Author's Note: "Freedom" takes place months after the events of "Elan", and is Part 4 of 4 of the Talos of Evora series. The storyline goes Luck -> Custom -> Elan -> Freedom. I've tried to reintroduce returning characters, but read the other parts if you're interested in learning more.
For a story called "Freedom", this story contains a lot of non-consent. I will also promise it's not the "oh, but it turns out she likes it" sort of non-con you might have read elsewhere. This is a far darker story than my other works.
To tame expectations, Alanna (who appears to be the favorite character judging from my inbox) doesn't appear until the Epilogue. Sorry!
Wanderer
~~~~
The fear was palpable on the air. Three thousand armored men stood in formation just beyond the gates of a small port town, rolling hills of grass before them. Their armor was tattered, bloodied by battle, and completely haphazard; an odd collection of mail, plate, or leather, their weapons similarly random. The only pattern identifiable on the forms of these veterans were one of a red crescent, symbol of the Blood Moons mercenary company.
Talos, a young noble of nineteen, sat atop his black horse at the front and center of the band, flanked by the few noble-born riders of his who yet lived. He stared into the distance with anticipation, his face unreadable to all but one other.
Three times their number awaited them on the nearest hilltop. The polished, clean armors of the Santarian knights were all too evident at its peak, glimmering in the morning sunlight as if in testament of their natural superiority. A hundred flags flapped eagerly above the knights, displaying the many colors of Santarian nobility. Duke Enrico had called all his banners to account for the treachery of Talos and his Blood Moons, and all had accepted their obligations. Yet they stood, waiting, and had not descended the hill.
Surrounding hills were occupied as well, the forms of many men and women unarmored visible upon them. Tales of the Blood Moon mercenaries had spread quickly throughout Santaria, and hundreds had appeared this day to see the result of combat between the mercenary-turned-revolutionary Talos and the Duke of Santaria.
A tap on Talos' shoulder. He shifted his gaze, finding a Sigismund with only thirty-some years tilting his head behind him. Talos guided his stallion about, finding a dark-skinned man in rags wanting to speak to him. Talos dismounted and made his way towards the beggar with three-thousand and two eyes on him.
"It's done, Talos. The final ship will depart as soon as I return," the beggar said, extending his hand for the young mercenary captain.
Talos, and by extension his mercenary company, had been paid a pretty sum to bring this particular beggar to justice. He was a slave, or at least had been not six months ago; his defiance to his situation had given others the same spark, until he had found himself in command of a throng of fifty-thousand slaves in revolt soon later. The Blood Moons had been hired to put down the revolt, and had been making good progress up until two weeks ago.
Rather than gut the slave here and now, Talos shook his hand. "Good. Hope, uh, everything goes well out there, Bertrum."
Bertrum smiled, crossing his arms when his hand returned to him. "You still haven't told me why you're doing all of this," he said warmly.
Talos shrugged, his gaze falling away from the ex-slave's sight. "I'm tired of the bloodshed. Let's just... leave it at that," Talos replied reticently. The man in rags only chuckled.
"And what will you do now?" Bertrum asked. "No lord will dare hire the Blood Moons again. You've ruined your livelihoods just to save ours."
Talos didn't have to ponder a response, having come up with one days ago. He had been on edge the entire time, and had to convince three-thousand men with steel that his call had been the right one.
"I'm going to walk out of Santaria with my friends," Talos replied. "Those cowards on the hill will never attack the Moons, especially when you all have already fled."
He sighed, finding his eyes wandering over the transports loaded with precious cargo at the port. Only thirty-five thousand slaves remained from the original fifty-thousand, and the guilt tore at Talos each waking moment of his life.
"Then... I guess I'll just keep walking," the mercenary said reticently. "Get away from it all, for a time."
"You'll always be welcome in Hesperia with us, Talos. Your name is already uttered with reverence on my people's lips. And I hope, one day, we can repay the kindness that you have showed us. We're all... very grateful, Talos. Truly."
Talos turned around, refusing to meet the man's sight anymore. Yet, three-thousand regulars had their eyes trained on their captain anyway. There they saw Talos' grief, and perhaps they may have shared it.
The Blood Moons had assaulted Bertrum's host of ragged slaves four times already, many souls perishing for an undeniable cause; a simple hope of securing their own freedom, and to not wake up another day in fettered service to another. Talos had personally slain many, their helpless wails on the wind haunting his dreams in the weeks thereafter. He would have to atone for several lifetimes to make up for it.
Yet, for all Talos' horrid deeds, all Bertrum displayed in return was love, gratitude, and forgiveness. Talos would never deserve it from anyone, and especially not from him. He couldn't look Bertrum in the eye as he replied with heavy heart.
"Thanks, Bertrum. It's best you get going."
~~
Talos awoke suddenly under a pile of white bear furs within a familiar tent, saved from his memories of fourteen long years ago. A lithe, beautiful elf lay curled beside him in his arm, her soft breath whispering nothings as she slept contentedly.
The pair had returned to the white snows of Isbrygga, this time on the western coast of the region rather than in the far north. Winter had set in, and the entire area was covered in a thick layer of snow. Yet, within their tent and under a massive pile of furs, Talos and Casiama remained in lighter garb. The elf beside him only wore her white sheer nightgown, quite possibly her favorite piece of clothing. Had she not been hidden under blankets, her willowy, toned form would be readily visible underneath her dress. Her hand was contentedly draped atop Talos' chest, her thin fingers several shades darker than the skin they laid upon.
Talos smiled at the sight of her perfection, reminded that he was not lost any longer, as he was in his dream. those years of wandering alone were far behind him, now, and had instead been merely transformed into countless stories he could share over a meal between friends. Talos wondered why he ever let those days last so long.
Problem was, when you're out on the road alone, facing dangers day in and day out while purely reliant on your own skill... you forget about that need for long-term companionship. Wanderlust surges through you, like a tidal wave of distraction and interference. Your adrenaline builds and builds until nothing matters but the next spike, the next dose of wonder. Sure, there's always a calm between storms; calms which only made a wanderer restless. Made Talos eager to find his next adventure.
Yet, Talos had been grateful to find true strength in the past year. After being lost for so long, all it took was the companionship of one immature sorceress to make him realize how wrong he had been. How wretched his life had become. And, so far, things had been improving.
For one, he'd found the love of his life in an enchanting form that he'd least expected. The elf that was currently squished against him in a loving slumber was none other than a princess of Tor Valliya, an elven kingdom to the east. She had been banished from her home by her father, the king of Tor Valliya, just as Talos had by his own - albeit human - father a decade and a half ago. The elven beauty had only twenty-nine years of age, an incredibly young age for an elf. She would appear no older than nineteen to a human's eyes. Talos himself held thirty-three years, years which contained enough stories to last a hundred lifetimes.
Secondly, Talos had a son on the way. Supposedly, anyway. Princess Casiama could never bear a son for the man, as it was forbidden by nature for man and elf to produce together. Instead, that duty had fallen to a young enchantress far away in the port city of Catriona, a city which lay six-hundred miles to the south and in the opposite direction of the pair's current journey. The auburn-haired and voluptuous sorceress Alanna now had eight months of pregnancy with his child, a child she said she would name after him.
It's not that Talos was
running
from his imminent obligations by traveling in the exact opposite direction, per say; the elf laying beside him would not allow any such thing. Alanna and Casiama had reconciled last month in the Imperial capital of humanity, and had apparently promised to share Talos between the two of them. Obviously, this originally made a man delighted when he heard. To have two of the world's most eminent beauties all to yourself? What's not to like?
