Lycan's Affection
The Thick

There is no man to be feared like a lycan with a dagger.

"Seeing how you are here, Anderson must have helped you. Damn a coward who can't even declare war head on."

Alexander's eyes slowly moved to focus on Eleanor, his eyes thinning with hate. "You are still the same loud mouthed bitch."

"You are still the same empty vessel."

By now, each soldier was behind their camp, Eleanor staying adamantly beside Conaan, her eyes set in every shade and hue of death.

Alexander gave a small smile, then suddenly grabbed a knife. Before anyone could say a word, he swung it right at Eleanor. She started to move, but did not quite need to.

Conaan grabbed the knife mid air, then turned it, sending it right back. Alexander acted fast, and the soldier behind him gave a choking sound, before he fell.

It was an efficient declaration of war, and Alexander's eyes flashed. Slowly, he raised the sword, then unsheathed it for his army to see. They repeated the action, for a minute, only the sound of swords unsheathing and the distant sound of cackling fire filled the air.

"Attack!"

The lycan population backed away, led out of the place by a few soldiers, while the assassins got ready. Conaan had still not given the command just yet, and they stood, each breath baited as the wolves covered the distance fast.

Dust rose, and the assassins started to grow anxious.

"Your Highness."

Still no reply.

Eleanor turned to Conaan, her eyes wide. He was holding on to the dagger, his eyes squinted. It was irrational, and he wasn't moving at all. Not giving any commands.

"Conaan."

He turned to her, his eyes thin.

"Conaan, give the order."

He only turned away, then gently pushed her behind him, his fingers curling around her waist for a brief second.

"Send a few to guard the palace."

"But..Conaan..."

"I will take care of things here."

"Conaan, they are too many!"

He didn't reply, as his grip tightened on the dagger. The wolves were only seconds away now, and Eleanor turned, cussing under her breath.

With the fluid efficiency of a veteran soldier, she ran back, mobilizing half to return to the palace. Conaan definitely knew what he was doing, and she would trust him. She stayed back with the other half, determined to fight, whether Conaan gave the order or not.

Eleanor clenched her fists, as Conaan, a lone man started to walk forward, his fingers flexing. This was his forte, his domain, he never lost. But he was sick, he was sad, he was broken.

The first person was Ian, who had preceeded Alexander, and Conaan caught him by the hair first.

"Attack!" Eleanor yelled, pushing the assassins into motion.

With no time for the show of swords the wolves had put on, the soldiers ran into the field, swords dragging across the sand, dust rising, and shouts, screams.

Eleanor looked around. Even Eric had gone in, and she was standing alone. She struggled to see through the heat, trying to discern which was which.

Once she was sure, she ran to the side, taking the long steps towards the slowly crumbling fence. It was the last thing that stood in Anderson's manor, and she climbed it, her face bathed in sweat.

She had a clear view of the battle now. It was heated, blood occasionally splashing around. Conaan was right in the middle of it. His steps were like lighting, his hands working even faster.

He wasn't just killing, he was decapitating, sometimes with his bare hands. Eleanor pulled out her bow, then started to aim, mostly around him. They had crowded him, and he was going through their necks fast, but she would help out.

The arrows she had wasn't near enough, but she would get a couple good aims. She took them out, and started to let go, a soldier dropping for each one she let go of. Conaan turned to her briefly, and their eyes met.

For a split second, she could almost see his pride, before he turned away, swinging his dagger. A head rolled to the floor, the body falling away. She gave a small smile, then focused back on her arrows.

The yells filled the large space, and for time unknown to the soldiers, the fight went on. The fight for dominance, the fight for love. The fight for hate. The fight for friendship.

Suddenly, Alexander caught Eric's neck, his eyes wicked.

"You little bastard."

Eric swallowed, then managed to put in a kick towards Alexander. He laughed, then grabbed his sword, plunging it into Eric's side. He removed it, drawing a yelp from him.

He had just started to get ready to put it in again, when he felt the dagger hit him.

He dropped Eric, and stepped back. He turned, meeting Conaan. His body was drenched in blood, and he held Ian's head in his hands.

Alexander's teeth gritted hard, as he leaned down and grabbed his sword. The rest of the battle seemed to fall away from them.

Eleanor finally ran out of bows, but so were the wolves running out of soldiers. She let herself down, then ran straight into the thick of the battle, her hands unsheathing her sword as she ran in.

The soldiers started to come for her, and she weaved her way through them, her sword gaining blood and turning a bright red.

Conaan let go of Ian's head, then indignantly kicked it to Alexander's feet. Each man was breathing heavily, the dust, the adrenaline and the fatigue of the past couple of hours getting to them.

"This is it," Alexander yelled, his eyes wide. "You will die by my hands."

Conaan did not reply it, but showed his rather keen intention of not letting it happen as he held his blood stained dagger tighter.