A/N: This is a slightly AU retelling of Act I, with Captain Rumford and Haedrig Eamon supporting my male crusader, Galadrius Cole, in his search for the fallen star. I liked Rumford the first time I met him, how he stepped up into the captain of the guard position even though he was just a farmer. He had a huge responsibility thrust upon him, even though he didn't want it and wasn't prepared for it, and I wanted to explore that a little more. That said, events of the first act play out a little differently in this story, but ultimately New Tristram meets the same fate and the crusader moves on to Caldeum as planned.

antiphon (n.) - a verse or song, chanted or sung in a "call and response" pattern

Andrew Rumford thought he might collapse from exhaustion - how long had he been at his post? Twenty hours? Longer? He could feel it with every breath - the tight ache in his chest as his lungs threatened to cave in on themselves, the deep, penetrating weariness that permeated his joints. He could barely lift the battered mace he'd scrounged from one of the living dead long ago. His swings were getting sloppy, and if he wasn't careful, one of these corpses would take his head off. Rumford kept telling himself this is the last one, this is the last one, but there was no end to them. As soon as one was cut down, two more would climb up out of the ravine bordering Overlook Road.

"Fall back!" he cried, bashing a walking corpse in the head with his mace and sending decaying flesh flying. Rumford and the two guardsmen at the gate took cover behind a makeshift barricade while the archers on the platforms above them picked off the rest of the wave.

The noise of battle quieted save for the labored breathing of Rumford and his men. He peered over the barricade. The dead were at rest - at least for now.

Rumford stood up to take up his post, reaching down to pull another guardsman to his feet. The captain was struck from behind by a blow that sent him staggering forward, taking down the others with him in a cacophony of armor and weapons. Pain radiated from a point between his shoulder blades. Breathing sent pain shooting through his chest. The archers above shouted commands amongst themselves. Rumford rolled over and threw his arms up to defend himself in vain as the skeleton raised its mace again.

Even as Rumford shied away from the blow, something charged into his field of vision. An enormous shield crashed into Rumford's attacker. The guard-captain caught a glimpse of an inverted gold pitchfork, embossed upon a white field, before he squeezed his eyes shut as splinters of musty bone showered over him.

"We are saved!" cried the guardsmen, "we are saved!"

Rumford got to his feet, shaking, to meet his savior. The man removed his helmet and tucked it under one arm to reveal a wide, stern face atop broad shoulders. His head was completely shaven, though a short growth of reddish-brown stubble dusted his scalp and jaw. His armor shone, polished to a burnished gleam in the dim light of the flickering lanterns along Overlook Road. The newcomer wore the durable cloth bases so favored by warriors of the faith, dyed a vivid crimson. A crusader, thought Rumford. He'd never met one - he'd only ever heard tales about them.

"I owe you my life, sir," said Rumford, holding out his hand. "Thank you. I'm Andrew Rumford, captain of the guard . . . or what's left of it."

The crusader's smile was warm, and it softened his features considerably. He gripped Rumford's forearm in a gesture of solidarity. "You are welcome, though it was the least I could do," said the crusader. "My name is Galadrius Cole. I am a crusader of the Zakarum faith, and I come seeking the fallen star."

"Ah, right then," said Rumford. "You'll want to talk to Leah in the Slaughtered Calf. She was there in the cathedral with her uncle the night the star fell."

Galadrius frowned. "You look exhausted. How long have you been at your post, captain?"

Rumford looked away, embarrassed. Was his fatigue that obvious? "I couldn't say."

"I will go and speak with Leah. But I will be back. A body needs sleep, captain. The dead have no such disadvantage."

"That's really not necessary -"

But the mysterious crusader had already passed through the gates on his way to the inn.

Rumford didn't know how long he had dozed off when Galadrius' hand landed on his shoulder and startled him awake. "Do you have a place to stay, captain?"

"Wha-?" Rumford said blearily, blinking away sleep. "Oh - I've been sleeping in the barracks as of late, when there's a bed open. My farm was overrun with the dead weeks ago."

Galadrius held out his hand and dropped a key into Rumford's lap. "Take my room at the inn. I will take your post."

Rumford wanted to protest, but he was so tired he couldn't find it in him to argue. His fingers curled around the key. Galadrius nodded at him. "I will come to wake you in the morning, captain. We will discuss the star then. But now you must sleep." He nodded once and turned away, the planes of his face hardened by the shadows. Rumford hadn't been in the guard long, but he knew when he was dismissed.

By the time Rumford stumbled into the inn, he fell onto the bed without even bothering to remove his boots. The lumpy straw mattress was an improvement over his accommodations as of late. He was asleep in minutes.

Back at the gates of New Tristram, Galadrius Cole looked solemnly out at the surrounding area. It had started to rain, a miserable, misty drizzle that seeped through the cracks in the guards' armor as easily as smoke and chilled them to the bottoms of their boots. The other two guards on duty grumbled amongst themselves, each sneaking envious looks at the crusader, who seemed wholly unaffected by the damp chill.

"How d'you suppose he gets his armor to glow like that, eh?"

"He's a crusader. It's his 'inner Light.'"

The first guard snorted softly. "Right, and I suppose his 'inner Light' keeps the rain off 'im as well?"

The second guard shrugged. Galadrius gave no indication he had heard them, so when he spoke, his low baritone made them both jump.

"The Light is in everyone, my friends, and I assure you, I am as vulnerable to the elements as any man."

They glanced at each other, a bit shamefaced at being caught out, which seemed to amuse Galadrius. His chuckle was brontide, barely discernable from the thunder in the distance.

"Men distrust what they do not understand. My ways may seem strange to you, but I am only here to see about the fallen star and destroy any evil that gets in my way."

"The dead rising, walking as the living?" The first guard snorted again, though there was little humor in it. "Can't get much more evil than that."

"Indeed," Galadrius agreed grimly.

Rumford stumbled down to the common room of the Slaughtered Calf, his untied boot laces nearly tripping him up on the stairs. He was still clothed in his tunic and breeches from the day before, but he felt more rested than he had in weeks. The crusader raised a hand to him from a table near the fire, his scarlet cloak draped over the back of his chair to dry. Rumford sat down just as the barmaid delivered two plates of fat sausage links, cheese, and two heels of toasted bread. Ravenous, Rumford devoured the meat and cheese before a guilty pang reminded him he had cut his own men down to half-rations just days ago.

"You talk to Leah, then?"

"Yes, Leah has given me enough information to proceed with my search." Galadrius chewed his food much more slowly and methodically than the hungry guard-captain had, and he was quiet for a long while. The only indication the crusader gave to his long shift at the gate were the shadows under his eyes. "You slept well?"

Grudgingly, Rumford nodded. "I hope Hamish and Larch didn't give you much trouble."

"They are good men," Galadrius said. "Though I'm sure you are already aware, as their captain."

"A fortnight ago we were peers," Rumford said, his lip curling, though whether it was the bitterness of his words or his ale the crusader couldn't be sure.

"You wear your new mantle well, then. They naturally look to you to lead them. How did you come to be captain of the guard?"

Rumford swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, and he took a swig of ale to wet it. "My predecessor, Captain Daltyn, led a patrol into the ruins after the star fell and the dead rose. I was the only one who came out alive. All of them, slaughtered like animals. I am no stranger to death - it is a part of life. But those men - good, honest men - they died horribly." Rumford sighed, banishing the memories of blood and bile back to the darkest corners of his mind. "I volunteered to help because it seemed the right thing to do. But I'm no leader of men."

"You were called, and you answered."

"That's a simple thing for you to say - you were born to fight monsters like the risen dead. Me, I'm just a farmer."

Galadrius furrowed his brow but said nothing. He drained the remaining ale from his tankard before he stood up and fastened the scarlet cloak around his shoulders. "I am going to the cathedral today," he announced. "I will return in a few days."

Rumford rose to see him off, and felt oddly dismayed. "Thank you for the meal, my friend. If I can't persuade you to stay here, keep your eyes open." He smiled. "It has been invigorating fighting alongside you. I would hate to see you across the battlefield among the ranks of the dead."

"I cannot think of anything more distasteful," Galadrius agreed. "I trust you will cut me down without hesitation if such a thing comes to pass?"

Rumford gave a curt nod. "Likewise."

He watched the crusader's silhouette disappear through the doorway, illuminated by the dawn. Rumford debated a moment before wrapping the two toasted heels of bread to take with him as he returned to his post at the gate. Hamish and Larch had fallen asleep with their backs propped against the two lantern posts, their swords across their laps in a slack grip.

"Oy!" Rumford bellowed. Hamish and Larch jerked awake with startled cries, the warm bundles of toast catching them in the face and falling into their laps.

"Barracks," Rumford said, and the guards scrambled to their feet with clumsy salutes. He said not another word as he took up his stance before the gate.

Hamish and Larch glanced at the toast, then each other. "Captain's got us on half-rations," Larch said, hefting the bread. "The hell is this?"

"Breakfast?" Hamish shrugged and stuffed half of it into his mouth, abandoning his manners. "Eat it 'fore he changes 'is mind."