Loud and raucous they came, each beat of the drum like a mighty presentation that struck over our small but mighty party with power. We could hear them thunder over the fields outside - that beautiful grassy eternity that never seemed to have a dull sky. My hands tightened into fists, and I narrowed my eyes as a shadow began to fill the doorway to Morningstar's audience chamber. I suddenly found myself not wanting to be there, not wanting to be part of this. My eyes glanced over to the easy escape - the door that led to the library, and beyond that the stairs which descended into the dungeon and the small cell that was likely waiting for me. But it had books and a familiarity at least.

“Everyone hold,” Morningstar commanded in a quiet voice, as the drums got louder and the shadow in the doorway loomed larger.

He addressed not only me, I realised, but the others in our party. Looking around I could see several people tense, some of the mortal aristocrats hesitate, and even one beginning to rise out of his chair, but Morningstar was having none.

“Settle,” he hissed.

I drew in an unsteady breath and forced my sight back to the door. Figures began to form - two were at the front, though still remained in uncertain identity. There were two drummers, the source of the noise, striding to either side of the group. A grand retinue including courtiers in colours of black and purple, bannermen holding standards and what looked like bearers of food and was that a barrel of wine being pulled along.

My brow furrowed slightly as I tried to assess who it was. Still, the faces were not clear, so I concentrated on the banners to see if any familiar designs could be noticed. I was not hugely well versed in the heraldry of alternative demi deities and supernatural royals, but I hoped I could remember some facts. Black and rich plum purple seemed to be the dominant colours, alongside silver and white. Not only were the courtiers dressed in this, but also the banners seemed to be of it, also the drums and …

My blood began to run cold as I first noticed the purple skull, set onto the black background. Stylised, it could have been mistaken from afar for many things, and was not the clearest, but now that the party was halfway across the floor, it was more than than obvious. White thread picked out the edges of it, and when one began to look they saw it everywhere, from the tabards of the barrel bearers to the drums themselves. It was a proud skull, with horns curling from its temples, that were exactly the same shape and size of the man who strode at the head of the party.

I found myself growling under my breath, and let out a quiet curse. “Fuck you, Morningstar,” I muttered, so that only he could hear.

It was for no small reason that he wanted me here. My past was far more tied with the current man and his wife that were coming to meet Morningstar than anyone else. My heart thumped, I dug my nails into my palms and cursed those things around my wrists that currently stopped me from blasting the black-robed figure directly from the earth.

For it was the self-styled King of Death himself, a minor god of death, also known as Morté, lord of the underworld Rahl. I had served for over five millennia as his ferryman, and only just been freed. Now here he was back in front of me, and I wanted nothing more than to see him gone.

Low, I hissed, my eyes not daring to look to the left of Morté, where my once lover, Sephora, still loyally strode.

“You're with me now,” Morningstar whispered to me, his eyes intent and forwards, “not him. Remember that, Charon.”

“I'm not with-”

“And you said you would be silent,” he replied, hissing. “Be so for the remainder.”

It was a command, nothing more. He held no 'or’ or 'unless’ in the air, even though there was one. There would be consequences. What he wanted was to display his power here, and me being here would directly reflect that what he had when compared to Morté. I had to ask myself who I respected more, and I knew right away that it was Morningstar. He was a villain, but not as much as the wretch who strode towards us, and with him I still had freedoms.

I tightened my jaw and squared myself, going still and quiet. I saw Nyx throw me a glance, with an upraised eyebrow, but I ignored it and instead looked incredibly bitterly at the man who had broken so many promises. Just why Sephora was still with him, I would never know.

Slowly Morté smiled, his dark personality reflected in his darker hair and eyes. He let his gaze sweep over the entire Morningstar party, as he continued to stride forwards, slipping around behind the two plain wooden thrones that had been set there for him and Sephora. When he saw me his head tilted slightly, and he focused in on me, breath slow.

Then he grinned and spoke as he sat down into the chair, relaxing into it easily. “I see you have something that belongs to me.” His eyes moved from me to Morningstar.

I gritted my teeth together, biting back a string of curses.

Morningstar blinked slowly, not even flinching. “I believe you have the tense wrong, Morté. The word is 'belonged’, not 'belongs’. You gave him up, he is very much mine now.”

You better only mean that in context, I growled internally, as I bit back my words.

Morté raised a hand and his party began to settle around him. His wife came forwards and settled into her own chair, though her lips were drawn and would do as little talking as mine would, I was sure.

“I could very easily take him back.”

“Unless you want to start a war, I would deeply discourage that,” Morningstar replied tersely. “What is a man's stays his, until you or I, or he gives it freedom. That is a law that none of us can deny.” He tapped a finger on the edge of his throne, “but that is not why you are really here, Morté. You did not come all this way to reclaim back a ferryman, did you?”

For those who did not get the context thus far, they now most certainly did. Various eyes flickered to me, and tried to ignore them, instead keeping my burning hatred directly on Morté. Here I had been, hoping to never see the man again, and now he had rudely forced his way back into my life. Nyx shot me a concerned look, seeing me focusing on Morté for all my life was worth, but there was nothing she could do. There was nothing any of them could do. This whole situation … it was far too late now.

I didn't care anymore. I twisted away my head and lifted my arms to fold them across my chest. I stayed where I was and silent, but fuck his decorum. Staring at a place beyond the two thrones opposite our strange group I focused on the grass beyond.