[ WP ] The last soldier of a once great empire sits alone in a small room . There is a knock on the door . Two men in uniforms have come for him .

The knock echoed as he sat and thought, more alone than any in tragic form. He knew the knock was only a moment, but in it he felt forever. It shocked him into life, it freed beauty lost to violence and love forgotten in its decay. 
 
 He remembered his estate in the countryside and its brooks and fields and towering trees. Fresh warm winds and sweat mixing with dirt and cool moonlit nights filled his mind. He remembered the fires they set to the land and the house and to all that he loved in peace. 
 
 Violence merits violence, he reflected. 
 
 He let the knock linger in the air of the room as it mingled with smoke from the fire and the smell of stale wine. He could hear sounds from the other patrons of the inn downstairs and they reminded him of before. The inn was built, he thought with dark irony, on the remnants of the city. 
 
 He remembered returning to the city, to safety, protecting his family as he went. Her grace had saved him as his might had saved her, their children bore both their witness. 
 
 If he had never picked up a sword, perhaps it would n't have ended. If he had n't fought often and willingly in campaign after campaign... But it was innate, he thought, his ability to fight. To do anything else would be affront to purpose. 
 
 The knock came again and he glanced at his sword then the door, wondering if he could unsheathe it again. It was only a matter of time, he reminded himself. He knew this day would come. He had known it since he first met Tieganne. 
 
 True beauty manifested in beautiful truth described her, as her words flowed freely, as honest as they were pure. But he hardened his resolve whenever he thought of her. To think of her meant to think of the city's fall, to think of his children, to think of loss. 
 
 He had led the defense that night after retreating with his family to the city. Violence merits violence, he had thought, remembering the flames crawl over the countryside. Violence merits violence, he thought as he stood presently, the flames of the burning city filling his entirety. 
 
 Two more knocks on the door and he unsheathed his sword, that last night in the city in his mind. They had raised the city and he had fought well, but fire cares not for the skill of steel. He was alone now as he was when he was forced to flee, and he knew it was every fault of his own. But he'd be damned if he would n't fight one last time. 
 
 For Tieganne and his sons he crossed the room, unlatching the door with his sword in hand. Vengeance would be dealt, for them and for him, until he shared their fate. To do anything else would be an affront to purpose. 
 
 As he opened the door the moment ended. There were no knocks or soldiers, no demands or orders. Only his sword falling to his side and his knees falling to the floor. Only Tieganne and her tears and his boys running into his embrace. 
 
 He did n't remember what it was like to have love. He had lived without it for so many years. He wept as he held his children and Tieganne and thought of the violence he always knew. 
 
 `` I will never fight again, for as long as I live, unless it's to protect you. To do anything else... That would be an affront to purpose.'' 
 
 The moved into the night with silence and haste, searching for a new home with fresh warm winds and cool moonlit nights. Somewhere where they could live and love in peace. 

