Daerog sat calmly outside the castle, guarding the sloped path that led to the main gates. Like so many of his colleagues, he had little to worry about, or so he thought. They sat and watched nobles, staff and the odd merchant wander in and out, but it was the gate guards that had the duty to do the controls and checks. They were there to enforce the peace outside the castle, in case of protests, uprisings or even the odd rowdy festivity gone too far.

He had of course not always been a guard, indeed, not too long ago he had never even dreamed of ever becoming one. Daerog started out, as so many others, as a simple farmer. He was luckier than most, not being a thrall or serf, but a freeman, but still less lucky than the greater landowners, be they noble or commoner. He had his plot of land, his house, inherited from his father, who inherited from his mother before him, and a wife who had blessed him with three children.

Daerog had been considered a kind and good neighbour back then, when the years were bad he always tried to help neighbours that had less fortunate yields of crop, and he allowed none to starve while he still had food. This always worried his wife of course, who feared that there would be nothing left for the children. Fate, however, favoured his kindness, and such a disaster never came to be.

A disaster did however come, on a more personal level. Many were the freeman peasants that broke the king’s laws, and took down trees that were not theirs to take, or hunted prey that were the property of the king or local nobles. One of his neighbours got caught doing this, of course, and were tasked a heavy fine. Daerog, though a law-abiding man, could not easily watch the fined family starve, for the children were not guilty of the parents’ crimes. Even worse, the husband of that family continued his hunting, now more for spite than need, and getting caught for a second offence so shortly after led to his execution. Now his family was short a strong man, and the children were yet too young to work the fields. Daerog, ever the gentle soul, promised them what food he could spare.

This of course meant less for his own wife and children, and none to trade for salt and other goods they needed. This led to a growing jealousy and rivalry from Daerog’s wife, who began to believe that her husband had had an affair with the bereft widow. Though this was never the case, she finally demanded a separation, leaving Daerog as wife and companion.

Despite the pain it brought him, the kind farmer could not allow his love and their children to live on the roads, and left the house to them. He became a lone wanderer, seeking odd jobs for food and shelter, and was as such treated with little of the kindness he had showed his fellow farmers before.

Though he took the injustice for a while, even Daerog had his limits. Realising that he was used and abused, for he was no fool, he decided to instead try the city life. Moving to the royal capitol was of course far from easy, many who had become homeless or lost their land sought better luck there, and the competition was hard for work. For a kind soul as Daerog, it was hard to compete with people even more down on their luck than him, but he needed the food, the shelter, and some gold to send to his former wife and children. Hard as it was, he tried to share what he could with the poor around him, and help those who had a hard time to find work.

For a time he worked as a day-labourer, doing chores and lesser jobs for craftsmen and other wealthier citizens, and because he was honest and loyal even when underpaid, he did earn some trust, and over time more advanced tasks. This, however, annoyed many of those whom he had earlier helped, who now demanded ever more from him, until they had shown themselves to be little more than a guild of thieves, taking what they hadn’t earned. Daerog would not have minded to share, but when he found that he had naught to send to his lost love, and barely enough to pay for food, he grew tired.

It was then that a rare and strange opportunity had presented itself. A rebellion had risen in one of the farther corners of the land, and the well-trained soldiers and guards were needed at the front of that war. That meant that new recruits were needed to guard the cities and the walls and even the castle itself. And even though Daerog never wanted to become a guard, he saw no other options.

At first the job horrified him. Among the new recruits many misused their new power, and became little more than bullies in matching tabards. And though his local captain thought little of this, and even punished Daerog’s complaints with longer hours in the worst parts of the city, his honour eventually brought him benefit – the city sheriff had heard of his honourable views, and found them fitting for a castle guard.

And thus, Daerog now sat outside the castle, thinking back on his life so far, and wondering what fate would bring him next. Despite his many misfortunes, he never doubted his views, and tried to be kind and helpful to his new guard friends, even though some deserved it more than others. At least, they had all been chosen for being somewhat honourable and trustworthy.

With the king and the young prince out in war, and the queen dead from illness since many years, only the princess and the youngest of the king’s children were back in the castle. Daerog had never seen her, and always wondered what she was like, in a respectable manner of course. He imagined her to be fair and kind, just as he thought the king to be just and honourable. Though he had heard rumours of the rebellion having started because of the young prince forcing himself on one farmwife too many, he couldn’t believe such slander. And though he knew that the taxes could be heavy and the guards less than kind, he also knew that farmers often lied and hid their grain from view. He had rarely had that trouble though, being honest. Inviting guards to mead and ale and what little meat he could, had made them friendlier to him than to his neighbours, a fact not always liked by said neighbours.

And now he was one of those guards, even though he of course never had tax-collection duty. As the days passed, he tried to be helpful and kind to all strangers who approached the castle, noble and serf alike, and though nobles rarely gave him a glance, the workers and merchants had come to appreciate his gentle manners and harmless jokes. Even the court wizard, who many believed to be a dark necromancer, had heartily laughed at some silly words Daerog had happened to utter when he passed by, and come to greet him the few times he passed by.

And though he didn’t earn much, it was more than enough considering he got food and shelter from the garrison now, and most of it went to his former wife. He never got a reply, and he often felt sad that his love had so misjudged him, but he could not and would not change her even if he could.

It was a warm summer night, with moths and pollen chasing each other in the warm breeze, the dance lit up by both moons and torches, and the few guards were relaxed and spread out along the path to the main gate, avoiding the hot, burning torches for the cooler, darker spots.

This, sadly, would prove to be a mistake.

Daerog was sitting on some old crates left by some merchant, to be carried into the castle the next day, smiling at some new joke he wanted to tell whoever passed by. A sudden thought of his lost love hardened his smile, but did not take it away.

The sudden hand on his mouth, however, did. The knife in his back even more so. The same knife rapidly sliced his throat, and Daerog felt his body fall limp. A voice filled with anger whispered in his ear: “This is for the tyranny you filthy dog!”

Daerog fell to the ground, covered in his own blood, watching many shadowy figures pass him by, and killing his guard friends. Galurg, the tall old woodcutter that always dreamed of glory, felled like him with a dagger in the back and a slit throat. Leothan, the old baker, a grumpy but good soul who had lost his bakery in a fire, possibly arranged by some competitor, stung with a thrown knife in his eye; he managed to give up a loud sigh before falling to several stabs. Lodric, the once-jester, who had tired of being beset with rotten fruits and vegetables by spoiled rich kids, while the poor who would have appreciated him rarely could afford his arts, found his neck penetrated by a cold, dark arrow. All four guards of the path were down, and the dark shades rapidly closed in on the gate guards.

But that Daerog would never see. His last thoughts filled with fear, not for himself, but for what would happen to the poor princess if his murderers would get into the castle.