Disclaimer - Not mine.

Best. Disclaimer. EVUR.

A/N - Told you I wasn't dead. My laptop was, though, for an extremely long period of time, which really sucked a ginormous amount of ass.

And yes, this just may be the shortest chapter of anything ever. Forgive me. Many, many thanks to Gunlord500, who showed me how to cheat the site out of sucking.

Royalty is obsessed with death.

It was a truth of the world I could not escape. Even my father, who went against so many traditions, could not resist planning the aftermath of his own demise down to the smallest detail. Ephraim, I'm sure, has made his arrangements; despite the fact many nobility of Renais regarded my brother as irresponsible, I know he would never, ever, abandon his obligations. I, too, am guilty: Tana and a letter hidden in the supply caravan know what needs to be done.

But when you are staring at death, whether in the form a madman's axe, the lance of a determined soldier, or the face of what was once a dear, gentle friend – all the plans you have made, all the things you so meticulously prepared, all the regrets and desperate hopes you sealed so tightly within that dark place of your heart – they all become nothing.

How can one letter contain all that I was? How could my father have dared to think that the secret of Renais's stone was worth his blood? How could Ephraim ever imagine me living without him?

We of royal blood make our preparations. We plan for that inevitable day that draws ever closer looking forever forward, ever calculating, ever weighing our options, for our deaths could spell the end of nations. We scheme and plan down to the smallest detail on how to make our demise seem like it was all a part of a plan we knew since birth.

But that does not erase our fear of dying.

Then there are those beneath us. Those who have sworn eternal loyalty. Those whose fealty outweighs the fear of death. They charge forward at our whim, kill at our order, die on our command.

The separation between royalty and knighthood has existed unchanged for centuries. Where we lead, they follow. Our word is their law. Our demands are their only purpose.

For me, it becomes harder and harder to remember.

I watch him whenever I can. I trail behind the supply caravans simply to catch a glimpse of him, to know that he is still there. I live for those brief, glorious moments when he catches my gaze and his lips ease into a small, rare smile.

When the blades of our enemies stab from every direction, I look through the bloody chaos for his face. From what feels like a world away, I watch the iron claws of hellbeasts descend upon him like rain and scream his name. When it all finally ends, and the sound of steel and screaming men dulls and dies and turns into another painful memory, I stare at him, at his tired walk and slumped shoulders, at the blood on his armor and the pain in his eyes, and I tremble against the urge to rush across the corpse field and into his arms.

He says he would die for me, just as his duty demands. He tells me that if he must forfeit his life for victory, then he shall accept the fate I deal him. Sacrifices are to be made in war; it is to be expected. He is pawn, a slave to my will.

He says he would die for me.

And deep inside myself, I wonder if he would live for me.