[b][i]"Father, there are children starving. Innocent bystanders are being killed, and for what? Pride? Money? Resources? What are all of those truly worth when compared with a life?" The prince had pleaded, exasperated with the king, who refused to listen.

"You're too young to understand, Alastor. Just go back to whatever it is you do around here." The king had replied, not even glancing at his son as he sifted through letters and war reports.

Alastor slammed his fist on the table, gaining his father's attention, and causing the servant in the room to jump in surprise. "How can you take this so lightly?! You send young men off to die in a pointless struggle for power, whilst you sit here safe in your palace! You care nothing for the sacrifice your people are making, you know nothing of the suffering that is being caused because of you!" The prince exploded, unable to stand the king's apathy any longer. 

"If you won't do something about this damn war, then I will!"[/i][/b]

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Alastor grimaced as he reflected on his actions, realizing that this, perhaps, had not been the best way to go about the situation. He had never been one to lose his temper, seeing how dearly his father's temper had cost others was more than enough of an example for him growing up, and Alastor tried to be patient with everyone. But this entire situation was testing his resolve. Even though this conversation had happened nearly a week ago, the prince was still furious with his father. After all, any halfway sane person could see how pointless this war was, and how it was costing both sides. A truce was the obvious answer. Why was he the only one that could see that?

He sighed and ran a hand through his tousled red hair, trying to relieve some of his stress. Honestly, it wasn't his problem. He was fifth in line for the throne behind his four older brothers, so unless he started killing them off, it wasn't his responsibility to worry about what did or didn't happen to the people. But that didn't change the face that he cared. When Alastor was but a wee lad, his governess would dress the two of them in disguises, and they would go into the marketplace. Music filled the air, the sun shone bright, the streets were clean, children played in the streets, the people were happy. But no more. Now when Alastor dared to venture out, children were on the streets begging for food, their eyes dull with hopelessness. The music no longer played, except for bells of the house of mourning. Trash and filth littered the once beautiful and bright streets, and the people were terrified. It wasn't his responsibility, but it broke his heart.

"My lord! My lord!" A frantic voice caught his attention, and as Alastor turned, he was greeted by the sight of a plump old maid running towards him. Her name was Natasha, but the prince had always just called her Nana. Currently, Nana was in a state. Her eyes were red and puffy, tears stained her cheeks, and her hands were shaking.

"Good god, what's wrong?" He asked, eyebrows furrowing as he grasped the old woman's hands.

She inhaled deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. "Its awful... So awful your highness... I'm sorry... So sorry..." Sobs echoed down the hallway, drawing some glances to the pair, and prompting Alastor to move this conversation elsewhere.

"It's alright, Nana. Come, let's go into my study. You can tell me all about it, alright?" The prince soothed, leading the poor woman into the room to his right. Had someone died? When they were inside, he locked the door and made Nana sit down. He offered her some water, but she refused, slightly calmer now.

"Oh, my lord... It's dreadful... Absolutely dreadful..." She shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"What is, Nana?"

"The king... He..." Her voice choked. "I overheard him talking... I was bringing him his tea, you see, like I always do... I wasn't supposed to hear... Oh god what if he finds out... My lord he's planning to... to kill you... Oh I'm so sorry... If it had been any of the other boys, I wouldn't say anything but you... You were always such a sweet little boy and I just couldn't... You have to run my lord. Please, please run. Of all the horrible things..."

For several moments, Alastor couldn’t say anything. His father… wanted to kill him? If it had been any of the other servants, he might have wondered if they were lying, but Nana was not one to just make up a story like this. She was also in such a state, she probably couldn’t have lied if she wanted to. Even though he didn’t want to believe her warning, it made sense, and that meant he didn’t have time to be shocked. He needed to get moving. Without a word, Alastor got up and went to his room to pack a small bag of supplies. He would leave when everyone else had gone to sleep, and pray the guards would keep their silence. 


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The prince hadn’t stopped to rest all night, for fear of his father sending soldiers after him, and he was exhausted. The sun beat down on him one instant, and then the next rain was pelting him as he walked through a forest. Nana had helped him pack and prepare, sobbing and fussing over him the entire time, giving endless motherly advice before sending him off. Alastor prayed that her involvement wouldn’t be discovered, and left a large sum of money under her pillow incase she should have to run. 
His feet ached, his body felt heavy, and he needed to rest, but he still didn’t feel safe. By now, his father had no doubt learned of his disappearance, and had sent soldiers after him. Would he be able to outrun them? Could he hide? Would they track him down? How far ahead was he? How long did he have? A groan left the prince as he leaned against a tree, taking just a second to catch his breath. The day was ending, and he needed to find a place to rest, and figure out his next move. 

It was then, like a dream come true, that a shape appeared through the mist and rain. It looked like some sort of building, and through the rain Alastor thought he could make out the shadow of a door, and a light that clearly shone through some of the windows. Perhaps the inhabitants of this place would be kind enough to offer him shelter. Lowering his hood, Alastor made his way to the door, and pounded on it.