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Falmir had not expected there to be any resistance when he killed his own father. He fought the man, more difficult than he thought the old man would be. The old men with him also were in fighting mettle more than the life they seemed to lead would show. The peasants and entertainers that the fight pressed into also made it difficult. Falmir did not mind bloodshed. He just wanted a particular blood on his knife and the people kept getting too close or directly in the way.
Then the King’s men uncloaked and the odds were much more even. The hired Greyworlders came to Falmir’s side, but they were all minor thieves and briggands, not the fighting men he needed. When his own Nephew came out of the crowd and sided with King Dreng, Falmir knew that it could not happen right then. The coup was not over, but Falmir was not going to be able to crown himself that day.
The King and his men kept pushing through the crowd and Falmir stopped. He called back his men and breathed heavily as the crowd made space around them. “Back to the Mains. He cannot do much now. And kill any in the King’s green.”
Falmir led the way to his ancestral home, now tainted with his families own blood. There were only a few groups that resisted them as they went through. Falmir was certain that there were more of the King’s men ahead, but when they got to where he had seen the Bright, the tabards were on the dirt. Like other prey he had hunted, they had gone to ground.
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