The Crest of Ambrosius

Prologue

Smoked burned his lungs as he ran through the smouldering corridor. Flames licked at his boots as he leapt over debris from the raging fire. Everywhere he looked he saw red. The red glow of flames eating away at everything he called home. The dark red blood spilled from his slaughtered friends and family. The bright, angry red of the rage simmering in his gut over the complete and utter injustice of it all. How ironic it seemed now that his kingdom's colors were blue.
Angry shouts and the faint sounds of battle could be heard clashing through the halls, echoing off of the stone walls. Servants and nobles alike could be seen attempting to flee whatever death almost certainly awaited them. If not the smoke and flames, then surely the attacking army waiting outside.
"We must get the prince to safety!" A man in bloodied chainmail and a torn and tattered cloak directed the young man and the older woman with him, the Queen, into a small room off of the corridor.
"No! I want to fight!" the Prince argued, his loyalty to his people and kingdom overshadowing any logical thought.
"It's too dangerous. You must leave and get to safety." The man, one of the few knights remaining loyal to the crown, tried to reason with the Prince.
"But I can help!"
"Now is not the time. The citadel has already fallen, too many people have been lost. If we leave now, perhaps one day you can return and take it back. But for now we must flee. This way!" The knight lead the Prince and his mother to a secret passageway that would allow them to escape into the forest, undetected, miles away from the burning city.
"Hurry, we haven't much time before they catch up to us."
Just as the Queen, and then the Prince, scurried into the narrow corridor, men bearing the insignia of the attacking force barged into the room.
"You two go on! I'll fend them off as long as I can!"
With that the knight slammed the passageway door shut and turned to face the enemy. The last thing the Prince heard before being propelled down the hall was the sound of swords clashing and the screams of dying men.
As the sounds of battle faded, so did the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and the young Prince, suddenly weak, stumbled, falling to his knees. The last thing he saw before everything began to fade was his mother's weary blue eyes, filled with concern, hovering over him.

Merlin woke with a strangled yelp, sitting up in his poor excuse for a bed. After a few moments gasping, he noticed the tears running down his face. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped an arm around them, using his free hand to brush away the stray tears. It was then that he remembered what day it was. Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he leaned back against the wall and looked out the window at the sleeping city. In just a few hours, the morning would dawn and the now-empty streets would soon be filled with bustling people starting their day.
He reached up and started fiddling with the ever-present ring he kept hidden on a chain underneath his neckerchief. As his fingers brushed across the insignia stamped into the otherwise smooth metal, he dropped his head back against the wall, overcome by the grief that he felt. He didn't even notice when new tears began to fall.