A/N: You thought I had abandoned this monster, didn't you? Well, guess what.

. . .

There were five men inside the king's tent. Four of them remained in complete silence. The dominant sound was already a part of them, since it had cradled their stay at that camp from the day they'd arrived. The smell of wet earth and the sound of falling rain on the leaves and tents was familiar to them, part of the environment. Under the stunning sound of the storm, there was a thin cry which sounded so much like a child, audible to all present.

However, it was not a child.

Phillip was half-naked, only his genitals protected by a torn blue tunic covered in mud, as well as his pale body huddled in the corner, almost crawling under the strategies table. He put his head was between his knees; his hands were bloodier than the rest of his skin, his hair was soaked and Phillip shivered like a puppy. The Stick, wrapped in a blanket - but partially exposed - rested on his slender thighs.

"Your Grace." Stan murmured shyly, alternating his gaze between the back of Kyle's head and the man who was trembling on the ground. "Did you hear what he said?"

There were still spots on the king's head where the scalp was exposed by hair loss or the tufts which had been ripped out during his captivity time. It was hard for Stan to face these spots, the marks Kyle carried in his body of what had been done to him. Kyle was already dressed in pieces worthy of his position in royalty - no one had dared to touch the king's wardrobe while he was under Cartman's possession, because no one really expected him to return anytime soon. He wore a blue-green tunic printed with baroque designs in gold, which actually belonged to Wendy, but the tunic hugged very well his frighteningly thin figure. He wore a bearskin coat over it to keep out the cold. After a shower and a long period of care with his injuries, he started to look more like himself once again. But in his dull eyes, Stan almost could not recognize him. It was painful to see him as a shadow, the still open wounds beginning to heal all over his skin, dark circles of one who had not slept in months, the sick aspect which had taken over. Kyle's face was no longer flushed.

As hard as it was, Stan refused to take his eyes out of him. He felt as if, in the blink of an eye, he would disappear again. The mere thought of losing him again made the warrior's heart race.

The king's slender fingers, again decorated with silver rings, separated and sought support in the chair beside him. He stared at the rain through the semi-open tent door, apathetic. He shuddered when trying to take a deep breath, slowly lifting his chin. His pupils decreased. Gregory, Christophe and Stan watched expectantly, only Phillip did not seem to recognize that there were other people around him.

"They have Ike." Gregory repeated soberly, almost in a cold way.

"I understood." The king replied immediately, interrupting him rudely. His voice sounded extremely tired. It was so unusual for him to use that tone, but it wasn't completely unknown by Stan and Christophe. He lowered his head slowly, his eyes falling to the ground like a dead man. He barely blinked. His red hair looked much darker than it actually was, mostly because of the darkness reigning inside the tent. Only weak candles lights illuminated the present figures. The elf closed his eyes and swallowed hard, clutching the back of the chair between his fingers with a measured force, his arm trembling from the effort. A low moan escaped his lips. "I told him... Ever since our father was murdered by that monster, I told him not to wander out alone." Kyle took both hands to cover his face, his voice wavering, frightened, as if talking about it out loud made him absorb the reality of the situation. As he lifted his head once more, his eyes, which had so far been so dead, were now filled with hate. He turned directly to Christophe to utter the words "You told me you would take care of him."

His voice was more terrified than actually accusatory. There was a crying begging to overflow, but Kyle didn't allow a single tear to stream down his moist eyes. The prosecution, anyway, caught Mole by surprise. As usual, he remained isolated in a corner, out of the candlelight's reach, both hands behind his back. His expression softened to face the king back, almost outlining pain.

"I didn't know 'e would..."

"Of course you didn't, none of you did. He was probably sneaking out since I was abducted and none of you bothered to keep an eye on him."

"Your Grace, none of us wanted this to happen." Gregory interrupted, sniffing Christophe's disturbance by the way he avoided to look directly at the king, but he also wasn't staring at the ground. The blond took a few steps forward, excruciatingly calm before the dense energy that took over the tent. "We were dealing with so much, the war kept us all alienated. No one had time to babysit the prince."

"Shut your mouth, Gregory." Stanley snapped immediately, spitting the words with relish. He then tried to approach Kyle, who stood with his back turned to him. "For all the gods, you're..."

For once in his life, Gregory obeyed. He joined his feet and cleared his throat, lowering his head a little, creating such a strong contrast from his usually arrogantly raised head position.

Kyle disengaged his attention from the three men, looking away at nothing in particular, as if he had disconnected from what was happening around him. There was something almost insane in his faraway look, his slightly open mouth, dilated pupils in the dark, his head quickly heating up with the speed of thought. He took his hand to his chest and slowly swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. Then, the king turned almost violently to Phillip, who was now completely under the table, clinging to its feet like a wounded animal. His face was swollen from crying and tears were rolling as he continuously sobbed, breathless. It was a low, muffled cry.

It was not at Phillip the elf king was staring, but to the object in his lap.

"I never wanted it to come to that..." Kyle whispered, vaguely studying the Stick with his eyes. "I always thought we could win the war without challenging the occult. I really believed that."

There was a long moment of silence, in which the sound of the rain was soothing enough that Kyle closed his eyes for a moment and remembered his childhood, the scent of his mother's skin and the day that Ike was found inside a basket among the rocks by the river, when he was just a baby. It was Kyle and Stan who found him while playing with their wooden swords. The Queen was watching them from afar. It was one of the few times Kyle saw his mother cry, this time over the abandonment of a newborn who was destined to die in so many terrible ways if he had not been found.

"What are you saying, Your Majesty?" Gregory asked, breaking him out of his trance.

"We've got to use the Stick."

"Absolutely not."

Kyle frowned and looked back to Gregory like a rabid feline that finds its prey. For a moment, he did not move. He simply stared at the blond long enough so that the General realized what had come out of his mouth.

"I see you've taken the reins of things in the kingdom during my absence, Gregory. Have I stayed out long enough for you to forget who your king is?"

Hearing Kyle's voice so firm, so familiar to what it was before, was a relief to Stan's ears. Gregory did not dare to answer. It wasn't his nature to apologize, something that Kyle sometimes thought stupid and admired at others.

The king turned his attention back to Phillip, approaching his half-naked body all dirty with blood, kneeling beside him and resting his palm on the creature's bony shoulder; there was compassion in the touch. Both, after all, shared a very deep connection, a very intimate one. Both their brothers had been torn from them in the same condition, although in different ways. It was as if, when approaching Phillip, the blond's crying infected him and the king could allow his own tears to run down without even feeling it.

"Phillip." He spoke close to his ear, watching as the creature shrugged and turned his face to the opposite side, shivering and cowering, as if the elf's touch had burned his skin. Kyle continued as calmly as he could. "I know you just lost your brother. But I don't want to lose mine. Please, you need to do what you were designate for. You need to use the Stick."

The sound Phillip emitted consisted in damp, deep sniffs, as if he could hardly breathe. Only his head turned very slowly to see the elf. His lips parted, his eyes swollen, red and wet face. He looked at Kyle as if only then noticing his presence. The only thing that escaped his lips was a low moan, thin and weak. He held the Stick tighter to his chest, slipping little by little to the floor, looking away in the same slow and drunk speed. His eyes were wide with terror, as if he didn't know exactly where he was. Phillip lay in a fetal position, muttering things so low that only Kyle could hear:

"I won't... No, I don't... I never... No... No, I... Never again."

It was like a mantra.

Kyle turned his face to Gregory in search of understanding. Stan was just behind the king as a watchdog, silent and attentive. Gregory snorted and rubbed his temples, looking impatient, but it was more of an exhausted and confused expression. There were very few moments of his life when he absolutely did not know what to do, so he wasn't used to not having control over things and lately that had become an everyday state.

"They've amputated my arm." Phillip said in a saner voice, raising his head and grabbing Kyle's arm with an uncomfortable desperate strength. "They've amputated... And they amputated my leg, gods, they amputated..." His voice suddenly died, even though he kept moving his lips, whispering breathlessly.

"Your Grace." Gregory called respectfully, folding his hands in front of body and licking his lips. "Without Terrance... I don't think he can perform magic. I don't think he's going to even function as before. Due Twins... They were telekinetically connected, you know."

The king's moist eyes turned to the General, loaded with hatred, as if Gregory was saying such things on purpose to convince him that using Stick was not a viable option, as if he lying or guilty of something. Kyle knew it was not the case; of all the flaws that could be pointed in Gregory, he was still a fiercely loyal servant. But the hurt look still plastered on his face, dominant. When he broke eye contact - that Gregory held bravely, more gently than expected - Kyle turned the side of his face and licked his lips, his delicate hand caressing Phillip's almost white hair. The creature was still crying as he clung the rich fabric of the robe the king was wearing, without shame or embarrassment.

"Get out of here." He muttered, staring into space, covering Phillip's hot forehead with his palm.

Christophe was the first to move to leave the tent without saying a word, with the aggressive walk of a slaughtered animal. Gregory took two seconds longer to take a step, nodding in understanding. He then followed, much calmer, resigned. Stan walked right behind Gregory, but the king's voice interrupted him.

"Not you."

The warrior turned to look at him over his shoulder, foot forward, hoping to take the next step. Gregory also paused, turning to see them, standing for a second in the tent door with a certain melancholy in his eyes. So he let them alone.

Well, not quite. Phillip was still there, but not completely, dragging his body to the elf king's lap, curled in a fetal position, hugging the Stick - which was now virtually all exposed without the blanket that had so far offered a false sense of protection to the object. Strangely, Kyle took Phillip in his arms with the affection of a brother. This was unusual not only for his royal status, but also because free affection with strangers was not part of Kyle's nature. Stan realized immediately that there was something extraordinary happening before his eyes and it had to do with the power emanated by the Stick, even when it was not in use. Stan felt bad simply by being in the same environment as the damn thing; he always felt a terrible tingling from head to toe, an ecstatic dizziness, as if he wasn't his own man. In contrast, he believed that the Stick only leveraged what each person carried within. In Kyle and Phillip's case, it was the desperate need to have their brothers back. This feeling united them inexplicably right before the warrior's eyes.

In Stan's case, as well as everyone going through war times, being close to the Stick's energy was disturbing because there was only darkness inside.

Kyle rocked Phillip in silence, only whispering "shhh" next to his ear until his crying quiet down. After a few minutes, Phillip seemed to be asleep. Stan waited patiently in that same guard position, until Kyle turned his attention back to him. Before the king's silence, he murmured shyly:

"Your Grace..."

"Why do you still call me that when there is no one around?" Kyle asked distantly, stroking the creature's cold cheek, still staring at his peaceful sleeping face.

"You're still my king when there's no audience." The warrior responded with a restrained voice, holding the handle of his sword, which was into the sheath, out of habit. He found it strange to see Kyle sitting on the ground, on the damp soil grass. It was very weird having to look down to talk to him. "Tell me, please, how can I help you?"

Kyle shrugged his shoulder as if he was bothered by what he was hearing. He made a long cruel pause, and Stan expected to be sent away as well.

"I dreamed about my mother." The King suddenly said, licking his lips, looking at Phillip who now had his eyes half-open. "But I can not remember what she said. I think she was trying to warn me."

There was something dingy in his voice that froze Stan's spine, something that the warrior soon identified as guilt. He wanted, more than anything, to take Kyle in his arms and soothe any bad feeling, as if there were some way to absorb the king's pain to himself through skin. But he did not dare to invade the moment his king shared with Phillip. The blond was not exactly sleeping, it was more like a trance or a meditation, some enchantment between the touch of Kyle and the Stick.

"There was nothing you could have done."

"I know. It seems that the vain human God acts more directly than our ancestors. Kenny told me about Him."

"I don't believe that, Your Majesty. What was done to the prince... That was the action of men. The gods don't make wars, Your Grace."

"Yeah. We do."

There was a long period of silence between the voices, so deep that even the flames burning in candles appeared to have a sound. Stan pressed his lips hesitantly, taking a step forward to support his hand on the table.

"You said Kenny was the one who freed you. Kenny and his sister, is that right?"

Stan was the only one to which Kyle had told exactly every single thing he had lived in Kupa Keep, even the parts that made him doubt his own sanity; He told, in the most sober way he could, how he had seen a guard opening Kenny's throat right before his eyes and then he appeared in his family's childhood home, safe and sound. Kyle'd been ashamed by the way Stan had looked compassionately concerned. But he knew that Stan would not question his story. He was one of the few forces in this world kept Kyle's feet on the ground.

"Yes." He said.

"Maybe Ike's okay. If what you told me is true... If we have friends among the humans, I mean. Then maybe he's alright." He repeated at the end, as if to convince himself of what he had said.

It was the first time that night when Kyle offered a genuine smile.

"Heavens, Stan. I don't know what I've done to deserve you." Finally, the king looked up, his eyes huge like a child's, filled with water. He raised his hand, the one that so far had been caressing Phillip's face, for the warrior to take. "You know I love you, right? More than anything in this world."

Stanley took his hand with anguish, looking forward to the touch, nodding.

. . .

It wasn't the first war Kyle had faced. It certainly would not be the last. But there was something different this time about covering his body with the mantle that his father wore every time he would face his enemies, claiming it gave him luck. Gerald was an extremely superstitious man, a trait that Kyle did not inherit. He looked at the reflection in the dirty mirror as a daffodil, slowly raising his chin to the image of his own face. Christophe could be seen reflected behind him, putting on his gloves without paying attention to the movement, staring at the redhead's back. The crown was inside a dark blue velvet box, which had been carefully stored during the king's absence.

"Are you ready? I'll get Gregory." Christophe said in a hoarse, low voice, almost like an animalistic growl.

Kyle just turned his head toward him, his face clean any expression. He ran his thumbs over the index and middle fingertips without realizing it. Finally, he came to lift the corners of his lips in such a subtle smile that it was barely there. Christophe ground his teeth in front of that figure that, despite looking so fragile, also exuded an unbelievable force. The marks on his face were proof of that.

"He will come." The king finally said, turning his whole body to him. "Do you feel lucky?"

As expected, Christophe snorted and shrugged because it wasn't the kind of question to be answered seriously. Kyle nodded, contaminated by the same feeling. There was silence between them. The elf sighed deeply, looking away to the strategy table, which now had a rolled-up map, a candle which had burned all night, with the wax hardened by air, and the king's bow resting beside it. The only thing missing was the bag that contained the arrows carved in oak, with the coat of his clan on the back end.

While Kyle straightened the bag on his back and stroked the arc's body, not yet taking it in his hands, licking his lips, he muttered without making eye contact with the man:

"I don't blame you, Christophe. For anything that happened. You know that, don't you?"

He was silent, with narrow eyes, something Kyle could feel without the need to look at him. The expression denounced his distrust.

"Ever since I freed you, all you've done was to protect my people and my family in any way you could." The firmness in the elf's voice was anguished, but unwavering. He turned his gaze to the human and watched him with tenderness in his eyes, his breath slightly altered. "I am very grateful for it. I need you to know that."

"I know."

Kyle smiled.

"Do you trust me? No one else seems to. They think I've gone mad, don't they? From being tortured, from having taken Ike away from me..." By mentioning his younger brother's name, the king's voice tuned into a held back crying. His eyes were red and moist, but no tears were shed. "But I still know what I have to do."

"I never 'ad a doubt about 'zat, Kyle."

The king slowly nodded and dropped the bow, his hand raised to cover his mouth for a moment, as if recomposing himself before the eyes of another. He sniffled softly, holding the edge of the table with force, and Christophe wished most of all to take a few steps forward and hug him, but did not move.

"Good. This is very important to me."

Gregory appeared in the tent door a few moments later, his face more serious than usual, looking almost ten years older than he actually was. He also looked like he hadn't slept for a week. He was soaking wet by the rain, which made him seem much sloppier than Kyle had ever seen. Gregory was the type of man who was rarely seen with a string of hair out of place. He had been armed from head to toe and was ready to attack.

The blond looked at one of them, then the other, wasting a few seconds in silence as if to see if he had interrupted something important. But Kyle rubbed his face and took the bow in his hands, presenting himself as immediately prepared for what came next.

"Stanley is with the men giving his final instructions. But soon he'll come to accompany you. All according to the plan, Your Majesty?"

Kyle just nodded, unwilling to talk.

The plan was simple, really. Avoid bloodshed as possible. That probably wouldn't be for long. Kyle didn't believe that Cartman was bluffing, but tried to keep in mind - as Gregory pointed out several times the night before the discussion - they also had something very precious and an army that had proved to be stronger and more prepared. Gregory seemed nervous at the thought of leading their men without Stanley, who was the true spirit that aroused the courage and absolute surrender of the elves. But they had all agreed that it would be better for everyone if Stan accompany the king to the place where Cartman proposed that the exchange was made. The human king referred to it as a "negotiation" in his letters, mentioning that he would be willing not to hurt anyone, as long as the elves collaborated.

The spot they had agreed on meeting was not far from the battlefield, just enough to give them privacy. Cartman certainly would not be alone either, but it was one of his demands that they didn't take more than one person for security reasons. Kyle hated being forced to dance around Cartman's demands and propositions, but it was the most sensible choice after all.

They went by carriage to the Gargoyle hill, around four miles from where the armies await the order from their commanders if the battle confrontation was necessary to define the end of the war. Both armies had no longer the force they had when it all began, years before, when Gerald Broflovski was still alive: they longed for the return to their common lives, their families, and they constantly thought of the fellow they had lost and would still lose. That is the cruelty of war.

Kyle prayed to the gods that they didn't have to lose any more men at the end of that day. But he also believed that the gods didn't offer anything without taking something in return. If the price was the life of his brother, he was not willing to pay it.

Inside the carriage, Phillip remained hidden with a blanket over his head, cowering in the corner with the Stick in his arms, just as he had been carrying it all the time. After Terrance's death, he'd almost completely stopped talking altogether. It was like he had forgotten how to use words. There was also some speculation about whether or not he should be taken to the place where supposedly the exchange would be made. Gregory didn't consider, at any time, that the change was indeed going to take place. But they needed to take the Stick one way or another, because its pulsating energy would be perceived by far, especially by an experienced wizard like Cartman. Finally, it was agreed that it would be better to have someone inside the carriage with the Stick rather than just leave it in there at mercy - who knows what Cartman had planned - and considering all points, Phillip had left his own brother to die because he knew he had to protect the Stick above all things. Kyle blindly trusted that he would be able to tear the flesh of a man with his teeth if they tried to take the object from his arms. He was no longer able to use magic, but he'd find much more primitive resources to fulfill his function. Taking the Stick from Phillip would be like pulling a baby from a mother's arms, and Kyle wouldn't have the heart to put another person in Phillip's place as the Stick's guardian.

Cartman was already present, of course, with his bulky figure standing over his fancy red and golden chariot, two horses and a coachman. The car structure was open, different from those used in the kingdom, for leisure. This kind of chariot was specific to war, old and worn, but still extraordinary. It was large enough to accommodate a closed structure for transporting objects. Weapons in particular.

"Oh, look." Cartman said proudly, projecting his voice to echo through the air, hands on hus hips. Stan and Kyle approached on foot, their carriage a few meters behind them. "You look prettier like this, pixie, after the damage I've done to your face."

Standing right behind Cartman, Kyle was able to recognize Kevin McCormick's pale face that held a sickly smile, hunched and haggard. It was hard to see and hear fully under a rain so thick, bordering a storm. The thunder was loud and the wind was violent, freezing. Cartman did not look bothered by the rain, almost like he was joining it, as if he had been the one who commanded the burst of rays. He did look quite impressive up there, even if the chariot's level wasn't all that high. Kyle, in response, didn't show any kind of intimidation. Approached him even more, both feet sunk in the mud, his nobles shoes ruined, as well as the bar of his trousers and the mantle. Stan walked behind him, the arrow prepared on the bow, pointing down in readiness.

They were on the south coast of Zaron, close to the rocks and the sea; the aggressive sound of waves crashing on the rocks was imminent, almost surpassed the sound of water falling from the sky. On another occasion, the southern hills would be a stunning setting, even under the black sky covered in storm clouds.

Kyle stopped a few feet from Cartman, fists clenched, his bow in one hand, a rigid expression on his face. He did not look as young as he was. This was a result of the war; little by little it took years of one's youth.

"Where's my brother, Cartman?" He asked in the most stern voice that Stan had ever heard come out of his mouth.

"Why this rush? Your Grace has something more important to do?"

"That depends. If you won't give me back my brother, I have your entire army to massacre."

Cartman's wet face twisted into a grimace so cynical that made Kyle touch his own stomach and hold his breath for a moment without realizing it.

"Kyle... Please. Do not pretend that your fragile little heart takes some satisfaction out of spilled blood. It's pathetic." Cartman spoke with all his powers of persuasion, gesturing like a true ruler who tries to fool his people with fallacies. "I know you don't want to do this, then just give me the Stick and we'll be done with it. No one needs to die. Let's settle this like gentlemen, shall we?"

Kyle threw a brief glance at Stanley, whose chest rose and fell with fury. The warrior's eyes met his as if asking permission to shoot an arrow right in the vital center of Cartman's large body, even if the heavy rain would considerably damage his chances of hitting the spot. He couldn't see straight, the pressure of the rain was likely to alter his sights and a confrontation would begin, which would endanger more lives than Stan could handle. So he noted Kevin. It was curious that Cartman had chosen to bring a man of one single hand, who could not fight for him if necessary. It was not possible that this possibility hadn't even crossed that arrogant bastard's mind. There should be some malicious intent in that. When Stan turned his attention to his king, he realized that the presence of Kenny's brother made Kyle's mind cloudy and confused, taken by dark thoughts. He could see in his emerald eyes how troubled he was.

"Damn it, Cartman. I should have left you there bleeding to death when you were nothing more than a rejected fat boy. I felt so sorry for you. If the gods had been kind enough to give me a small, minimal glimpse of the monster that you would become..." Kyle spoke with such a repressed hatred accumulated for years, in a tone that almost scared the warrior at his side. Stan wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but didn't.

It was undeniable that Kyle's words touched some open wound deep inside Eric. There were small signs; the darkened pupils, the saliva produced inside his mouth, a subtle change in the way he was breathing. But at the point the elf had finished speaking, he could already count again with his shell of sarcasm.

"I see that you still need a little help to be convinced. It's understandable." He said with a forced laugh, snapping his fingers for Kevin, who seemed uneasy. "Help me."

Promptly, Kevin and the human king went to the closed part of the carriage – when both of them started to move, Stan lifted the bow almost instantly - a small dark space from which they violently pulled Ike Broflovski out. Cartman was the one pulling him, but soon he threw the small form against Kevin, who drew his dagger from his belt and took it to the boy's neck, holding him with the arm of his amputated hand until he was able to stand on his feet. Kyle's knees buckled. He sucked the air through his mouth in a painful groan, drowned out by the sound of rain. He then took a fist in front of his mouth, showing weakness for not more than five seconds. His eyes, however, remained full of unshed tears. Stan returned to slowly lower the bow, running his tongue over his lips slowly, tasting the rain.

Ike wasn't wearing anything to cover the torso. His brown pants were torn at the knees. The only apparent injury was on his forehead, but the blood was already dry, the ugly brown drawing a line to his eyebrow. It was a result of the strike on his head when he had been kidnapped.

Under the rain, it was hard to tell whether he was crying or not. But he certainly trembled - a lot - from cold and fear. It was so hard to watch that boy who they both still saw as a child in need of protection, so exposed and terrified, under the ownership of a hideous strength like Cartman. Ike had both hands tied behind his back and wore nothing on his feet. The water had washed some of the dirt, but his face was still unclean. What mattered to Kyle's heart was that he was whole.

"Ike..." Kyle whispered frightened, stepping forward, his feet sinking further into the mud.

"Wait, elf!" Cartman cried, terribly excited about the whole thing. The mere tone of his voice was like a knife going through Kyle's chest. He could not breathe. "I have a little surprise for you."

Kyle didn't have the time to recover from the dagger pressed against his younger brother's neck, the boy who he was supposed to protect from all things, and then came an unimaginable picture: Kenny was pulled by the arm from the same small door which Ike had just came out from, showing no resistance, falling to his knees, half-naked, with a full beard and a shaved head, his body covered with scars and bruises, his eyes red. His head remained low until Cartman pulled him up impatiently.

"Get up, you worm." He ordered, drawing his sword from its scabbard.

Stan was already more than sorry for not having buried his arrow in Cartman's heart, or at least tried to. Now he wore Kenny's body as a shield.

Kyle left his bow fall to the ground, as if he had no strength to hold it anymore. He leaned forward and covered his face with both hands, the rain bathing his back violently. Cartman laughed hysterically, like a triumphant child over the success of his little plan. Stan alternated his gaze between the kings, his arrow aimed at the ground. He stared at Kenny's hurt face, watching as the blond moved his lips as he stared right back, saying "shoot" without using sound. Stan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand holding the arrow, doubting what he had seen.

"You can also lower your toy now, Marsh. If you do something against me, the prince's little neck is gone." Cartman said, more seriously, nodding toward Ike. Then, turning to the High Elf, he continued. "Give me the Stick, Kyle. You came here knowing that I had your little brother. This is all a mere..." He gestured with sword in hand, weighing, limiting this movement. "A formality. You already know that this aberration here will return, no matter how many times we get rid of him." With his free hand, Cartman grabbed Kenny thinning hair that was just beginning to grow again. It hurt, but not enough for Kenny to would give him the satisfaction of a scream. "I don't want him to die. I do not want to lose him again, I want my toy very much alive so I can test the limits of his miserable body. Is that what you want? For him to be tortured every day because you would not give me what belongs to my people by right?"

"You have a lot of balls to talk about your people while they starve, Cartman." Kenny finally said, exposing his dirty teeth stained with blood from his meals of raw meat, the only that had been fed to him as a prisoner.

The comment earned him a beating on the head with the handle of the sword. He didn't fall forward because Cartman was still holding his arm crudely.

"Shut up, you miserable. I am negotiating."

Kyle seemed genuinely scared now. The tears had dried in his wide eyes, his mouth was hanging open the whole time. It made Cartman grow in confidence, chest out, pleased with the reaction we got. Kenny took a while to regain consciousness, shaking his head like a wet dog to ward off the accumulation of water in his eyelash. When he raised his face a little, he stared at Kyle for a long time, the expression full of shame. Like the look he had offered him the night he told the turth about being sent by Cartman the Elven kingdom. It felt like that had happened a million years before.

"Come on, Kyle. You don't need to be responsible for your little brother's death. Everything you love is in my hand, and I'm so generous that I am willing to give away two for one."

"Kyle, don't!" Ike yelled, propelling his body forward so that Kevin had trouble holding him back. That caused the blade to press deeper against the skin, which made him retreat. Definitely, Ike was crying now. "Don't give this son of a bitch a thing!"

"You're so fucking nosy today, what is this?! Have both of you forgotten your place? You are trading currencies, shut the fuck up."

Everything that happened next was very fast, much faster than can be told in words.

First, a thunderstorm broke through the air and lit the dark rainy afternoon skies, while Cartman went on with some ironic speech, distracted, reveling in the momentary victory of cornering Kyle against the wall. Stan frowned, being the first one to notice the presence of another person behind the unnecessarily exuberant coach. In fact, Stan took some time to realize that it was a person indeed. By cautious moves, but still wild and organic, he was sure that it was some wild animal stalking the scene. The rain also hampered his vision. It was only when man was close enough, preparing to climb into the carriage, that Stanley recognized the Mole's face, concentrated on this task. For whatever reason, he was smeared with mud all over his arms, face and hair - those were the visible parts of his body from where Stan was standing. His heart beat fast inside his chest, filled with precipitation. He prayed that Kyle didn't see him, that nothing in his facial expression could snitch Christophe approaching stealthily with a dagger behind Cartman.

Eventually, Kyle saw him too. More than that; They exchanged a brief eye contact while Cartman continued to use his spells of blackmail. Stan realized that his own fear had underestimated the connection between Kyle and Christophe, for the king readily read the message in his animal eyes: 'distract him'.

Christophe could be eerily quiet, often giving people the impression that he had emerged from absolute nothingness.

"Maybe... You're right, Cartman. I... I'll do anything you want. But for the love of all gods, don't hurt them."

There was a lascivious glint in Cartman's eyes.

"Good boy. It's okay, Kyle. Just give me the Stick and everything will be fine."

"He's fucking lying!" Ike yelled squeaky. "What's gotten into you?!"

Now, Christophe was on the carriage behind Cartman, which meant that he was out of Kyle's sight. His steps were so light that not even the wood came the ranger, never provoking any noticeable movement. The dagger was firm in his hand. The rain made the mud drip down his face.

"It's all right, Ike." Kyle said with an almost tearful voice.

"What prevents this fat asshole from killing us all once it he has the Stick?! Our father would never allow it!"

Luckily, Cartman was too ecstatic after hearing that he would get from this confabulation what he wanted the most. Not even Ike's words were enough for him to divert the focus from Kyle, his face full of victory. But Kevin wasn't under the influence of this treat. Nor was Kenny. And that's when the younger McCormick's face turned aside instinctively, realizing the strange presence, which made the elder notice the subtle movement of his brother's head and everything changed course. When Kenny realized he should not have moved, it was too late. Those damn three centimeters would cost too much.

Ike was launched forcefully forward, almost falling from the carriage. He banged his chin on the floor because he could not use his hands to land. Kevin threw his own body against Christophe with the fury of a lion attacking a zebra, knocking him violently to the floor of the carriage. The Mole hit his head hard and had no time to react before he felt the tip of a blade against his neck, squinting, waiting for the pain. But the pain did not come. It was only to keep him still, no reaction. When he separated his eyelids, panting, he felt the sting of the rain coming directly from the top now, the water coming in through his nostrils, attacking his face. Kevin was staring down at him, studying his face. He sat upon Christophe's abdomen and the first thing the Mole saw was the devilish grin of the man whose hand he had amputated. They recognized each other. There was no time for anything.

"You should have taken the left one, motherfucker." Kevin murmured, raising his only hand holding the dagger. "I'm left-handed."

Kenny only had time to shout "Kevin, no," but the guttural phrase was cut in half when the blade completely entered Christophe's chest, sending a grotesque sound of flesh being torn apart, sinking between his ribs, piercing the lung. Ike shouted, cringing in the corner. The dagger came out drenched in blood, ready for another blow, even more violent, both on the left side of his chest, as if searching for the heart that was still beating. A low murmur escaped from the Mole's cold purple lips, some French profanity, frowning his entire face in the first demonstration of pain, dropping his head back. In the third blow, Christophe shouted in a way none of them had ever heard from him before. Still breathing, but as a slaughtered animal. His mouth filled with blood.

Kyle took both hands to his mouth. He was taken by the primitive instinct to scream, but there was no strength. All that came out was thin and broken, until his legs would not carry him anymore and he was knocked down in the mud to his knees, huddled into himself, lowering his head because he couldn't see anymore.

"Shit." Kenny whispered, squinting, biting the inside of his mouth. "Shit, Kevin..."

Cartman straightened up, shaking his wide cheeks for a moment like a bulldog to pretend he wasn't stunned, pointing with his sword towards Kevin. The other arm still held Kenny's neck, firm enough to almost suffocate him.

"Very good. But I don't want corpses littering my carriage. Get rid of it."

Kevin got up slowly, one leg at a time, and did no more than throwing a kick so that the still living body of Christophe fell from the carriage directly to the mud, which softened the fall. Kyle immediately crawled to him, now his hands and the whole body wallowing in the soil, clinging to him desperately, pulling the Mole's weight onto his lap and leaning up on Christophe to melt in shrill tears, every sound coming out with difficulty from the bottom of his throat. Stan had to draw strength from the remotest corner of his soul not to advance on that carriage and destroy Kevin McCormick's face with his own fists, then force him to swallow the blade of his sword. The only thing that held Stan back was the shock. He could not get his legs to work, could not react, not even cry. It was absolutely unbelievable that this man who had held him in his arms when Stan was plunged into disarray, that human who was so strong, so imposing, so unshakeable, it was not possible that he had fallen. He would survive. Stan clenched his fists around the bow and arrow so hard it nearly broke.

Stan did not realize it at the time, but he was hyperventilating at that point. When he did notice it, he was sure that the lack of air would kill him right there. It bordered a panic attack.

Kyle only looked up when he felt a weak hand touching his arm, sliding over the top of his back. He looked at that face, those wide hazel eyes, the dark blood which dripped from his mouth and made him cough. The king ran his hand under the Mole's head, gently lifting it up so he would not drown. He had never seen Christophe's face look more beautiful, the peaceful expression so different from the aggressive one that he always carried in his countenance. Raindrops all over his skin mingled with the mud, washing his face like a ritual. Kyle ran a hand over his cheek, wiping the mud while caressing it, lowering his face so that his forehead touched Christophe's. His chest spilled blood on the clothes and with so much dirt it was difficult to identify the extent of the injury. Kyle didn't try to do it. He was simply there, sitting with him until their hands met and fingers knitting together tight, the last gasp of life force that Christophe had to offer.

"Kyle." He called in an almost inaudible way.

"Shh." The elf swallowed, his face so wet with cold drops and hot tears. His free hand stroked the brown hair back. "Don't speak. You'll be fine."

Christophe smiled, the way he always did when he didn't want to say directly that Kyle was talking nonsense, but he was never good with subtle words. That smile made the king began to sob into tears. He could hardly keep his eyes open.

He knew he could not fall apart like that. He could not disconnect from what was happening around, the two armies waiting to take each other's lives, his younger brother crying outrageously and clinging to the edge of the carriage, bound and injured, in the enemy's possession. He couldn't forget about Kenny - and heaven, how could he ever? - in that state, thin and violated, he wouldn't even reach the relief of death anytime soon, at least while he belonged to Cartman. Kyle had doubted up until that point if everything he had lived in the old house of McCormick had been real. He doubted that Kenny had been there. Everything had such a surreal texture. The Mole gasping for air, drowning in his own blood, with perforated lungs, chest open, none of that seemed real. Kyle clung to him with even more force, the little he had.

"Ce fut un plaisir de vous servir." He heard Christophe whispering in his ear.

"What?" The king asked, stricken, sniffling and wiping his own face, trying to keep Christophe focused and awake. He continued in a soft voice. "I can't understand you..."

The Mole didn't waste any time explaining it. He raised his large, filthy palm to gently touch the elf's face, sliding it through the soft skin, staining it with mud and blood. Everything seemed to have become one single thing at that point.

"Well, Kenny, would you look at that?" Cartman said casually, while another ray burst in the sky, sending a light beam over them. His voice almost made Kenny's ears bleed. It was all that none of them wanted to hear at that moment. "Maybe I chose the wrong man to have as bait. I don't think he was that fucked up when you died, what about that?"

"Your Majesty." Kevin called before his brother had a chance to answer. He had his knees bent, arms supported on both thighs, as if just recovered from a trance. He was sweating, even soaked and with the cold wind blowing against them. He didn't bother to collect Ike from the ground, pretty sure he was not going anywhere. And in fact, Ike squirmed into fetal position, unable to stand upright. Kevin waited catch his breath before continuing. He pointed to the horizon, and when Cartman looked in that direction, one of his riders approached on a black horse in fast gallops. "The army must be getting impatient, sir."

"And they should be! I'm quite impatient myself, I didn't think this shit would take so long. Kyle, pull yourself together, I don't have all day. I have a war to win."

After taking a sharp breath, the elf warrior resumed his position, swallowing any possibility of tear at that time. Christophe was still breathing, and that was the hardest part, which didn't allow Kyle to let go of him and concentrate on anything else. Ike's loud crying echoed in Stan's ear, bringing vivid memories of the night that Kyle was kidnapped, the dawn he found Christophe thrown to the ground and was sure he would not survive. It was as if he had to live all over again the dread, mixed with the smell of blood and Ike's uncontrolled screams, the slap that Christophe gave him, the devastating waves of despair when he thought he had lost Kyle forever, all tangled in one basket along with the war and the death of his comrades.

It was not over. It still was not over.

The horse's gallop was getting stronger. The other animals present seemed uneasy with rain. Stanley's thoughts ran so fast that he didn't know if the approach of this new figure meant danger, if he should be pointing his arrow or his sword to anyone who tried to stop the moment unfolding before his eyes, Kyle pleading softly for Christophe not to give up, for him to hold on, though he had completely given in already.

The rider who came down from the horse wore a full armor, covered from head to toe, his helm closed. The coat of Kupa Keep was just one of those excessively rich and arrogant symbols that the elves could not understand, but the fact was those arms were in every uniform of every human of the royal guard and their objects as well. The knight bowed to his king, greeting him as "Highness", but the helmet muffled the word as much as the sound of rain.

"I bring a message, my Lord."

"Oh, that's good. At least they sent someone who is not completely useless." He said, driving away quickly to Kevin. "Someone who has two functional hands and knows how to use a sword. Come closer. I am in the middle of something important here."

Cartman snorted with no patience. He put his arm under Kenny's to pull him tightly against his chest, his hand on the blond's neck - full of purple bruises greenish at the ends - to squeeze it tightly as to make Kenny coughed for air. The rain, when falling on the rider's metal armor, produced an even more thunderous sound, almost deafening. He continued:

"Alright, listen. I don't have time for such frills. You got lucky it wasn't your precious brother's throat, you were supposed to be crying over his corpse now." The king pointed the weapon toward Ike, who now had his head lifted and stared at him with wide eyes. "But I'll give you one more chance. I hope you've learn your lesson. I wonder if it would be more unbearable for you to lose a family member or the man you love. Give me that shit that fucking Stick right now, Kyle."

But the High Elf didn't even seem to hear a word as Christophe stopped breathing in his arms. His eyes were still open. Kyle kept staring at him.

"Our Army is stronger!" Stan cried in the rain, releasing the bow and arrow to the ground with full force, pulling his own helm out his head, throwing it to the soil. His throat throbbed. The rain bathed his hair, vigorously running down his face. "This is a lost war and you know it, Cartman! You will not win shit by taking anyone else's lives, we will not give you the Sitck, we're not giving you any fucking thing! You can give the your men the order to attack. We will fucking fight you."

"Shut up, Marsh! Just because you're always sucking on forest critters' royalty doesn't mean you're the boss of anything." Cartman spoke, spitting like a mad man now, and everyone could feel the reason: the power that emanated from the Stick could almost be heard, literally heard, as something physical and pulsating, music too loud to ignore. That was the intoxicating him little by little. He rattled Kenny's body as he screamed, voracious and aggressive, like he was a rag doll. He looked a lot like an unsatisfied child, at least in Stan's eyes. "You are exactly where you belong, Kyle. In the mud. You're not even fit to be the king of the flies. Give it up, you little shit, you can't save anyone."

None of them had realized in the meantime that the rider climbed into the carriage; his armor produced a metal noise when he walked. He stood behind the king on guard, even though Cartman acted as if he had forgotten the was even there. Kevin McCormick was the only one who paid some attention to the big picture, staring at the bandaged stump where his hand used to be when he was still a whole man. He raised his head slowly, his tangled fringe falling over the eyes, protecting them a little from the storm. The thunder seemed even more frequent and stronger, as if the ground tremble with every burst in the sky. Kevin slowly lifted his chin, his mouth half open, looking up. The sky overhead was immense, infinite, overcome by darkness. He turned the side of his face, his eyes having a hard time to focus on anything. He knew there were screams all around, Stanley drawing his sword and approaching the carriage, Cartman knocking Kenny's body on the wooden floor and kicking him as he gestured with his hand, but Kevin did not hear anything they were saying.

Suddenly his eyes met Kenny's, which were amazingly blue. And Kevin felt ashamed. His breathing was shaky, erratic. Kenny stared back with closed lips in a straight line, as if he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He shook his head slightly, powerless to lift it altogether.

Ike was hiding his head between his thighs at that point, huddled in a little ball in the corner, praying so that it all came to an end - any end - soon.

Cartman held the handle of his sword with both hands, as if ready to strike Kenny's body at his feet. To hell with immortality, to hell with negotiations. To the human king's ears, the Stick was requiring a blood sacrifice.

Kyle put a light hand on Christophe's face, now completely clean by the rain, the cold and rough texture of his skin contrasting with the warmth of the elf's palm. He slid his fingers slowly to close Christophe's eyes for the last time. The storm fell so eagerly on their bodies that it could swallow all of them them at any time, and then the conflicts of men would not matter anymore.

Until everything stopped.

The only one who could really see the source of the event was Kevin McCormick. What everyone else heard was a guttural groan, weak and desperate, while the human king's eyes filled with terror. And a gleaming blade stained red, long and sharp, coming out of his guts, right in the middle of the stomach. The sword had broken all the viscera, tearing the flesh from the back to come across, filthy honeydew thick blood that would soon also be washed away by the eternal rain. Stan dropped his sword to the ground and raised his head slowly, his eyes wide, fixed on Eric Cartman's face. He had mever seen anyone so terrified in his life, even with all the years he had spent among war and death. Kenny crawled with difficulty to get close to Ike, both hands still tied, covering the young boy's body with his own as if to protect him from the horrible scene. The rider standing behind Cartman had trouble pulling the sword back to remove it from his large body, using his foot to propel him forward so that the semi-living body of Eric fall down from the carriage, impacting so hard against the ground that it came to shake it. He fell alongside Christophe, who laid dead on the High Elf's arms. Kyle hadn't seen the blow being delivered, hadn't seen the fall, the only thing he did see was Cartman's frightened pale face writhing, his eyes which had the color of honey so alive and open, begging for help right beside him. He couldn't say a word at this point, but his fat hand twisted the fingers in a sick way and he used his last power breath to lift it in Kyle's direction, scratching the ground, soiling his hand in the mud. His whole body was now immersed in the mixture of grass and clay.

The knight gently ran his finger over the sword's blade to superficially clean the blood before storing it in its sheath. Cartman grunted down and vomited blood, which also came out of his nose, smearing his chin and jaw. The rider removed his helm with both hands, revealing the stern face of Marjorine, now shorthaired and wearing no makeup on her face.

"Butters." Kenny muttered incredulously.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Eric?" Marjorine spoke with a surprisingly gentle tone. "Don't fuck with my brothers."

Not many agonizing minutes passed until Cartman was taken away, and there was no one willing to close his eyes. Kyle watched it as if it was all a dream: as if he had died on that same spot, along with Christophe, and now he had entered this murky area which projected an abandoned reality. But it was real. He could not move. The tips of his fingers remained sunk in Christophe's flesh, which stiffened as the heat left his body completely. The skies,0 as if by miracle, began to hold the rain. Little by little, the intensity of the drops decreased and there was no thunder anymore.

Marjorine shook her short and wet hair, which seemed even more golden now, and then hastened to take the dagger on the floor - the same one which had stolen Christophe's life – to cut the ties holding Kenny's hands. The man still stared in perplexity, taking a while to understand that she was really there. He was taken by the same feeling as Kyle, the same as Stan and Ike and Kevin also shared. It was all too fast for the brain to process. But when his sister pulled him vigorously for such a tight embrace that ached his injured ribs, Kenny knew she was real.

"It's over." She whispered in his ear, hugging him at the carriage's floor, kissing just below his ear multiple times. "It's over, Kenny."

Stan, meanwhile, approached Kyle almost crawling too, powerless to stand up, his muscles trembling from the adrenaline still running through his body. He hid his face in Kyle's neck and hugged him tightly from behind, which caused the king to overflow again and to start crying, wincing in himself, laying his head on Christophe's chest, staining his own face with blood without realizing it. Stan rested a hand on the Frenchman's cold forehead, caressing his hair while the other arm held Kyle's body near him as much as it was physically possible.

When she let go of Kenny, Marjorine ran a thumb across his wounded cheek and offered a rueful smile. It was no longer raining. She turned her gaze to Ike, who hadn't yet recognized her as the princess. The boy stared back frightened in the corner, in an awkward position. She didn't look like a man, even though she was dressed like one. She approached the prince while holding the dagger in the kindest way possible, but he flinched, hiding his face between his legs. It was Kenny who took the dagger from her hand to release Ike's hands. He patted his shoulder, kissed the top of his head and repeated the same word that his sister had told him:

"It's over, Ike. It's all right."

Now, he really believed that.

Ike nodded, still shaking and unable to close his lips, barely blinking. The cold was almost unbearable, but his body was boiling inside. He turned his gaze to his brother, who was still on the the ground hugging the Mole's body and collected in Stan's arms. When he realized he was being stared at, Kyle looked up at him, tears streaming of relief and grief. He laid Christophe's heavy head very carefully on the soil, finally letting go of him. That body wasn't Christophe anymore. Stan got up, covering his face with both hands. Ike landed on the floor, almost leading to a fall from the carriage, throwing himself to Kyle arms in the mud, holding him desperately like he had so far believed he was never going to be able do it again.

And there was Kevin McCormick left, still standing on the carriage, gasping for air, swallowing hard as he turned his eyes from one side to another. It was hard to read his face. He didn't seem to be afraid nor relieved. He didn't look happy or sad. There was no sense of defeat or victory. When Marjorine started to say something to him, Stanley took his own sword on the floor moved toward him like an animal, trotting, grabbing the wreck of Kevin's shirt to pull him off the carriage, throwing him to the ground on his back. The fall caused him to shrink his members and suck the air through his mouth.

"Stan, No! No, no, no!" Kenny shouted.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" Stan said through his teeth, his eyes filled with tears. He didn't even had time to raise his sword before Kenny jumped up behind him and grabbed him, holding his arms. Kenny had spent a long time without eating and leaving a cage. Even before that, he had been a prisoner in the kingdom of Kupa Keep and the kingdom of elves before that. His body was not strong enough to hold back a trained warrior's fury, a man who had muscles worked as a slaughter machine.

"Stan, please!' Marjorine said in a pained tone, jumping from car dangerously close to Cartman's lifeless body. "Kyle! Do something!"

Kyle's green eyes looked so empty that Marjorine's stomach rolled on itself, as if she knew they couldn't count on any response from him at that moment. The elf's small face was swollen and red, his nose sniffling, his eyes wet with hot tears in contrast to the skin so icy by the rain. Slowly, Kyle stood up, rubbing his hand on the top of Ike's head. Kevin covered his face with his mutilated arm while Kenny fought hard to hold back Stan's hand, clutching the hilt of his sword as if his life depended on it.

"Stanley." Kyle said simply, apathetic, looking at him sideways.

That was enough to paralyze him and the dissatisfaction in the warrior's face became visible as he squinted and lowered the sword, beating Kenny back with his elbow in order to be released. The blond allowed, giving a drunken step back. It was as if the High Elf's words had some kind of spell on him. Kevin was crying now, biting his own wrist. They didn't know if whether for relief or dread.

"He killed the Mole." Stan whispered, so hurt and angry, struggling to keep his voice under control.

"I know that." Kyle licked his lips, tears slowly rolling down flushed cheeks. His voice was still hoarse of crying. "Too much blood has already been shed. Please..."

The elves carriage door opened a few feet from them. Without the rain's loud noise, they could hear the creaking. One leg, barefoot and very white skin appeared. Then another. Phillip put his feet in the most sober way he had done since Terrance died. His feet sank into the mud, but his steps were still light as the fairies from the Grove. The Stick was not wrapped on anything: it rested nude against Phillip's skin, pressed against his chest, held firmly in the wizard's both hands. As soon as he began to approach, a ray of light fell through the clouds, bathing them with its warmth. Ike looked up slowly, his mouth half open, watching the clouds slowly moving away from each other. Kevin sat still like a cornered animal, breathing heavily. But Stan put the sword back into the sheath and swallowed hard, focused on Phillip.

The little wizard passed by everyone who was present, keeping his huge blue eyes locked on Marjorine's figure. She turned her face aside, subtly licking her bulky lips and sucking air through her mouth in a surprised gasp as Phillip knelt before her, between the two lifeless bodies, lowering his head and raising the Stick in both hands, offering it to her.

"The Stick tells me that now I can give it back to its real mother." Phillip said in a timid low voice.

Marjorine offered the High Elf a questioning glance. Kyle pulled Ike under the protection of his arm and pressed his brother's head against chest, stroking his black hair. The elf supported her with his eyes, nodding.

"Kyle." Stan said in hesitation, but not convincing, because he was under a phlegmatic energy that tamed the breath of all of them.

But Kyle simply bowed.

"Long live the Queen."

. . .

Christophe DeLorme was buried in the Elven kingdom's cemetery, his true home. Marjorine knew that he was a human raised in Kupa Keep, so she offered to look for his family for the funeral ceremonies, maybe bury him with his relatives, but Kyle promptly refused. Christophe had always told him that his family were the elves, at least in the rough way he knew how to talk about this kind of thing. Therefore he received the burial rituals of his people, the people who accepted him as one of their own.

The cemetery was by the lake, which was particularly blue that morning and reflecting the sun's rays like a mirror. Stan cried silently as Gregory and Wendy sang human songs which the Mole had great appreciation for (it was the only thing that could actually bring him to tears, and that was only when he drank). There were not many people who attended the ceremony, but for different reasons than one would imagine; the elven people treated him as a true hero. Regicide was a very serious crime in Zaron, regardless of who you were. Everyone who had been there when Cartman was slaughtered agreed to change the story a bit to protect Marjorine; they told people that Christophe took Cartman's life and Kevin murdered him for it. Even though the Mole had been an extremely reserved man who grunted for most people, after his death he was worshiped in the Elven kingdom and the day of his funeral was a day of pain. The ceremony itself, however, was closed. He never liked crowds.

Marjorine was present, arm in arm with Baahir who held her tight as she wept. Even the crying made her beautiful. She was properly dressed, but not as a princess. Her dress wasn't one of hers overly voluminous skirts, it had some discrete frilly lace details in the sleeves and cleavage, and the bottom looked like a painting of several flowers in red and green, small and delicate, blending so well with the fabric's black background. The fancy crown of Kupa Keep, studded diamond, made her even more beautiful. Her people received her with open arms after the news of the tyrant's death had spread, because she had always been the link that held the Kingdom of Kupa Keep from a rebellion that would take the head of the monarchs. Craig, Trent, the whole army of brute men were bowed before her. Keep Kupa did not cry the death of their king.

Henrietta also wore black that day, a beautiful long sleeved dress with ruffles on the edge, but the cleavage was white with buttons and a spleen around the neck. The volume of her belly was still low-key, as she was a large woman, but those who knew the truth could recognize the glow of pregnancy from quite a distance. She cried the entire ceremony and also made mockery of her own hyper-sensitivity, while wearing a black handkerchief to clean the smudged eye makeup. Token put a hand on her shoulder at one point, as she stared at the grave that held Christophe DeLorne's name, and offered a fatherly smile.

"I don't know how I will raise two children by myself, Token. I don't know how I will raise an elf great enough to do justice to this man's name."

"You're not alone." He said, hugging her.

Surprisingly, Kyle did not cry at the funeral. He was pretty quiet, both hands clasped in front of his body. Ike remained inconsolable, which was actually good for Stan, who was responsible for taking care of him and ended up distracted from his own mourning, keeping it together. Kyle watched them from afar, isolated near his parents' grave. After all, he had on his chest a portion of relief for not adding another Broflovski to those graves. He still wondered what would have happened if Christophe hadn't been so unbearably stubborn to follow them on horseback against the king's orders that he was not yet strong enough to confront anyone. He also wondered if Christophe would have died if he hadn't been weaker than his normal self.

At one point, Kyle's eyes crossed with Baahir's and the man offered him a sincere smile. The king's heart was filled with gratitude.

"Are you alright?" He heard Kenny's familiar voice behind him. When he turned around, Kenny was closer than expected.

Seeing that scarred face melted every thought and every sorrow that had accumulated in Kyle's heart. Under the sunlight, alive and a little fatter than the last time they met, Kyle could not believe that Kenneth McCormick was still there, standing, after watching him die right before his eyes, after holding his dead body and smearing himself in Kenny's blood just as he did with Christophe. Kyle's eyes filled with tears, but he disguised them with a genuine smile, only allowing himself to be embraced by Kenny's thin warm (and very much alive) body, hiding his face in his bony shoulder, squeezing him in his arms as if he feared that the man could disappear at anytime.

"I'm so sorry" The blond whispered against his red curls, taking a caring hand to the elf's nape.

He felt responsible for what had happened to Christophe, in a way. Even if Kenny hadn't been the one who directly took his life, he was also responsible for the monster Kevin had become. The did it by letting the elves take Kevin as a prisoner, and therefore making Christophe amputate his hand, instead of protecting him. He was responsible for agreeing to be an infiltrated for Cartman in the first place, for what came to be of Pip, Henrietta's husband, Mint-berry, for everything. There was a limited amount of times that Kenny would have to die to absolve himself from the guilt. However, Kyle still allowed his brother to live to decide what to do with him – Kevin was properly locked in Kupa Keep for now - and still raised those immense green eyes to look at Kenny with something was very similar to admiration. Kenny did not feel worthy of it at all.

Kyle stood on tiptoe, pressing his lips against the blond's, feeling the wounded texture, which was soft at the same time, comfortable, warm and humid. He kissed him without using tongue, hugged his neck, eyes closed. Much of his weight leaned against Kenny.

"Stay here with me." Kyle whispered in need, without interrupting the kiss. There was nothing lewd about that touch. He slid his hand down to Kenny's chest, pressing his fingertips into his flesh under the bulk fabric of his shirt. "The war is over. You don't have to go back."

"Your people still see me as a traitor."

The elf took both hands to the back of his head, running his fingers through the blond hair, brushing his nose slowly against Kenny's, who lowered his face enough to rest his forehead against Kyle's.

"There is nothing that time won't heal, Kenny."

The human smiled, for he could finally see some future perspective, a hopeful phrase, some light after spending so much time living as an animal - if not worse - and believing that he'd never feel that soft touch again. He reached for Kyle's small hand and laced their fingers together, spending a few moments just brushing his lips over the elf's, never breaking the smile. He allowed himself to feel a little happiness in the rubble of war.

"I'll follow you wherever you go, my king."

The End

A/N: I don't know how to thank you guys. This story is probably absurdly full of English mistakes and typos. Native English speakers probably cringed along the way and I'm very sorry about that, but I'm also glad that my insecurities didn't keep me from sharing this story with you. Thank you so much for staying with me all this way, I'm so sorry for the long hiatus and everything. I hope the end hasn't disappointed too many people! Please, tell me what you think about it.