---WOODROW---

Woodrow followed Harlan outside the village of Kent, leaving the crackling fire and the sounds of merrymaking.

He was amused by the fact that a person like Agate liked a particular type of flower. Woodrow guessed her favorite things were shields and spears and strong ale. He was also equally surprised that Harlan nurtured that particular flower to placate her moods. It was a sweet gesture.

They walked a couple of ways off the path, the torches that hung throughout the border wall still casting their faint light. Harlan parted some bushes a few ways away from the dark forest. He bent down and plucked a handful of white lilies. He held it out to Woodrow for inspection.

Woodrow approved. They looked well-cared for, not a petal wilting.

“I am nervous,” Harlan said, looking down at the flowers and gulping. He breathed and exhaled. His toned body was stiff with nervousness, this tall strong man. “We were childhood friends. Well, most of us in the village are. But I thought me and Agate were closer than the rest. Then things got odd when we grew older and I towered over her. She did not need to defend me anymore. Back when we were little, I was clumsy with the spear, you see. But I eventually learned how to use it properly with training. And I thought now I could do the same for her. Now that I am stronger. I just wanted to protect her. But she doesn’t want to be protected.”

“Why not tell her this yourself?”

“I tried. I couldn’t find the right words. And now she sees me as a threat to her authority.”

“Well, you did settle the terms of the challenge.”

“I was doing it for her!” Harlan said, frustrated. “But I said it all wrong. We got into a heated argument and I just said 'fine, then be my wife and we can rule the place together'.” Harlan slapped his face and groaned. “I was so stupid. I wanted to take it back but she was furious, so I had to let her cool off a bit. And then there was the funeral, and the direwolf, and the bandits…”

Woodrow sympathized. “It’s not that difficult. Approach her slowly. Now’s your chance while she’s… receptive.”

Woodrow can usually perceive the emotions of people accurately. He wasn’t sure if he was built with that or given to him by his dark rebirth. Harlan seemed genuine, but then again, Woodrow was weak. Harlan was unsure, but Woodrow could tell he was gathering his resolve and forming his thoughts.

“Take courage, man, and simply speak the truth. Here, practice on me if you have to.”

Woodrow meant it as a joke, to ease the situation, but Harlan swallowed and nodded. He met Woodrow’s eyes and opened his mouth, not finding it strange to be doing this with Woodrow, and Woodrow decided that he liked Harlan. There was a simplicity to him; he seemed genuine enough with his motives. He was like a boy in a grown man’s body; eager, easily hurt, but still needed guidance.

“Agate, I have admired you since we were little," he began. "I was so stupid to have said what I said. It was me being caught off guard... and from the pressure of everything. From losing your father, from the men, and with the direwolf roaming around, and the bandits, and it just came out without meaning to. I just want you to know that I will never challenge your authority--well, unless it's really, really important and that I will follow you wherever you go. I apologize for everything and I should have done more to let you feel that.”

“Harlan, that was perfect,” Woodrow said.

It touched Woodrow, this confession. Suddenly, his senses became murky. The sounds of merrymaking disappeared, replaced by Harlan’s strong heartbeat beating in his chest, pulsing in his neck. “F-follow with some pleasant words if she accepts the flowers,” Woodrow said distractedly. He tried to ground himself in this scene with Harlan. Woodrow took the lilies from Harlan and smelled them dramatically. He blinked rapidly at Harlan, acting.

Harlan coughed. “I… think of you often when I am alone and wonder how you must be handling all these. If you would allow it, let me be your confidante, just like how we used to talk when we were younger. I would never betray your confidence.”

“More,” Wilbur encouraged. “This is the part where you tell her what you like about her. If she allows it. Stop if she does not.”

“I like how you take care of Jerome and the rest. I like how graceful you are in battle. I like how stubborn you are. It’s just that sometimes, I worry that your stubbornness could lead to your death. Like your stunt with the shield. I like your leadership, your voice, your hands. I like how neat your hair looks, and I like you… but please, you have to believe that there are friends in your corner who want to take care of you, too.”

Harlan’s face began to lose its intensity as he spoke. He blinked slowly, his speech becoming toneless. He did not realize that he was grabbing Woodrow’s face. They both did not realize they were breathing hard. Woodrow had dropped the lilies, white petals falling on the ground. His fangs had sharpened and Harlan blinked as Woodrow spoke.

“More, tell me more,” Woodrow said dreamily. “Fill my ears with your desires, sweet Harlan.”

Harlan did not notice that Woodrow’s eyes glowed green. Woodrow was not aware when he moved Harlan’s hands from his cheek to his lips, kissing one finger and bring his strong hand behind his neck. Woodrow placed his arms on Harlan’s neck and kissed his nose.

“I desire… you…” Harlan said, eyes unseeing. His head was swaying and his body was rooted to the ground.

Woodrow opened his mouth and bit into the soft skin of Harlan’s neck and there the sweetness, the boldness, and the heat of Harlan’s desire flowed from his body onto Woodrow’s. Harlan closed his eyes and murmured, grabbing hold of Woodrow’s back. He fell to the ground as Woodrow cradled him. The lean monk carrying a tree. Harlan closed his eyes, dropping his hands finally as Woodrow kept draining him of his desire. And Woodrow… Woodrow was lost to both his appetites.

The only thing that stopped him was the glowing yellow eyes that stared back at him on the mountain path when he looked up, eyes big as saucers.

Woodrow gasped and was shaken back from his drunken-like state. Without thinking, he threw his dagger at one of the great direwolf’s eyes, but a branch blocked it. Harlan fell to the ground, groaning. Woodrow saw his bite marks and called for help. The direwolf winced and growled just as Woodrow snatched his dagger back.

The wolf was about to pounce when the scouts from nearby shot arrows at the wolf, and Woodrow felt the branches of the forest move behind him.

He wiped the blood from his lips, realization slapping his now burning senses awake. The clarity came with a crushing blow, noticing Harlan’s slumped body on the ground.

“No,” Woodrow whispered. How much had he drained? He stopped the blood pouring from Harlan’s neck. “Over here!” Woodrow shouted.

Scouts rang the bell and alerted the villagers indoors to hide. He did not notice that he lost control, that Harlan’s sweet words reawakened the darkness in him and caused his body to strike. The last thing he remembered was Harlan and his flowers. Now both were crumpled on the ground.

Agate was the one who came first, carrying her newly acquired shield. “What happened? The scouts saw the great direwolf.” She saw Harlan on the ground and the lilies, but before Woodrow could explain, the vines of the forest built a wall around them to protect them from the pouncing wolf.

Harlan stirred and Agate dropped her shield to cover Woodrow and Harlan. Just then, an arrow shot over her head and Woodrow thought for a wild moment that there was a traitor in their midst. But Woodrow saw from the path the bandit archers from before. Their arrows flew toward the direwolf, but one swish of its tail sent them to the ground. The briars continued to restrain the wolf; one sharp branch was already retraining one of her paws before she broke free. Noting that their weapons did nothing to the direwolf, they aimed instead at the fighters of Kent. The men from before poured out of the border walls, carrying torches and weapons.

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Woodrow sped towards them, pulling one man down just as an arrow was about to strike him in the chest. “Go towards the forest and aim your poles there.” Then he shouted to the archers overhead. “Protect your fighters. Distract the enemy while they hide in the forest.”

As Woodrow ran back to Agate and Harlan, arrows from both sides rained. Agate was raising her shield still over Harlan’s body, protecting it from harm. “What happened?” Agate demanded. She slapped Harlan awake, but he only groaned in response, his eyelids fluttering.

Woodrow had to lie. “He wanted to apologize to you by plucking the flowers he cared for in secret. The lilies that you liked. And then the direwolf attacked. It scratched his neck.”

Agate, eyes wide, looked at the flowers on the ground. “You damned fool,” Agate cried out and slapped Harlan again on the face. Woodrow carried Harlan’s arm while Agate took another and they brought him inside as the fighters of Kent clashed with the archers outside. And then Woodrow heard the pounding of hooves on the ground.

The bandit leader had come with his troops, wearing a helmet made of animal bone; this one looked like it was of a horse, just like his mount. He swung his great club in the air, shouting, “Burn the part of the forest not near the wolf. Cut off their protection. Then burn their blasted wall.” He growled, grabbed his horse’s mane, and kicked its side, speeding down the path. He gritted his teeth, scanning the village for his mark.

He found her, cradling the body of her finest warrior. He bellowed and pointed his great club—a large wooden weapon reinforced with iron spikes—at Agate. “Leave her to me!” He ordered his men. Woodrow saw then the other thing he carried as he bounded towards them; another shield, larger and heavier than the one Agate stole. This one had an iron cast on its center. It would be more difficult to pierce.

Woodrow and Agate looked at each other. They carried Harlan, one arm each behind their necks, and hurriedly took him inside the village walls before the bandit leader came to them. Once inside, Jerome and the other scouts gathered close.

Woodrow saw the men, staggering faintly from the hearty meal and ale, collect their thin wooden weapons. The women joined as well, replacing their gowns with padded leggings and wooden bracers. Woodrow panicked, thinking that they were in no condition to fend off an ambush. He saw the children run to the elder’s house, fortified with other guards made up of villagers; maybe their own parents, aunts, or uncles.

“Get Harlan safe inside my father’s house with the rest of the children. If I don’t make it, he will be next to lead. Do you all understand?” Agate shouted through the chaos, looking at the crowd near her. Screams and swears became louder outside. Jerome nodded and together with the others, pulled Harlan to safety.

Agate was already rushing out the gates when Woodrow screamed in her ear. “Take on the rest of the bandit camp. I’ll deal with their leader.”

“No.”

“Do not be stubborn! His club is screaming only for your blood.”

“Exactly, so wherever I go, he will follow. He will strike my men with one swing if I go help them with the enemy archers.” Agate raised her shield and placed a hand on Woodrow’s arm. “I am ready for him. I know some valuable new moves. And I thank Saint Oswald that you are here this night and on our side.”

With a nod, she left Woodrow and charged through the battlefield. The greater direwolf was still being seized by the branches and brambles. She stepped on them, swiping at the dark forest to let her go. Her white fur reflected the orange hue of a fire spreading from the dark forest to the wooden border walls of Kent. The bandits and villagers clashed against one another, going through the part of the forest that was not yet aflame. And when the bandit leader saw Agate rush out with his shield, taunting him with the treasure she stole, he sped his horse towards her, looking like he wanted to trample on her head. Woodrow threw a sharp stone from the ground, hitting the eye of the horse and making itself and its rider crash down.

Agate flung herself on the bandit leader and kicked his animal bone helmet away and crushed it beneath her boots. The bandit leader grabbed her ankle and pulled her to the ground, but she kicked him in the face with her free leg. She scrambled away, kicking up dirt. When they recovered, both stood and stared at each other. The bandit leader raised his club and Agate unsheathed her sword.

They lunged for each other.

Woodrow forced his head to turn towards the other side of the battle. There were bodies on the ground, though thankfully, it was not one he recognized. They all wore the hides of animals, dead fur clinging to dead skin. The scent of blood was like mead in the air. He charged through the forest, dagger firmly in hand, and sliced at the neck of the first enemy archer he saw. He sliced the throat of the next man, then the next. Some villagers were climbing trees and throwing their poles at the unsuspecting men below. They spotted him, his red hair like a faded candle in the shadows. But what he hoped he didn’t see was the fashion in which he disposed of the enemy camp.

A horn sounded on the battlefield. It was the call for reinforcements. He hurried out of the trees and grappled the bandit with the horn. Too late, he saw a handful of club wielders and archers run towards the forest. The bandit spat at him and clawed his cheek, but then he paused.

“You…” he said, eyes wide. “You’re the redheaded demon.”

He must be amongst those that chased Agate. Sure enough, Woodrow saw that he had a bow behind his back. He sucked in a breath and let his dark instincts take over.

“Look at me. Look at me. Don’t be frightened now. I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t.” Woodrow coated his words in honey, just enough from the strength he had gathered from Harlan.

Woodrow helped the man up and saw that the archer blinked under his spell. He saw Agate running around the bandit leader, taunting him and blocking his strikes with the shield. But she relied on dodging and swiping at the leader when he raised his club. Good, Woodrow thought. Then he turned his attention back to the charmed archer.

“Your brothers must be dealt with. Strike at their hearts. Make them fall.”

Woodrow felt his power leave him. But it was enough. The archer turned around slowly and drew his bowstring on one of the incoming brutes. His arrow landed on the center of his ally’s chest. When that brute fell, the others looked around wildly. The charmed archer hit another, then another, dwindling the reinforcements he had summoned.

There were only two remaining when they noticed who was drawing the bowstrings. Traitor, they screamed, as one of the club-wielders bludgeoned the archer. No matter, Woodrow made quick work of them. He crept from his position just behind the tree, threw his dagger between the eyes of the other, and sunk his teeth into the closest brute. Woodrow felt his body sing. Life was returning to it. Bloodlust and sweet pleasure mixing. His heartbeat returned to normal. He heard the sounds of splintering wood and saw that a piece of the border wall had fallen.

And then he heard a scream.

He turned around just in time to see Agate pierce the bandit leader’s chest. Dark blood poured from the wound. The bandit leader fell back, clutching his chest, wincing and groaning. His knees gave out. He fell to the ground right below the great direwolf.

It was only then that the dark forest let go of her. The greater direwolf, agitated, took one look at the bloodied whimpering mess beneath her and she snatched him up between her jaws. And then she bounded off, back into the mountains.

Agate stood for a moment, processing what just happened, and then she dropped on the ground, and breathed deep, her shoulders rising and falling. She picked up the greater iron shield and raised it high. She announced her victory.

“For the village of Kent! For my father!” She bellowed.

The first few villagers that came out of the woods bellowed in return and chanted her name when they saw her carrying her spoils. They called for the villagers still in the forest. Woodrow walked to her. He nudged her shoulder.

“There goes your bandit problem,” he said.

“We could not have done this without you. Thank you, monk. Thank you, Woodrow.” Agate hugged him. Then she jumped back when she heard the wall crash down, burned. But Jerome and the other scouts and archers douse the flames with buckets of water. She directed the villagers emerging from the forest to help.

Agate sighed in relief. “At least all that training was not for naught.” She wiped her brow and inspected herself in the iron reflected on the shield. “I was already apologizing to the ones in support of Harlan. I told them that if they wanted him to lead, I would step down, but the conditions of marriage would be nulled. And then I heard you screaming outside. Almost immediately, Jerome shot a warning arrow outside and rang the bell. He felt uneasy in the middle of my conversation with the men and headed to the towers where he spotted the bandits.”

“I think now the men might support you. With that win and your leadership tonight.” Woodrow pointed to the shield. Strangely, he noticed that his reflection was odd. He shrugged it off, thinking that the iron made the red of his hair blurry.

Agate clapped him on the back. “I suppose this calls for another victory feast,” she said. Then seriously, she looked at the villagers going back inside. Her eyes fell on the bodies. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Saints. “No familiar face dead. All seem to have survived.”

The glow of the after-battle was within them. They both chuckled for having survived, hair plastered to cheeks. Agate was about to say something, when her face dropped, and saw the vines wrap around Woodrow’s waist.

“You have two shields,” Woodrow called when he knew what was about to happen. “You need to lead your village together. I shall come back for you if the forest allows. I shall help you rebuild!”

Agate was holding out her hand to him when Woodrow was carried by the dark forest, back into the tunnels, and Rothfield monastery. Ryne was waiting for him, patiently.

He dusted himself off, taking in Ryne's steady appearance. He did not notice Wilbur appear beside him. The first question he asked was, “Do we have space for villagers here?”