The sound of battle rages around us, but we are the calm in the center of the storm. His armor is dented and soaked in blood, his face has grown older, more worn and tired, yet he is still the man I knew. He is still my brother, and the sword in my hand trembles for the first time.
“Your war ends here, brother!” He shouts over the screams of dying men. “With your death the realm will cease to bleed and peace will be restored.”
I watch his eyes, waiting for him to strike, but it does not come. Through his eyes I see his soul, and in his soul I see his doubt. Though he hides it well, this is not a fight he wishes for either.
“Join me!” I shout, as my men press the attack around me. “Join me and we can put an end to this war and the mad kings reign of terror.”
“I have sworn an oath, the same oath you once swore.” He slowly shakes his head, and his grip tightens on the hilt of his sword.
“We swore an oath to protect the realm.” I breath out, searching for the calm, the stillness needed should his blade come for me. “He burned hundreds in a quest to find enemies that did not exist. He is a madman.”
“He is our king!” He raises his sword, but still does not move to strike. “Villages burn, people starve. Your war with kill thousands.”
“I will give the people freedom.” I know in my heart there is no hope of convincing him to join me. My soul cries out in pain, but in the stillness I feel nothing, it will find me later.
“You will give them death.” I watch as the calm washes over his face. “And I will not allow it.”
He strikes like a snake, his blade barely visible as it comes at my throat, but it is a familiar strike and he has gotten older since the last time we sparred. My sword hand aches as I parry blow after blow, the sound of steel rings in my ear. The battle has joined us, and all around us men on both sides fall. For a moment I lose sight of him, lost in a sea of blood and blades. I strike at one of his men, severing his arm and allowing my own sergeant to bring him down for good. Then my brother is there again, leaping through a spray of blood.
With each strike he slows, he is older than I, slower but stronger. Thus I bide my time, wearing him down, waiting for my opening. Somewhere inside the stillness my younger self screams for me to leave his brother alone, but I cannot hear him. Then it comes, a slight slip, he swings just a little to far to my side and the parry knocks him off balance. My sword finds home beneath his shoulder and slides into his lung.
His blade slips from his grasp as blood runs down his arm, and a red froth appears on his lips. He collapses to the ground, as my sword falls from my grasp. I hold his head as my brother breaths his last breath, and his men begin to surrender to mine.