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Different parts of Ben's warring mind rallied behind different banners.

There were minor factions, sure, but the major contest was between Love and Hate. Idealistic knights who fought for Sovereign Romance faced down scarred and naked barbarians with barbed wire whips, spurred onwards by furious commands from Chieftain Rape.

Regardless of who won, the winner would claim the boy when the time was right, he was certain of that. But it needed to play out first. Then he would know what to do.

As he looked at the scared child, guilt crept back in. He reminded himself that Owen had forced his hand, executed the messenger carrying the proposal for a peace treaty on a dark and gloomy night. Whatever ultimately happened would be Owen's fault. Not his.

*

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