Father Tilly sighed in relief when he spotted the red headed figure saddling his horse on the Fairheart homestead. Theodore Fairheart's flaming red hair was as recognizable as ever. And it wasn't as if anyone else was likely to be out here. Not since the funeral a week past. The elderly priest whispered a quick thanks to God and quickened his pace. 

He might yet have time to prevent another tragedy.

“Good afternoon, Father.” Theodore's voice was cordial enough, but his eyes remained on the task at hand.

“Good afternoon, Theodore.” Father Tilly replied, taking a moment to regain the breath he'd lost in his haste.

“You know you can call me Ted, Father.” Theodore grunted, tugging a strap tight.

“Oh, but I'll always remember you as a little four year old, insisting everyone use his [i]full[/i] name.” Father Tilly smiled fondly in reminiscence. Thoedore did not. 

“That was a long time ago, Father.” 

“Indeed it was.” The priest sighed, his eyes drifting across the gray stallion the younger man was preparing. The crossbow strapped to the saddlebags did not escape his notice. Nor the well worn sword on his hip.

“Going out hunting today, are you? Deer perhaps? Or rabbit?” He asked hopefully.

“Something like that.” Came the rough reply. “I'm meeting with a few friends to take care of some vermin.” 

Tilly closed his eyes and sighed.

“Please my son, is this really the path you wish to follow? Do you really want more bloodshed?” He begged, his eyes filled with sadness and hope. 

“I want justice.” Came the cool reply as Theodore checked his saddlebags. 

“Are you sure it is justice you seek? And not just revenge?” 

“Conveniently enough Father, they're one and the same in this case.” 

The priest let out a heartfelt sigh.

“Son, what happened to your parents was a tragedy. Lord Coulson's men have grown a bit… restless these last few years. And God knows there's no excuse for them being so… rough in collecting the Lord's taxes. But be that as it may, it is [i]God's[/i] place to punish them. Not ours.”

“Then I shall arrange for them to meet him.”

Father Tilly grimaced and looked away. He prayed for the words that would sway his young charge, but no celestial inspiration was forthcoming. Still, he pressed on.

“I'm certain that if they had know you were a Ranger, they'd have left your parents alone...”

“And moved on to some other hapless family to harass.” Theodore growled. He turned to glare at the priest, his eyes hard and cold as he berated his elder. “Do you even hear yourself speak? My family [i]would[/i] have been safe, if only the Lord's men knew to fear my wrath? [i]That[/i] is the measure of protection offered by his Lordship? Could there be a more damning indictment of a nobleman?” 

Finding himself unable to bear the weight of those cold, distant eyes, Father Tilly looked away.

“Four years, Father. Four years I spent with the Rangers. Four years on the Border with my brothers in arms, fighting and bleeding and dying to keep the monsters at bay. To keep our homes [i]safe.[/i]” Theodore's voice was dark and heavy with menace. 

“And now I return home to find monsters [i]here[/i], wearing the faces of nobles, employing thugs and brutes as men-at-arms? Harassing, abusing, [i]murdering[/i] those they are oathsworn to protect?” Anger and hate burned in his eyes, but his voice was colder than the winds that came across the frozen lake in winter. 

“No, Father. I will not stand for that.” 

With one last check of his sword, he set his foot into the stirrup. And Father Tilly made on last attempt to prevent the bloodshed that was to come. He forced himself to meet Theodore's eyes, thinking back to when they were bright and warm and eager, not the cold, hard, jaded orbs he saw now.

“My son, they say that he who walks the path of vengeance should first dig two graves.” Tilly spoke somberly. “One for his enemy. And one for himself.”

Theodore pulled himself into the saddle, then looked down at the village priest. And there was no sign of that happy little boy in his visage. 

“Father, we're going to need a lot more than two graves by the time I'm done.” And with a crack of the reigns, he was gone. 

Father Tilly lowered his head and blinked back tears. He'd been too late after all. 

Far, far too late.