Original prompt by: /u/salmontail

The crowd seethed and roiled. It was like the sea. Instead of waves of furious water, it was comprised of an ocean of angry people. Voices were raised; some raised in anger while others raised in spite. Half the crowd wished to tear apart the other half, split by ideal and propaganda.

Those that dripped spite believed the poor soul on the dais deserved their fate. These people had fallen for the lies of the corrupt King. The King had accused the one to be executed of treason, of crimes against the Kingdom and his People. The accused had tried to bring the King down, to replace them. For that, they must die. They must die painfully and obviously, a lesson to be taught for other would be traitors.

However, most of the crowd did not believe the lies. They knew the accused to be a great Hero, one that fought for the Kingdom and the People, not just for the King. The Hero was a saver of lives, kind and courageous. There was no way the Hero would be responsible for their so called crimes. The King was hiding something, and the People knew it.

The People fought the guards that ringed the dais. They fought to mob the stage and free their Hero. They fought the believer of the lies. They knew if they let the Hero die, the King would become even more terrible, to get away with even more severe crimes. They wept however, knowing that they could not break through the ring of iron clad guards. Some new that the Hero's compatriots would come to save the Hero, if they had the time.

To the People and the Hero, time was swiftly running out.

The King watched the Headsman approach, glee and desperation twisting his face. He knew he was an axe edge away from complete and utter victory. He had already played the part of the Judge and Jury, proclaiming the Hero to be guilty. Now he waited for the Executioner, all but rubbing his hands together and drooling in wait for the act to come.

However the King forgot one simple fact. That in times of great challenge, aid comes to those that need it. The aid comes at the most dramatic time, and from the unlikeliest of places.

The Executioner mounted the stage, holding his dreadful heavy axe in his hands. He stood over the Hero, his face hidden by his hood. He hefted the axe and brought it up high.

The Hero closed his eyes, waiting for the axe to fall.

The King opened his eyes wide, all but urging the axe down.

The axe came down but slowly and the Headsman shook his head. "I cannot use this now," he grumbled. "The edge is blunt. I would have to hack away and that would not be fair."

The King stared with wide open eyes and the Hero's eyes opened to mimic the expression. The Headsman sat and slowly dragged a whetstone along the axe's edge. Each pass of the stone ground the blade, sharpening it. The air was filled with the screech of stone on metal and the King winced with each shrill sound.

"Hurry up!"

The Headsman ignored the command. "Your Majesty, I cannot. I am a man of my craft and some things cannot be hurried."

The King grounded his teeth like the Headsman grounded the axe. He could do nothing but wait until finally the Headsman was finished.

Once again Headsman rose to stand above the Hero, finally satisfied with the sharp edge. Once again the axe rose into the air. However, at the zenith of the swing, the sunlight reflected off the axe blade and shone directly into the King's eyes.

"No not there! I want to see the traitor's head roll!" the King cried.

The Headsman slowly moved and the axe raised high, but then the sunlight was reflected into his own eyes. "I cannot stand here your Majesty. I cannot see and the axe will not fall cleanly."

The King and the Headsman argued, squabbling like siblings that refused to split a treat evenly. The Hero started to smile. He had an idea of what was happening. Not only that, he saw figures moving in the crowd. A ripple of motion that spelled a change in fate.

The argument ended when the Headsman was allowed to move the Hero away from the sunlight. He was dragged closer to the side of the dais, barely a handbreadth from the edge. The Headsman stood over the Hero, the axe was raised high, and the Headsman stumbled and fell off the dais.

The King swore as the crowd laughed. The Headsman landed neatly on the ground, nearly dropping his axe. The clumsy executioner climbed back onto the stage, ignoring royally thrown insults.

"I would not have fallen if you did not instruct me to move him your Majesty," he said frostily. "It was only from fair Fortuna that I was not injured."

"If you do not finish the job then all the Fortuna in the world will not save you!" the King screeched. "Hurry up and kill him!"

The Headsman stood by the Hero again, making a show of inspecting where he stood. He held the axe up and the crowd grew silent. The Headsman saw a few cloaked forms move and he saw rocks come flying. He stepped into the path of missiles and let the axe fall, cutting the rope that held the Hero down.

The crowd exploded. Most rushed the guards. Others made way for the Rescuers. Still others fought the believers of the lie.

The guards were split. Most found themselves under assault and fought back. Others rushed to the wailing King. All have forgotten about the Hero.

The Hero jumped up, working out their cramped limbs. Their eyes met the Headsman and the Hero saw the smallest of nods. He kicked out, kicking the Headsman clean off the stage.

The Headsman fell onto the stone below, throwing his axe up for the Hero to catch. The impact knocked the Headsman unconscious. Yet later, when the Doctor had removed the Headsman's hood to treat him, he saw a small yet satisfied smile creased on his lips.