Fourteen, Seventh Hour: Shield Brother

Seventh Hour was all about the high-handed language and epic heroes. Dunno why I'm suddenly writing for it again; I'd thought that world was abandoned and gone in my head.
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A firestorm raged over the battlefield, with Marcus standing at the center of it. When the ash finally cleared, it was Numa, not Asphodel, who walked through the smoking coals to catch him as he fell. The Barren girl covered her face against the sun and cowered in the shade of a withered tree.

Marcus wiped the ash and blood from his face when Numa set him back on his feet. "They took her." He let himself be led from the battlefield; they were the only living things for miles. "I let them take her."

Tiny flames still danced around the crown of his head and at his fingertips. Numa caught them between his thumb and forefinger and gathered them in the palm of his hand. The fire evaporated into faint warmth across his skin. "You allowed nothing, Marcus. This is not your fault, anymore than the fall of Uruk was your fault."

"Not my fault? Are you blind?" Marcus laughed untils his legs trembled and Numa had to hold him before he fell again. "You're a fool for staying with me, Zelindo. A fool above all other fools, because I'll never love you as I love them, no matter how many times you keep me from falling."

"It's been generations since you last called me that, Marcus." Numa's voice was gentle, chiding. "Shall you be Marduk, once more? And will she become Isidore in your eyes- Isidore, leaving you behind, yet again? And can you even remember her name? Let us not speak of fools. I know who I am; can you say the same?"

Marcus leaned on him heavily and closed his eyes. "I am the Destroyer and Keeper of the Last Hour. That is all I shall ever be, all I shall ever need." He went limp in Numa's arms.

Once, he had been a common thief; once, he had been a vererated priest of the Clock- and those were both within one lifetime. Numa couldn't remember much in the generations between himself and Zelindo, but he knew that he would always, no matter the situation, stand by this man, be his name Marcus or Marduk or Abaddon. Some things were determined by forces outside the scope of human comprehension.

Numa carried him back to the edge of the battlefield where Asphodel waited. Her skin glinted in the sun that filtered through the tree branches. She shied away from the heat that rolled off of them in waves and stared at Numa with the sadness of a thousand unfinished lifetimes in her eyes.