The fire wasn't providing much in the way of warmth, the wind as bitter as it was. The light from the flame didn't reach far enough to be of much use, either. There was nothing cooking. The black knight gained nothing from sitting by the pale, cold fire in the woods. It wasn't for him.
The black knight had nothing to do but wait. He had already cast aside his shining obsidian plate armor, and scraped away the skin of his chest where the old kingdom's insignia had been inked in. He tried his best to become a different person, but some blood can't be washed away. Not theirs. Not those children.
It had been probably twenty years since that encounter. The black knight, then around twenty-nine, had only just received the title of knight. He was anxious to impress his sneering superiors, to show them just how ruthless and strong he was. A black knight shows no mercy, takes no prisoners, and is never spared. Victory or death, no alternative.
They were easy prey. A young, brash plains warrior, a water-witch and a youth with a falcon on his arm. All of them inexperienced, soft and naive.
The falconer was first to die. A throwing knife through his bird, then another through the knee. The black knight's long, heavy bastard sword cut him asunder before he could scream. The plains warrior gave a valiant battle-cry as he charged the black knight, hammer raised and shield arm braced, shouting about light and justice. The black knight shattered the young warrior's shield with a single stroke of his sword, before nearly mincing the young man's brain through his helmet. The boy was unconscious, laid face-down in the dirt when the black knight advanced on the water-witch, sword dyed red with her companion's blood.
She was so frightened, so green she couldn't so much as open her mouth to speak to the water spirits. The black knight didn't hesitate for a moment. He drove his sword in her so deep her feet lifted from the ground, before he cast her aside like a damp rag. No tearful last words for her. Even after all that violence, the brutal, cruel knight couldn't leave well enough alone.
He remembered chuckling to himself as he laid the bodies of the warrior's companions on top of his before riding away on his bloody red horse. The boy would have woken up, head throbbing, and screamed until his throat was raw. That brave, strong boy. That poor, green sixteen-year-old boy.
The old black knight gently cradled his old, dented sword, resting it on his scarred chest as he stared into the flames. He looked down at his hands. They were strong hands, the hands of a warrior who was born holding a sword. The wrinkled, calloused hands of a tired old man. A man who had naught to do but wait for his reaper in white to arrive.
A snowflake landed on the black knight's boot, and he slowly, shakily rose to his feet. He wrapped his long, ragged black cloak around himself as fog started trailing from his mouth, and the autumn chill gave way to winter.
The black knight heard a familiar sound from the south. He didn't bother turning around. There was only one person it could be, armor clanking as it crushed the dry leaves on the ground. The black knight calmly walked around the fire, keeping his back to his adversary.
"So you're not a liar." Said a deep, proud voice from behind. "I'm impressed, Gilderion the Ruthless. I expected an ambush, at the very least."
"I don't want to fight anymore." Said Gilderion as he turned to face the man who vowed to kill him. "I've grown tired of the taste of blood." He kept his eyes downcast.
"I hope you mean that." Half-shouted the proud white knight through the howling wind. "I'd hate to imagine a monster who still thirsts for carnage after killing nearly a thousand in battle." The black knight looked up at the man in white.
He was tall, probably close to seven feet high. His armor was polished until it shone, glimmering white and gold in the flickering light from the campfire. His tall kite shield was so heavy dug a divot in the ground where he stood. His beautiful silver hammer, emblazoned with holy symbols from lands near and far, glinted brightly on his hip. The long, silver-white cloak on his back
"What I did was wrong. I know that now. Most of us do." Sighed the black knight as he let the sheath drop from his sword. "Most of us." He echoed as the snow started coming down harder.
"I'm bound by the white code to hear your final requests, Gilderion The Ruthless." The white knight made a grim face. "I'm not to judge how well you deserve that right. Speak your wishes now, and face your punishment with dignity." The wind died down a little as Gilderion spoke.
"I have three, if you'll hear them." The white knight nodded as the black knight continued. "First, I wish for death. Swear that you will end my life in this battle."
"You've no need to ask for that. The white code dictates that you deserve no less." The white knight's face remained untouched by anger. "Tonight you will die by my hand. So shall it be." He placed his hand over his heart, drawing the white sign in prayer on his chest.
"Second, then. I wish to know your name, as spoken by you."
"My name is Namarza. The white tower named me Namarza The Breaker when I was knighted." He paused as the wind whistled through the trees. "I have spoken my true name, the one my mother gave me in the eyes of the gods. So shall it be." Namarza drew the holy sign once more.
"My final request." Grunted Gilderion as he raised his sword and brandished it with both hands. "After I die, so too does the legacy of Gilderion The Ruthless. Sing no songs of this duel, and take my sword to be destroyed. My bloodlust ends here." The white knight finally cracked.
"I'll not forget you just because you ask!" Growled the white knight as he pulled his hammer from its loop. "Neither will the widows, cripples and orphans you've left in your wake! You will plunge into hell's ocean and sink to the bottom!" He took a breath and closed his eyes when he realized his hands were shaking. "I will sing no songs of you, Gilderion. So shall it be."
"So shall it be." Nodded Gilderion in return.
The two stood for what felt like hours, divided by the cold, dim fire as the first snows fell.
Gilderion heard nothing as Namarza's hammer struck his sword, shattering it to dust. He felt nothing as the hammer came back around and struck him on the ribs, shattering three through his ragged leather plate. Gilderion saw nothing as his head struck the ground, and his vision went dark. The wind stopped entirely, allowing the falling snow to muffle the all of the sound of the forest to a whisper.
"I thought this would make me happy." Winced Namarza as he let his shining kite shield drop to the ground, now covered with a thin layer of powder snow. "I wanted this for so long..." He took hold of his hammer with both hands and looked down at Gilderion, who was panting and wheezing as his lungs filled with blood. "Why does it feel like I'm the one being punished, then?"
While he could not see, Gilderion followed Namarza's voice and tried his best to look him in the eye.
"I loved her, you know. Cheleine, the water-witch." Namarza swallowed nervously and adjusted his fingers on the hammer's grip. "You deserve this. I know it. Why do I feel this way? I don't understand..." He raised his bloody silver hammer high over his head. "I don't... understand..."
The hammer came down, and it was over. Red began to spread over the snow, and Namarza sat by Gilderion's body until daybreak, feeding the fire through the night.
Namarza removed his glove and closed the old black knight's eyes, then picked up the remains of his sword. He stashed the pieces away in his travel bag and set about collecting large rocks around Gilderion's body.
Namarza The Breaker pulled a branch from the fire and placed it on gilderion's chest. He turned away when the flame caught, and strode over to his horse where it was hidden in the brush. His white cloak billowed behind him as he kicked his horse into a slow trot, and began the long journey home.
Edit: I put way too much effort into this.