And some matters to settle in the kingdom… or I did.” His voice carried the weight of someone who had left part of his life in limbo.
Miguel had never questioned Erondir about his personal life during the long conversations they had over the past year. But upon hearing this, a hint of surprise and, in a way, emotion, arose in his heart. “You have a wife, Erondir?”
Erondir nodded with a tired smile. “Yes, and when I was summoned by the king, she was in the last month of pregnancy.”
Miguel took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the situation. “I see… Your family needs you.” He paused for a moment, weighing the words he was about to say. “You are free to go, Erondir. Take care of your family.”
However, before concluding the conversation, Miguel added, looking directly into Erondir’s eyes, “But know that you are welcome to return, whenever you wish. Your family will be received with open arms here.” With these words, Miguel extended his hand to Erondir.
Erondir looked at Miguel, somewhat surprised by the generosity of the gesture, but without hesitation, he accepted the handshake. It was a sign of mutual respect, something that transcended battles and the differences that had separated them.
After that, the guards left, allowing Erondir to change in privacy. Other prisoners were released shortly after, following in Erondir’s footsteps, their faces expressing a mix of gratitude and relief.
Miguel, accompanied by Ricardo and Amélia, walked back to the mansion through the white mantle of snow covering Drakmoor. The cold was biting, but Miguel hardly felt it, lost in his thoughts.
“Do you think it’s right to let them go?” Ricardo asked, the concern in his voice revealing the sense of responsibility that always accompanied him.
Amélia, always direct, added, “They wouldn’t do the same for us, Miguel. Letting these men go could be a mistake.”
Miguel smiled, a smile full of understanding, but also conviction. “I don’t care,” he replied, his voice calm but firm. “I don’t have the right to take away these men’s freedom. Many of them were just following orders… They have families, just like Erondir. And when this war is over, everything here will be shared. There’s nothing to hide.”
With these words, Miguel ended the conversation, making it clear that, to him, humanity and dignity were non-negotiable values, even in times of war.
Later, Miguel was in his office, the warmth of the fireplace bringing a comfort he knew many still didn’t have. With a glass of wine in hand, he sat at the table, his eyes resting on a letter from Elnar, the deer. He took a final sip before opening the letter, preparing himself to read the words of someone who, even from afar, was still a crucial part of his plans for the future of Drakmoor.