Rise.

It took the Council six hours to come up with an assessment of what had happened and what they should do. Marik waited, silent, in his holding cell, tail shielding his back against the cold of the stone walls. Róan was upstairs sleeping, in the blue-and-white bed in an all-glass room in the infirmary. Medin had stayed with him, Euan coming in to join them and Loban going on to make a play for his brother's case with the Elders. And all the time, Marik just waited. They brought him a meal at four. He didn't want it.

In the grey cool dimness of the lower level lights, well sheltered from the setting sun, the enormity of his madness came upon him.

~:~

When his brother came, there was no happiness in his face, only fear and a grim relief that Marik was, at this moment, still alive. Loban had fought hard for him, Marik was sure, and just as sure, he knew he'd failed. Marik hung his head. What a silly way to die. The guards who had brought him stepped away, parted, and only Loban was left, staring in between the bars of his younger brother's cell and wondering if anything ever could have been different. But Marik had always been just who he was, bold and eager, and temperamental without apology. He had not been so mad, perhaps, not eaten up with anger and lust for fighting and rage as he was now, but he had always been himself. Nothing had ever changed that.

Loban wrapped two fingers around the bar, his tail heavy and still against his left thigh. Marik watched him, watched his legs flex and catch and then stand still. Watched his brother not speak.
"They're going to destroy me, aren't they?"
"You killed your own mate's litter."
Marik had no response for this, and so silence and hatred and sorrow and love passed between them for a moment and then Loban spoke again.
"They want to know what you wish to happen with Medin."
Marik looked up, into his brother's eyes. They were shielded, dim.
"You won't be allowed to see him. They refused my plea for goodbyes."
Marik let his eyes back down, raced them across the tile, the stone, the eager eating coldness of this box they had put him in. He didn't know what to do.
"I will take him in, Marik, if you allow me to."
Suspicion flickered in his eyes for a second, maybe two - had Loban planned this? All of this? Set him up to steal his family and his home, and - no, no, Loban was his brother, his prideful brother, bent on always doing right. He would not shame them in such a way, but why did he want Medin? Couldn't he leave Marik one thing to just be his, and his alone? He couldn't have even left him alone in his condemnation. Why had he even come here?
Loban traced the thoughts in his brother's eyes, saw the shift and tense and lips that he'd taught to speak move to growl and felt such sorrow for him that for a moment, he couldn't breathe himself. He took in air, swallowed, stood tall.
"Marik? Would you have me take him?"
Marik seemed to struggle to come back to himself, and with honest supplication, looked up at his brother once more.
"Yes. Please, take care of my family."

~:~

It was only an hour later when they took him out, led him away from the cell, away from the lower level, last home he'd seen and last he'd ever know, and walked him between seven guards out to the fields beyond the Eastern Gate. For one frightened minute, he wanted to run, just run - surely there was space enough, and time? And they would be unaware...but then he would die a coward's death, a thousandfold worse than what faced him now. He thought of Róan, lying sweet beside him, and so hurt and so patient, and always so forgiving. Would he think that Marik had forgotten about him? That he hadn't wanted to say goodbye. He remembered the first night he had owned him, the first night he'd taken Róan in his arms and the human had been truly his. He remembered Medin, finding him, taking him in as he had. He remembered having to help him walk, getting annoyed because Medin seemed to always move slower than he'd like, but then suddenly one day, he grew long legs and bursts of speed and left Marik in the dust. He thought of Walker and his heart grew full with pain and unadulterated rage. He thought of home, of his mother who he'd known for only a day, his father, his brother Loban, the three of them all that had been left after everything. He thought of Arem'mir. What color would the skies be on Arem'mir tonight? The same color as his eyes. His heart ached to go there now.

A long time walking, then they reached the farthest field. There, they took his clothes, shirt first, then pants, shoes, and all the braic that Róan had given him since they'd been bonded. They left his hair alone, pushed him naked and shivering between them to the very farthest reaches of BlackForest land. At the sixth marker that meant no more territory here, they stopped, turned, formed a wall around him with their bodies and the river. Marik met the eyes of all but one of them. Zesteren had finished his training that very same year; this was the position he'd been given. Marik swallowed hard, took one long look at the sky. The night was dark; the moon was dim in the distance. Night would fall soon. With open eyes and a beating heart, he raised his eyes against the setting sun.