Abigail gawked as the three men stood still, one facing two, two facing one. One lacking shoes, the others having two. One staring with a commanding posture, another standing like a scared rabbit, the last like a wolf ready to pounce. The three being still, one of them waiting for a response. A response slow to come as the two had been caught in an act, caught as if in the middle of murder. Maybe true.

Abigail watched, feeling joy at the scene, joy that someone new had come, someone who could finally see what Noah really was. See and expose him, saving her and the toymaker from a worse fate.

The first to move was Noah, shuffling towards the man in a panic, pushing his arms forward as if seeking the embrace of a father. His face trying to portray those emotions, having a hard time because of being awfully bloody. But before Noah could speak, the shoe-less man took a step back while at the same time pushing his hand forward, loudly declaring.

“Stop! I’ve no idea what’s going on, but none of you is taking another step. And you! Drop that knife right now!”

The man said, having moved backwards enough for Abigail to get a view of him. Seeing an older man dressed in one big brown tunic, hair like the wildest flower going every which way. Beard just as wild with eyes strict and narrow, watching like a hawk searching for prey, hand ready by his sides. The man cast a glance towards Abigail as she cast hers on him, the two sharing glances for a split second before he looked up beside her, up at the toymaker. The toymaker taken off guard, turning to look down and looking shocked at spotting the knife in his hand. Dropping it just as quickly as he’d grabbed it, clattering wildly on the floor.

“Please, you have to save me from him, he’s trying to kill me!”

Noah declared muffled, mouth badly chipped, having stopped in place but turned around to face the toymaker. His one eye wide as a trail of tears, blood, or both ran down his cheek. The shoe-less man looking from Noah to the toymaker, back and forth, eyes calculative, mouth as thin as a line on a taut rope.

Abigail looked at the man, a lump forming in her throat, a lump of uncertainty. Uncertain where this was going, uncertain why the man hadn’t accused Noah yet, uncertain about how guilty Noah really looked. She turned to look at the toymaker, eyes growing larger as she noticed the splotches of blood on his clothes. Looking like bloody murder, absolutely terrifying. Then she turned to Noah, seeing a man beaten to the inch of his life, not a man ready to kill. Something Noah sold very well as he once again shouted his pleas.

“Champion! Please! He’s attacking me! I’m a priest for Carita’s sake.”

He yelled, taking a step closer towards the shoe-less man. But the shoe-less man took yet another step back in response.

“Stop right there, Noah. Not, another, step.”

He spoke back, not loudly, but having such weight behind his words that he could have screamed and it would have had the same impact. Abigail feeling the lump growing larger in her throat, frightened about the two knowing each other, uncertain what that entailed, what it meant for her and the toymaker. But Noah also seemed taken a-back by Noah’s response, though for a different reason, shaking as he yelled, taking two more steps forward.

“But champion! He’s trying to kill me!”

“I can see that, but I don’t know wh- Stop right there Noah!”

The man, the champion, stated firmly, Noah stopping mid step, mouth opened wide as if having drunk the worst drink. The champion turned his eyes towards the toymaker and Abigail, watching the two of them with narrowed eyes. Or rather, watching the toymaker, staring as if trying to see something. Eyes being drawn back towards Noah as Noah continued to ignore the champion's words, taking more steps forwards, voice squeaky and broken.

“Understand?! He’s trying to kill me! In m-our church! You saw the knife, for fuck's sake look at my face!”

Noah screamed, spittle of blood painting the floor, getting within arms-length of the man, the champion, before he pushed his hand forward again, gesturing for Noah to stop. His eyes still calculative, but mouth forming a small smile, a smile one would give a frightened kid trying to reassure them.

“Yes Noah, I can see it and I do feel for you. But don’t worry, he’s passive isn’t he? Now, I want to-“

“No! You have to arrest him now! Execute him! Get him away from me!”

Noah yelped, continuing to walk without heeding the champion's words. This time actually getting behind him, hiding his body behind the champion whilst clinging to his back, looking around like a son would when watching the scary soldiers from behind the comfort of their father's big legs. The champion letting his arm raise even further, awkwardly hanging to give more room for Noah. His face crunching down, softening whilst smiling faintly, a face full of sorrow and pity. A face that choked Abigail, choked her, for this was wrong, so wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, what was supposed to happen.

The champion letting his hand fall, fall to an opened palm, facing out towards her and the toymaker. A big hand, a calloused hand, a hand that said “I’m protecting him, don’t get any funny ideas”. And Abigail stared in awe, in fear, in disbelief. Then she saw Noah speaking something, whispering something into the champions ear. Seeing the champion nod in response.

Abigail felt the clump sticking to the back of her throat, thick like molasses, blocking the inflow of air, blocking proper thoughts from forming, leaving her in the dark. Her darkness only letting sound in, the sound of the champion speaking up after having listened to Noah.

“Noah tells me you broke into this church and tried to steal from him. A crime not only to this city, but to Carita herself.”

He paused after saying that, staring intently at the toymaker, Noah breathing heavily behind him, his intakes echoing around in the huge church. Abigail turned swiftly to stare up at the toymaker, her world dark, still seeing the toymaker. His brows further down than she thought possible, practically hiding his eyes. Mouth like the thinnest sword, piercing and fierce. Face like a dragon realizing their horde of gold had been stolen. But even with that expression, an expression she thought impossible on the face of her savior, no words came out. And she remembered, she realized, that it was up to her to speak.

She turned back towards the champion, barely seeing through the dark, his face narrow like a sparrow on the lookout for prey. Searching her and the toymaker, looking for foul play. Behind him stood Noah, face mimicking the toymakers. She gasped at the sight, soundless, painfully. Her lump threatening to burst, to throw her into the abyss she craved. But she didn’t leave, not yet. She knew what she had to do, that she had to speak up, speak in their defence, telling the champion the truth.

But she couldn’t, her voice impossible to reach. Even with her savior beside her, maybe because of it. She felt stuck, stuck in the loop of failure. If she tried speaking, she’d say something wrong, cursing them to a worse faith. If she didn’t speak, she’d have cursed them as well. She tried, she really tried, opening and closing her mouth, trying to reach her voice. But it wouldn’t come. Stuck in behind the lump, a blockage that forced her into bad thoughts, into thoughts of failing.

Then her eyes caught something, drawing up towards the champion and his hand, once hidden now exposing a small mallet with a big rune on its side, too far away to see clearly. He leaned slightly forward, seemingly readying himself to take a step. And in the corner of her eye, she saw the toymaker also readying himself, mimicking, leaning forward as if getting ready to jump.

Abigail feeling time slow, slow down to the worst of crawls, a world of nothing but painful breathing and ragged thoughts. For she knew it could all be so easily solved, so easily fixed if she were to just utter the truth, tell the champion what had really happened. But she knew it to be impossible, knew her tongue was heavier than the guilt in her heart. Afraid of failure. What if the truth was worse than silence. What if she said the wrong thing, what if she doomed them. Eyes falling down to not look, look away from the darkness, look away from reality, look away from her failure.

Seeing the robed man.

The robed man lying still in her arms, sleeping like the most comfortable princesses. And Abigail remembered, remembered how she’d come to adore the robed man, what he meant to her. For he was living proof that failure didn’t mean the end, that failure could lead to even greater things, that it was okay.

It was okay.

Abigail looked back up, seeing the champion turning his vision down to meet hers, herself not realizing that she was staring defiantly, confidently. She opened her mouth, opened it wide, seeing Noah in the corner of her eyes, not caring, not afraid anymore.

“He’s lying”

She whispered, barely loud enough for her own ears, but it felt like she had screamed, like she could crumble mountains with her voice. She stared at the champion, stared at his face and down at his hand holding the mallet. She stared and breathed heavily, heavily as if she’d just run for her life.

And then she waited, waited for his response, his reaction. A reaction quick to form, forming into a beaming smile and two words mouthed, not audible but easily read, forming “I know”. Something that took both Abigail and the toymaker of guard, the two pausing mid action. Abigail holding her breath, the toymaker stopping in his step. Then the champion spoke up.

“You know, Noah. You say that these two have come here to steal, correct?”

He didn’t turn around to meet Noah’s face, instead kept his smile facing Abigail, winking, to her surprise. Noah turned swiftly towards the champion, face widening in surprise, not ready for the direct question.

“Yes-“

“You say they tried to steal, but how do you explain the chains hanging from their wrists and legs?”

Noah paused at that, mouth quivering slightly, half opened. The champion using the moment to turn around, facing away from Abigail and the toymaker, facing Noah, speaking up once more.

“And Noah, do you truly think I’d believe that a child would try to steal from a church of charity? Do you even listen to yourself before you speak?”

Noah’s mouth opened even wider, stuttering out sounds, unreadable, unknowable. The champion waiting for a response, his mallet now going up to rest on his shoulder, his other hand on his hip. Noah’s eyes following the movement, resting on the mallet, going wide upon realizing its unspoken meaning, stuttering out words in a frenzied pace.

“Ch-champion! No is-is not what you think, please, please! He really tried to kill me, you got to believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you. But I also believe he had a valid reason.”

“No champion, he’s the toymaker! Please, please champion, I did this for the church, I did it all for the church. Champion, I would never do anything against the will of Carita.”

He took a step forward towards the champion, but was stopped in his tracks as the champion put a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. His face hidden from Abigails view, but Noah’s reaction to his face looked terrified, going down on his knees as he continued pleading.

“Please, champion-“

Then, for a second, his eyes glimmered, flashing down to look at the toymaker, pointing his one functional arm at him, screaming out in realization.

“He’s the toymaker! Champion, don’t you see? If we hand him in, we’ll be rich. Don’t you see? We can do so much for our church, please champion! Think of what we can do with all that money, of all the people we can help, to save. Do you know how many I’ve rescued with this church? How many more I can? How many more I will!”

He pleaded, letting his one good arm go away from pointing to clambering on the champions brown tunic, bloodied and getting bloodier from Noah. But the champion didn’t move. Instead, the mallet resting on his shoulder started shining, the rune glowing lightly with the colour of black, lustrous and bright. How that to be possible, Abigail could not explain. Then the next moment, the champion raised the mallet high above his head, and spoke quietly yet loudly.

“My dear Noah, you really don’t understand how we champions are chosen, do you?”

Then he let his mallet fall. Noah screaming upon realization. The toymaker leaning back in surprise and freight. Abigail doing the same, surprised to not find joy in the fact that her tormenter was being punished. And as the mallet fell upon the back of Noah’s head, barely covered by his one functional arm, a sound of water splashing around echoed out and the bright blackness disappeared from the mallet. Immediately after, Noah fell silent and crumbled into a heap onto the floor, falling as if being a dropped bag of potatoes, like a sack of flour.

But there was no blood, no wet crack, no explosion of gore. No, instead, it was as if the champion had simple whacked Noah on the top of the head and he’d simply, fallen over. Then a laugh echoed out, wonderfully high pitched, like that of a teenager starting to grow into an adult's voice.

“Ohohahaha, ooh that never stops amusing me. But poor little Noah, did you have to harm him so? You know he will never be able to use that arm again? You could have just waited for the soldiers to come and clear this whole thing up. Though, I assume you don’t want that, do you? Toymaker?”

The champion spoke as if nothing of note had happened, walking around the still body of Noah, pulling and prodding him into a more comfortable position. Abigail and the toymaker watching with opened mouthes, unsure on how to react, on what to think. The champion seemingly not caring, putting away his mallet and making it easy for Abigail to glimpse the rune and its inscriptions under it, being the rune Svefnthorn, the rune of sleep.

“Don’t worry, friend. I wouldn’t rat you out after all good you’ve done for me. Though I did give a promise to that red-haired man, what was his name again? Rognar? Regnar?... Oh yeah, where’s my manners. Names Charlie, pleasure to meet you two.”

The champion said, letting go of Noah with a clatter of limbs, a snore escaping as he touched the ground. Then the champion took several steps towards them. Or rather, Charlie did. The toymaker staring up as if in a daze, grabbing his hand without thinking, the two shaking furiously. Then as he finished, Charlie turned his head down on Abigail, reaching his hand forward, waiting for her to grab his. And as she didn’t, he merely smiled, straightening his back and turning towards the toymaker.

“I gotta say, I’ve heard much about you, but the stories doesn’t do you justice. I’ve never met a toymaker this gruesome looking. Oh hahaha! Don’t give me that face, it suits you. A monster killer who makes toys shouldn't look prim and proper. And who could not hear of you and grow impressed.”

Abigail moved to stand slightly behind the toymaker, feeling weirdly self-conscious around Charlie, staring up at the two as they spoke. Or rather, as one spoke, the other making several expression in response.

“Don’t worry, I won't try fishing out any juicy rumours outta you, although I doubt I could, I know you're not the talkative type” He said, winking as he finished, quickly talking before the two could understand that he’d cracked a joke. “But I really mean it when I say thank you, without your help, I wouldn’t have realized the depth of this place depravity. Something really embarrassing for someone who’s supposedly a champion. Oh Carita, sometimes I wonder why you chose me.”

He spoke quite quickly, losing Abigail in the flurry of words, maybe even the toymaker as he stared blankly at Charlie's face. Charlie not seeming to notice, staring down at the ground in deep, philosophical thought, or at least looked to be. Then the next second, he looked up as if nothing of interest had been gleamed from his thinking. Leaning forward, he gave the toymaker a quick, awkwkard, hug. Then pushing him away and turning to walk.

“Welp, anyways. I wish you luck on your journey, and as one wanderer to another, you shouldn’t head out until midnight, I’ve heard that the guards are going to be veeeery sleepy tonight.” He said, winking wide, winking several times, then some more as he seemed to wait for a confirmation from the toymaker. A confirmation that never came as he just stared blankly at Charlie, lost in thought.

That didn’t sway Charlie. Instead, he seemed to smile more at the reaction. Then he waved, waved wide, turned around and headed for Noah. Picking him up carefully, half dragging- half carrying his sleeping body, shuffling towards the church's big doors.

But as he opened the door, letting light and cold air rush into the big church, Charlie turned towards Abigail, seeming to realise something, remember something, like when one remembered why they went into a room in the first place.

“Oh, and Abigail, you did great”

Then he left, leaving the two stunned, dazed and confused, wondering what kind of fever dreamed they walked into. A fever dream that, once it left, made her realise deep within her heart, that she was finally free.

And that made her smile.