~ Epilogue ~

Two Years Later.

Breeze crept into the quiet hall, the torches dim, his knee throbbing distantly. The leg mostly worked as normal now, although the cold tundra of the north sent aching spikes through the joint intermittently. His sword was firm in his paw, his coat loose around him.

He stepped out of the shadows, boots finding a soft rug. Looking to the end of the hall, he saw a tall throne built out of steel. It a brutal thing with a skull at its apex, designed purely to impose. He wondered if the king often actually sat in it. It was empty now, but that wasn't surprising.

Wiping the guardsman's blood from his sword, Breeze made his way to the side, pushing through a closed doorway. A set of stairs led up, dark in the cold night. The wolf paused a moment, listening.

Nothing.

He made his way slowly, knee trembling from the effort, stairs were always hard. He kept his sword low, point angled up, ready to skewer anyone who might appear. His mouth watered at the thought of it. An end was coming. An end to two miserable years alone. He'd been folded into companies and bands of soldiers, finding alliances with anyone who would point him closer toward his destination - but he never found friends. Breeze stoked the hate in himself, cresting the staircase and finding two guards walking away from him, their backs turned. Without pause he skipped forward, slicing his blade across the tendons of the one's calf, twisting to push his tip through the lung of the other. A gurgling cry rang out, the man with the sliced calf writhing on the ground, hissing, in shock. Breeze tore his swore free and lopped off the crawling man's head. It fell away, his body going limp as blood spilled onto the wooden floor. The wolf with the pierced lung rolled over, clutching his breast, gore streaming between his fingers. He tried to say something, but the words were just a wet sucking noise.

Breeze left him there, stepping past. He rounded the hall, finding the austere door and knocking.

“Yes?" A voice called. Even after all these years, the words sent chills through Breeze's body. It sounded so familiar. He closed his eyes, inhaling.

Breeze pushed inside.

Slaugh Morningbreaker sat hunched at a desk, his thin crown pushed aside, gold and silver jewellery hanging from his tusks. The room was a kind of study, with a large bed sitting in the corner. The warthog didn't look up as Breeze slipped inside, closing the door behind himself.

“Your majesty." Breeze said icily. Slaugh looked up, frowning. It took a few moments for the pieces to connect, and his mouth fell open.

“Breeze?" He asked. “Is it you?"

“It's me."

Slaugh shook his head. He didn't seem afraid, only surprised. “I heard rumours you were in Istren during the siege. I assumed... I don't know. Rumours the Witchborn seem to follow wherever there are northmen."

“How goes the war?" Breeze asked, stepping closer. The Madlands had been at war with the Union for eight months now, and the fighting had pushed up past the border.

“Do you really care?" Slaugh asked. He sounded tired. His face was worn, not the vibrant youth filled with anger that Breeze remembered. “Why are you here, Breeze?"

“You tried to have me killed."

“That was... years ago, now." Slaugh said, frowning. Breeze stepped closer, and Slaugh waved a fat hand. “And you deserted. After you killed Paling Smith, in a duel I begged you not to take, and after he surrendered to you, you apparently decided you and your men would be better off as vagabonds. What was I to do? Set a precedent of allowing my highest ranking champions to just walk away? You didn't even ask me."

“You made me fight him." Breeze said. “You made me do all of it. You pushed me, saying it was my choice but rewarding every instance. It was only because of me that the north bowed to you, because they were so terrified I'd come after them. All this, all you've got, should be mine."

“Is that what you think?" Slaugh seemed amused. “I won't argue the latter. The whole northwest was... is terrified of you. But I never made you do anything. I loved you like a son, and I'm a man of flaws, but I loved you."

“That wasn't love."

“Breeze." Slaugh said. “I am a barbaric man. I know it. I raised you to be a warrior, to fight, to be strong. I never made you love killing. I never fostered that kind of cruelty you're capable of. You can't teach that, Breeze."

The wolf stepped closer, hackles up, teeth bared. “Stop talking."

“It's who you are. Who you always were." Slaugh shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “I'll admit I used you, I unleashed you on the north, gave you the support you needed. I'll pay for that for the rest of my life. But what you did to Yisa the Betrayer? Those towns in the east? To Black-Tongue? Bah."

“I changed." Breeze growled through gritted teeth. “I accepted who I was. I..."

Slaugh was grinning. “Oh, yes. I can see that." He said.

Breeze saw red. He tossed his sword aside, throwing himself at the desk. He scaled the top, ignoring the pain in his leg, scattering papers and books and ink pots. He crashed into Slaugh like a spear, throwing them both over backwards. The old warthog cried out in alarm, thrashing madly, but Breeze was heavier and stronger than him. They hit the ground and the chair crumbled beneath their weight, splinters flying.

“Your fault!" Breeze snarled, gripping Slaugh's face by the tusks. “It's your fault I'm like this!"

“Breeze! Stop!" The warlord-turned-king cried out, struggling to speak under the crushing weight on his chest. “P-please!"

Breeze lifted his head up, steering it with the tusks. “Your fault that he's gone!" He slammed Slaugh's skull back with a crack.

The warthog got a hand up, grabbing Breeze's shirt. “No!" The wolf pushed it away, drawing a short dagger, his paw tight on the handle.

“My pain is my own." Breeze whispered, aiming it over Slaugh's eye. The warthog held an arm up, trying in vain to keep Breeze away. The wolf put on more pressure, leaning down, the tip of his blade hovering inches from Slaugh's eye. “Mine! But you caused it! And you deserve this!"

“Breeze!" Slaugh cried out, and his grip slipped. The knife plunged down, splitting Slaugh's eye and spraying blood. There was a crack of bone as it sunk to the hilt.

A series of jitters ran through the warthog, beginning in his fingertips and ricocheting through his body like lightning. He coughed and sputtered in his death throes, trying to speak, failing. His mouth worked wordlessly, and eventually, all was still.

Red to the elbows, Breeze let his head loll back.

It's over. He thought.

“Triumvirate's breath." The voice startled Breeze back to reality. He turned his head to see a tall cat standing in the doorway, several scrolls stacked high in his arms. “Slaugh."

Breeze frowned. He almost recognised the white fur, the small face. His eyes narrowed. Roland Estoc.

“What are you doing here?" Breeze asked, but he got no reply.

     The cat's hackles went up, and he bared his teeth, pulling a dagger from his belt and rushing Breeze. The wolf started, turning back to Slaugh and going for the knife stuck through his eye. It wouldn't come free, and Roland crashed into him from behind, throwing them both off Slaugh's corpse, rolling and tumbling across the wood. Breeze felt two, three, four punches slam in his back, white lances of pain blossoming there.

He snapped his elbow back, connecting it with Roland's nose. The cat tumbled off him and Breeze rolled, scrambling to get on top, grunting as he felt Roland drive the dagger into his gut. Breeze growled, showing his teeth as he ripped away Roland's weak fingers, seizing the blade and tugging it free. The cat panicked, screaming, but Breeze pushed through his meagre defence and buried the knife square in the side of his neck.

Roland froze, panting. Breeze tore the blade free, tossing it aside. Blood rushed from the wound, and the cat woozily put two pink-stained paws to his throat, lips contorting.

“Violent men..." He rasped, a smile almost touching his lips. “Claude was right."

Breeze didn't care. He was drenched in gore, stabbed through five times. He stood, shocked at how little strength he had left in his body. He stumbled, trying to get a grip on the desk, his paw slipping right off. He crashed to the ground, picking himself back up.

“Shit." He said, limping to a large set of double doors. He shoved them open, cold night air washing over him. He exhaled into the night, seeing the stars, seeing the reclaimed city of Reicherben stretch below Slaugh's palace. He braced himself on the parapet, but then the strength abandoned his legs and he collapsed.

Hugging the short wall, Breeze felt his breaths coming in short gasps. Pain shot through him with every inhalation.

You were wrong, Ras. He thought, smiling. Guess there won't be another, Slaugh was the last.

He missed that man. Erasmus had been the best thing to ever happen to him, and he threw it away. He hoped they were happy. At least they got out.

Breeze had always been on borrowed time. If not for Erasmus, he'd be dead somewhere in the wilderness, either from plague, infection, or Slaugh's men. His death came in the form of that ambush in the Eltric Chasm, everything after that was just waiting.

“I love you Ras." Breeze whispered, lips dry. He hoped the otter would forgive him.

Alone in the cold, Breeze went still.

~ X ~

Erasmus pulled the crab-net free of the water, scowling at the empty haul. He dropped the net on the pier, straightening and hearing several satisfying clicks in his back. Scarden was close to the north, and it was a cold place to live indeed. Wind carried a chill off the ocean, nipping at him, but now that he'd grown used to it Erasmus found it more refreshing than anything else.

He glanced back, smiling as he watched Fenton chase Abigail around on the shore. They were an odd family, but a family nonetheless. Fenton was a good friend, and Erasmus was surprised the man had such a soft spot for the little fox pup.

He did feel slightly guilty at the fact he'd all but stolen Orianna's child. The princess of the Ferrin Union had been a sweet woman, one that Claude and Roland had used for their own gain. Still. He knew Abbey would have a better life out here, growing up as a simple crab fisher with two fathers who loved her, than being heir to the nation of unending war.

Their bloodlust was insatiable, but neither Erasmus nor Fenton had really been surprised at the news the Union was fighting the Northwest. The only change it meant for them was a slight uptick in crab and fish sales. Scarden was well away from the fighting, and the snowy lands had yet remained untouched by the hundred or any other major conflict. Erasmus worried often that the war would come for them too, but he prayed it didn't, and that was all he could do.

He still thought about Breeze sometimes. Wondered if the wolf had gotten himself killed during the sacking of Istren, or if he'd managed to scrape on out. Slaugh Morningbreaker was still alive, as far as Erasmus knew, so he'd never succeeded in his vengeance pact.

Breeze had been a man of excuses. Of weak justifications and cruelty and hatred and pain. He was probably the most terrifying person Erasmus had ever known, next to Claude Morgan. Breeze had also been someone that Erasmus loved. He loved him still, for some reason. Breeze had been strong, determined. He'd seen the otter for who he really was, a person, and not just some tool that nobles could use to make themselves feel better.

Ras hated what he'd done. He knew how much it would have hurt the wolf to be abandoned like that, to be betrayed. But Erasmus knew if they hadn't left, Breeze would have gotten them all killed sooner or later.

Erasmus closed his eyes, feeling tears. He was surprised at how much he thought about Breeze, and he hoped that the wolf had found peace somewhere, in whatever strange form it took for a man like that.

“Y'alright?" Erasmus flinched, opening his eyes to see Fenton walking over. Abigail, now well into toddling, was still on the shore, her tiny orange paws buried in the grass. She was a wonderful little girl, and they both loved her as their own. She liked to explore, to discover the world around her and try to interact with it. Breeze would be proud at how unafraid she was.

“Fine." Erasmus said. He glanced out at the horizon. “I'm just... fine."

And, he was surprised to find, it was true.

The End

I think endings are without a doubt the hardest part of a story to write. I have some feelings about this one, but I'll leave them for an afterwards journal to talk about - don't want to colour feelings too much. I will say that it's an unusual ending, it's very small and kind of sad, inevitable, without any flashy shocks or twists. There's Claude's death and the reveal as him being the traitor, but I still don't think anyone was that surprised at that fact. It's kind of the point in many ways - what was that all for? It led to nothing good, just violence and death. One violent act can only lead to another.

I know it might not be a very satisfying ending, not what you expected, no showdown or drama, but I think it's still appropriate. There's a sliver of light, Fenton and Ras got out with Abigail, but still.

It's also the longest story I have on SoFurry. My word file is 396 pages (12pt Anonymous Pro, generous spacing), and the whole thing is 134,470 words, haha. I enjoy stats, but damn. 

I hope, if you read this far, that you enjoyed it, or at least got something out of it. I think it could have used more focus, but that's always an issue for me it seems. Hopefully you liked the characters as much as you hated them, or at least found them interesting. I don't know, by this point I can never really judge my own work fairly - I just feel a kind of sadness and finality. I'm glad the story is done (it's depressing writing something this bleak and violent) but still. It's hard to explain.

But, thank you for reading. No point writing stories to put up here if people don't enjoy them. I already have an idea for my next story, haha, a cyberpunk kind of story about a love-sick awkward dude getting swept up into a revolution, with strings attached - I think people will like that one, will be good to do something in the future rather than the past. I've also got a one-shot yiff story coming, just didn't want to post a vore-adjacent-incest romp in between the climax of A Patient Death, haha. Look out for those, come listen to me yell about fighting games on twitter ( @DingoNoir ) and chat.

If you have ideas on how this story could have been improved, please let me know, either via comment or PM. Also happy to answer any questions about direction or intent, if they're there.

Have a good one, thx :3

- Sasha