Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“We have enough to last for the next week, if we stretch all the food to its max and there are already people starving,” Lydia informs him evenly, staring down at the report she has compiled of all their food stores. There isn’t much left.

“Give my personal stores to the families with children,” Stiles says, hands clenching on the arms of his chair.

“Stiles, you need to eat as well,” Lydia informs him.

“I’ll be fine. A few missed meals won’t hurt me. Besides, I’m a lot healthier than they are,” Stiles says, turning to look the only window in the small room.

“You know Gerard won’t be sending supplies our way,” Lydia says softly, writing something on the report and not looking at Stiles, but Stiles can see the tension in her shoulders.

“I know,” he says softly.

“And with the Triskel forces camped outside our wall in siege, we are sitting ducks,” Lydia tells him, standing up to pace.

“I know,” Stiles says and sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes in exhaustion.

“We need to make a decision soon, before it is too late. You know I will side with whatever choice you make,” Lydia says coming to stand in front of her cousin and smiling sadly.

“I know,” he says grabs her hand in gratitude.

~*~

The wind on the top of the wall whips around them, bringing pink to their cheeks. On the other side of the wall, an army camps waiting out the stalemate that they have come to. Stiles shivers, pulling his cloak tighter about his frame.

“Allison,” he says softly and his guardswoman steps forward, bow in hand to draw back. On the arrow’s shaft, a letter of declaration is tied with a white ribbon of truce. Nodding his head, she fires it and it sails through the air to embed itself in the ground thirty paces from the encroaching army.

They wait and watch as a soldier comes running up to snatch the arrow and disappear with it back into the vast camp. Stiles, Allison and Lydia step back from the wall to a more sheltered position, waiting for an answer to their declaration.

An hour later has a horn blaring, signaling the approach of someone. The three stand and walk back to their original position, watching the approach of a small group of soldiers. At their center walk three people, their colors of nobility flying above them, with the white ribbon of truce.

Stiles stand on the wall, ridged as they stop in shouting distance from the wall, just outside of the moat circling their fort. One of the three, a blonde with sharp blue eyes, walks forward and starts to speak, “His highness, Duke Derek Hale, general of Queen Laura Hale’s armies has come to speak with the lord of this fortress.”

“You are speaking to him. I am Genim Jonathan Stilinski, son of the late Alexander Calesser Stilinski, who was the previous lord of this fortress,” Stiles calls back clearly, eyes falling on the central figure of the group. General Derek Hale certainly strikes an impressive figure in his armor and weapons.

The blonde nods and walks back to speak lowly with the general. Stiles waits patiently as they finish and Derek Hale himself walks forward. “Your declaration spoke of a willingness to speak of a truce. Will you agree to a meeting?” he asks simply, voice loud enough to carry up to them over the wind.

“I am willing. You and three of your choosing will be admitted and led to a room where we will meet and discuss a truce with myself and three of my choosing. Is this satisfactory?” Stiles calls back.

“It is,” the general calls back with a nod.

“The western gates will open in one hour. Be there,” Stiles yells back and at the nod of the general, retreats from the wall and to the stairs leading down to the main courtyard. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Stiles turns to Lydia and Allison. “Ready the meeting room and stock up the hearth. Inform Sir Danny that he will attend this meeting with the two of you.” Allison and Lydia nod and walk off to get things ready. Stiles hopes he has made the right choice.

~*~

His highness, Duke Derek Hale, and general of Queen Laura Hale’s armies watches the thin figure disappear from the wall. He had met Alexander Stilinski once, years ago before war divided the kingdoms of Triskel and Argent. Genim Stilinski looks nothing like his father but he must look a great deal like his mother.

Huffing, the Alpha turns away from the wall and the group makes their slow progress back to his tent. The guards disperse as he and his two betas walk into the tent. Isaac, his third Bite and current attendant looks up from where he is scribing the duty logs for the next week.

“A meeting will be taking place in one hour. You will be in attendance as will Scott and Jackson. Hopefully, we can come to an agreement and end this siege. This siege has not sat well with me,” Derek admits, settling into a chair and leaning back, running a hand over his face.

“I’ll make sure to be ready,” Isaac murmurs and walks off to gather anything he might need.

~*~

They’re waiting in front of the western gate an hour later watching as it is raised to admit them in. As the draw bridge comes down to let them cross the moat surrounding the fort, Derek braces himself. When no attack comes, the four werewolves cross and enter the fort proper.

The courtyard isn’t empty like he was expecting. It is packed with refugees, the people that the fort protected and who were forced from their homes to seek protection as the Triskel army approached. Derek can only stare at the sunken faces and hollow eyes. Filthy children hide behind their mother’s skirts, their ribs showing under pale skin. From what he can see, there are few men about and those that are, are either too young or too old to be of fighting age.

Clenching his hands into fists, Derek forces himself to continue walking. That a lord can let his people get to such a point is atrocious. If this is how the son of Alexander Stilinski treats his people, Derek isn’t sure he can treat with this man.

A woman is waiting for them at the main door to the inner sanctum of the fortress, her red locks shining against the dull grey of the stone quarried to build the fortress. “This way please,” she says softly, green eyes meeting his before bowing her head and leading the way.

Derek lets his eyes rake over the woman. It is hard to tell much about her appearance, the required amount of clothing a woman must wear disguising her figure. But from what he has seen of her face, she looks tired.

She stops in front of a door already open a few inches to let out some light in the dim hall. Opening it, she motions for the four werewolves through the door and shuts it behind them. Another woman and a man stand by the window, watching them enter.

A lone figure stands by the fire, back to the newest arrivals. As the door closes, Genim Stilinski turns to look at them and Derek regrets his harsh judgments earlier. Genim is a sickly pale of one who hasn’t seen much sun recently. His face is gaunt, eyes sunk in with dark rings under them. Derek looks him up and down and can see his forearms and wrists are too thin to be natural. He has suffered along with his people.

“Please, sit,” he motions towards the table set near the window which is letting in the winter sun. The four werewolves take their seat across from the four humans. Derek stares at Genim, eyes raking over the man. Pulling in a deep draught of air, he tastes the scents around him.

Weariness is the largest scent, that and exhaustion. Underneath it is sour stench of fear. But underneath that though is the faint scent of Omega and that is not what he was expecting. “You are not what I expected,” Derek admits.

“I’m usually not,” Stiles says with a small hint of a smile before his face smoothes over back to seriousness. “We have a truce to discuss. As I’m sure you have seen I did not have much choice.”

“Why has Gerard not sent aid?” Derek asks with a heavy frown.

Genim gives a humorless snort. “Why would he? We are a small border fort. So long as we pay our tithe, he cares not what happens to us and yet he demands that we send all our able bodied men to fight his cursed war. My people starve, Derek Hale and my king does nothing to help. Our harvest was bad this year. We don’t have enough to get through the winter and already a few have succumbed to starvation and cold. I had a choice: continue to aid a king who would watch us starve and die or go to you, a complete stranger, an enemy to the kingdom in hopes that you would offer aid.”

“You ask only aid for your people? Nothing for yourself?” Derek asks, surprised.

“I was born in this fort, raised in it by my parents and these people. I swore to protect them as my parents did and theirs before them. If it means I must posture myself at the feet of my enemy, then I will do it gladly so long as they might live,” Genim says softly, chin raised as he stares down Derek.

“I have orders from my queen. She does not want blood shed of innocents any more than I do. She would disown me if I was to turn my back now and I would hate myself as well. We have supplies aplenty to offer to your people now. In a weeks’ time, a new supply train is to arrive and we will divide it out to your people as well. All we ask is to use your fort as a spot to launch our troops. You would also be brought under the protection of my Queen and sister. Is this agreeable?” Derek asks, watching the Omega closely.

His hands are shaking slightly as he clutches at the arms of his chair. The three other humans lean in to talk softly with him and Derek tunes them out, letting them talk in privacy. He looks at his three betas. Isaac and Scott are speaking softly, eyes flicking between each other and the humans. Jackson is looking on with a bored interest, though the fine tremor in his fingers gives evidence to the emotions running through his head. Jackson came from poverty and understands what these people are going through.

Genim sucks in a deep breath, the other three now settled back in their chairs. “General Derek Hale, representative of Queen Laura Hale, we accept your terms and surrender this fort over to you in exchange for aid and protection to the people it protects.”

“So be it,” Derek says and motions for Isaac to draw up the declaration of surrender.

~*~

Stiles watches as the Triskel solders troop into the walls, bearing wagons of food, blankets and firewood. The army doctors follow to give aid and medicine to any who might need it. Stiles can’t help but sag in relief as his people are finally being looked after.

“Stiles, you need to eat,” Lydia says beside him, holding out a small loaf of bread.

He pushes it away, stomach feeling queasy at even the thought of food. “I’m not hungry,” he mutters. He can’t tear his eyes away from his people as they thank the soldiers who hand them food for their children and themselves.

“Stiles, you don’t look well, come back inside where it’s warm,” Lydia insists, tugging at his arm. Sighing, he goes to follow, the blood rushing in his ears, deafening. Black swarms his vision and he can only clutch at Lydia’s arm as his knees go weak and give out from under him. The blackness swallows his vision and he loses consciousness.

~*~

“Stiles! Stiles! Allison, get a doctor, now!” someone screams and Derek turns to see the red head from before crouched down on the wall, the brunette woman from before as well running down the stairs. He looks up and sees Genim passed out on the cold stone wall.

Derek’s running before the brunette, Allison, even reaches the bottom of the stairs. “What happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know, he just collapsed,” she says rushed.

“Go to one of my soldier, tell them to bring Deaton on my orders,” he says, pushing her towards the soldiers. She nods and rushes over to them relaying his orders.

Lydia is still crouched over Genim as he reaches the top of the wall. A hand to his neck confirms his heart still beats, even if he can hear it. “We need to get him out of this wind,” he tells Lydia gently. Carefully scooping the Omega up, he follows the red head down the stairs and back into the inner fort.

She leads him down a different hall than what he first went down. Opening a door, she leads him into what he can only assume is Genim’s bedroom. He settles the Omega onto the bed, his form trembling slightly. Lydia flits around the room, lighting candles and lamps until the room is bright.

The sound of running feet has the two looking up to watch the door open and Allison and another man steps in. Alan Deaton is his personal physician; a tall, dark skinned man which an aura of mysteriousness about him that often times vexes Derek to no end. But he is an excellent physician.

Deaton takes a look at Genim lying on the bed and his lips thin. “I will need privacy to examine him,” he says and motions for the others to leave. Derek complies but Allison and Lydia look on mulishly. “I will not harm him, but I prefer for my patients to have some privacy.” Finally the two protective women nod and step out with Derek into the hall.

Twenty minutes go by before the physician opens the door to let them in. Genim has been tucked under the blankets and the fire has had more wood added. “He is not well,” Deaton admits once the three of them are in. “Malnourishment due to lack of food is just the top of the list. He has been under a great amount of stress for a while now and it has started to take its toll. He will need plenty of bed rest and he will need to be weaned back onto food. I suggest that a bland broth would be appropriate for when he wakens. I will also send up some medicine to give him a boost against any sickness he might contract while in his weakened state,” Deaton explains patiently.

“Oh thank you,” Lydia says, sagging a little at the verdict. She walks over to sit on the edge of the bed, holding the Omega’s hand.

“I’ll show you out,” Allison says softly, leading the two men out of the room and shutting the door.

“Are those two related?” Deaton asks conversationally, walking beside Allison behind Derek.

“Yes. Maternal cousins. They grew up together. Lydia’s mother died in child birth and she and her father came to live here to be close to family. They act more like brother and sister though,” Allison says with a small smile.

“It is good to have family when recovering from sickness,” Deaton says. Just then they reach the main doors and the outside. “If anything happens, do not be afraid to call for me.” Allison nods and walks back into the fort as the two men continue back out into the courtyard.

“He is strong, that one, to last this long under so much stress,” Deaton comments softly.

Derek grunts in acknowledgement and they continue on in silence back to camp. He has a letter waiting to write to his sister about the recent developments and their newest acquisition. The two split ways and Derek is finally able to relax in his tent.