“This is... Not what I expected.” Alex hissed. She dealt with it, she'd done some ranging in the past and was far from the pampered noble lady some might expect. Though... Even rangers on the hunt had, and used, magical artifacts. Tents, cooking implements, conveniences of that nature. Tyr had allowed the use of none for the last few days, whatsoever, even building his own fire by hand instead of utilizing a spell. Once they were in the observation area, all magic was forbidden. For some reason... She even had to crawl away to 'do her business' thirty meters or more from his position. Until he'd capitulated and ran off, returning minutes later with what he called a 'fix'.
Camped out, covered in a layer of branches and foliage, smeared with mud and laying on the ground. No reflective metal, no packs with objects that might make a noise, no weapons and no spells. He refused to allow himself, or her, to use their dimensional rings. Anything that could possibly be detected by another mage was 'against the rules' – and she obeyed as best she could. Even when she ensured him she could shroud them, he wasn't interested in trying his luck.
“Here.” Tyr tossed her a parcel wrapped in oilcloth. She gave him a look, opening it to find a collection of dried meat wrapped in twine, along with some dried fruit. As well as a lead insulated bag that was intended for less savory things than eating. It was a wonder anyone would wrap the two in the same parcel, but she supposed he didn't do 'his business' like other people did. At least it was empty, for now, left wondering how he expected her to 'go' in a bag...
But she wouldn't complain overmuch, a point of pride, refusing to admit discomfort after insisting she accompany him.
“I'm not hungry.” She hissed. “And I went less than twenty minutes ago, as poor an excuse for a 'fix' this turned out to be. What are we even doing here?”
“Watching. Observing. Taking note of our enemies position.” Tyr replied softly, blending into the environment surprisingly well. Unlike Alex, he cared nothing for getting dirty. No hesitation as he rolled himself in the mud and made a nest-like depression in the wet dirt where he would remain for days at a time. She would come, and leave, yet he would remain. Always eerily still. This was what he'd been doing for most of his time on the border. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for what, though? That was the question that he refused to answer even after weeks of this activity.
The new semester had started and nothing had... Nothing had happened, not a damn thing! Tyr had left his class in Rafael's hands and taken off. Why else had she come out here other than to get in some fights and watch his back? Thereby earning the respect she deserved but could never seem to get from this toxic piece of...
It wasn't so glamorous, this life. Not so exciting, it'd make for a terribly boring novel...
“Silence yourself.” Tyr whispered.
“I--” Alex protested, flushed in the face and angered by his choice in how he'd addressed her.
“Please, my beloved wife. My cherished little baby. Love of my life.” He pointed, slowly, behaving oddly. Every motion he made seemed in perfect harmony with the brush around him, swathed in dirt and leaves to blend in perfectly. Snaking along the ground in a movement to emulate the swaying of leaves in the breeze. There was a road ahead, beyond the ridge. In the forest that separated the Brotherhood lands from Amistad.
And on that road was a child appearing as if from nowhere. A boy, he couldn't have been more than fifteen years of age, hobbling over the road, hunched to the point of being near doubled over. His leg was hurt, that much was obvious from the red stain on his breeches and the limp, but something must've been wrong with his ribs as well.
Greeted by a squad of soldiers, the boy spoke with them in an animated fashion. This was not a surprise, not any longer, Alex had seen the same scene play out four times now, and each time they had done nothing about the patrol. But this time was different. She could feel Tyr coil up like a panther beside her, his shuddering body could be felt though the dirt separating them. Not excited. Angry, viciously so.
“Orlando.” Tyr hissed, giving a command for the first time since they'd begun observing this unremarkable stretch of roadway. Whoever Orlando was, perhaps another member of the blackguard.
Just as one of the men raised their arm to backhand the boy, he and his cohort were riddled with glistening bolts. Followed by several dozen figures marching out of the undergrowth, immediately engaging them. They did not fight like men. The brotherhood soldiers swung at them, but these new entries to the field did not flinch, nor did they balk. Walking dauntless through blades and arrows to mercilessly cut apart the soldiers to a man. Tearing arms off in a display of immense strength, all of them dead in less than a minute.
Those who ran found themselves struck down by arrows, but eerily, slowly, they rose again. Stripping themselves of armor and jogging off into the forest in perfect unison. Alex was educated enough to recognize necromancy when she saw it, but from where? Tyr had cast no spell. Could he even use necromancy? His ability to use darkness magic was like that of a child... Or worse.
“Who is that boy, Tyr?” Alex asked.
“My son.” Tyr replied calmly. Under such a revelation, she would have cursed, maybe struck him – but surely that was a jest. Tyr could not possibly have a son so old. “His name is Farron, and he followed me all the way from the republic. Somehow. I did not bring him, but he came, by himself and of his own accord. I've given him a job. After much debate...” He sighed. “He insisted, and he's almost a man now, he has a right to choose for himself and it's better if he stays where I can watch him.”
“A job to do what?” Alex asked. “Is that what you're doing, testing these men?”
“Aye. Living as you wanted me to, giving them a chance. I can feel a compulsion, and theirs was far worse than a slap, something the boy is in dire need of in any case. Thus, they died. Does that serve to satiate your curiosity?” Tyr growled, never once moving from his position in the earth even as she squirmed about. She could feel his desire to join this unknown force, but he didn't. Opting to command from the rear rather than the fore, which was odd for a man like him.
“Is Tiber down there?” Alex asked, though she knew the answer. Tyr had been spending money in some odd ways, taking channels normal people did not. Beyond her purview, which typically meant black market.
“No, Tiber is in the city.” Tyr answered honestly. “Every one of those men is undead, and there is a lot more than those you've seen thus far. Tiber and I had a... Disagreement. He does not support the tactics I use, and is unwilling to participate in what I was doing before this. To be candid, I lined fifty miles of roadway into Baccia with the flayed corpses of their soldiers that I found to be... Particularly dark in the spirit. I do not regret it, but I understand how he feels.” His face was sullen, gloomy and a little bit disgusted in the mentioning of it. “It was grisly work, but necessary. Allowing us to successfully ambush a force sent in vengeance and wipe them out. Via that happenstance, I know that Hastur is not in full control of Baccia. I know that he is an advisor, but not the sovereign, or else he'd never make such consistent mistakes in dealing with me. They are his puppets but he does not hold every string just yet. We descend now, come.”
–
Farron was shaking beneath the bag Orlando had forced over his head. Tyr's orders were clear, to not let the boy see either the doing of a thing, nor the aftermath. And Orlando was anything if not consistent in obeying his masters orders. Witnessing the soldiers struck by arrows was enough, the boy didn't need to see what came next.
They did not take prisoners, though. Not anymore. Near every one of these men was given the option to serve, and surprisingly, they almost always accepted. Tyr was very clear. That they'd be undead, living damned existences, but people wanted to 'live' no matter what the circumstance. Those who refused would be given a merciful end, he only defaced the bodies after they were dead and did not profane them with ritual. Orlando rose them, not Tyr, he was the speaker and the taker, only using Tyr as a conduit to give them that offer of his in the spira. Holding their souls until they willfully made their choice, or not.
It was odd. In life, they would spit on the undead. Considering them 'unholy', but when presented with the option they would become one in a heartbeat, that thing they claimed to hate. Men were weak. Orlando's motivation had been service to a higher power, and this was pure. He and many others had been forthright and honorable, recognizing their mistakes and promising to serve thereafter to redeem themselves in undeath. Despite being undead, they were not slaves, independent of bondage, but they would all serve. Or else Tyr would release them, and they would die their true death. One last chance. A chance. That is what she'd asked of him, and this was the most clear cut way of offering one to the so blatantly sinful.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Thus, they were the condemned. Their sins varied in life, but their status in what came next was an equity they did not deserve. Every man, just like the blackguard, was equal. Tyr, for some reason, could not raise women into undeath. Worth mentioning, he hadn't met a single woman with heavy sin, perhaps that was why. Or perhaps they were just rarer in the martial forces of the world, those few he found were usually mages and almost universally protested the abuse some of the less scrupulous of men would levy on a child. There was hope yet.
No distinction by gender, really, the sample size was too small. Some of the men would pat Farron on the head gently, giving him a meal or a health potion and letting him sleep the night off all while under Tyr's watch. Protecting a stranger. Some of them were sinful, but he would not kill these men so readily. Their time would come, or it wouldn't, Tyr didn't really care.
The stars above shining down on the blood and carved flesh of those who'd given their bodies unto him in repentance. Slowly swept from the road by the armored sentinels so as to remove the evidence. Haunting specters in now blackened armor, mechanical movements and the odd – almost inaudible gasp of pleasure. They all liked it, obeying, he didn't know why. Stripped of impurity in the midst of their second chance, perhaps.
“Good work.” Tyr yanked the bag from Farron's head, the boy huddled up under Orlando's watchful gaze – which amounted to two azure orbs balefully boring down on him. Tyr ruffled the angry young man's hair and smiled. “We couldn't have done it without you.”
“I know you killed all of those men!” Farron spat angrily. His tone losing its vitriol and taking on a more childish melody when he sighted Alex. She was a beautiful woman, and Farron was a boy – or a man as he often asserted. The very familiar sensation of becoming embarrassed in his pubescent state when facing such a fine woman. First Lina... Now this... “Why don't you let me see? I already know what you're doing, I can help! Who is... Who is she?”
“My wife.” Tyr replied to one thing, but not the others. Farron was of an age that Tyr was when he'd begun killing. Sick and bitter, though considerably less so than the latter. Fifteen or so years old he thought courtesy of his time in the astral space, a place Tyr had not known he'd been. Tall, but his features were so young, he didn't look his age. Not in the face, at least. He'd gained some weight and it all seemed to go to his cheeks, after having been a gaunt and skeletal rascal when Tyr had found him. “Your mother, technically. Lady Alexis Goldmane-Faeron.” He gestured first to her, and then to the boy. “And our son, through legal adoption, Fair-en Fair-on.”
“I'm not your son, you old bastard.” Farron mumbled, but he was cowed by the presence of the beautiful woman. Usually he'd be far more eloquent with his words. A talent, really, waxing on about how much of a bastard Tyr really was. Normally Tyr would just listen, getting a laugh or two out of the experience. “Pleased to meet you, milady.”
“You've adopted this boy?” That was all Alex could ask, staring down with a raised eyebrow at the young man before her. He was handsome, whip thin and unruly but by no means was he nothing but comely. His name... A spot of humor. “In that case...” She mused, much to Tyr's pleasure, without refusal or aggravation. “Milady is not how you should refer to your mother. You can call me as you'd like, but no need for honorifics. Just Alex is fine. We're family after all, no?”
“And so you have it.” Tyr smiled. “Your new mother, one of quite a few, refer to them as you'd like. So what'll it be?”
“What'll is not a word, it is what will.” Alex corrected, the way she was wont to do. “No dictionary I am familiar with allows for that sort of contraction. In any event, young Farron, it is a pleasure. Odd name you've got there.”
“It's not my fault...” Farron ground his teeth together, looking off into the forest as the last of the 'guardians' settled into the hedges and ferns. It really wasn't a bad gig, all told, far better than dragging bags and crates around for that ridiculous army of freehold graybeards and city boys. Tyr had built a small cabin on this road with the assistance of an unfamiliar gnome and his laborers.
Complete with all sorts of amenities, including running water and a latrine that 'flushed'. Farron had never seen anything like it, his village had plumbing but not anything so advanced with no need for vertical piping. Until he'd met Tyr, who'd adopted him as well as several other children and saw to every want and need. Even agreed to train Farron to use magic and blade, though as far as fathers went, Tyr was mostly absent. Usually it was Tiberius following him around like a bodyguard, or 'Big Sam', as Farron called him. “Can't you rename me? You're both very important people, right?”
“Surely we could?” Tyr's expression brightened and he looked toward a shrugging Alex.
Tyr would do anything and everything he wanted to on a whimsy, guided by nothing but his own satisfaction most times. She doubted there was a lawkeeper in the land that would deny him such a request, and this boy had no legal heritage or claim, making it a reasonable ask. “Alright, as soon as we return to the city I'll be sure to petition the legal council to change your name to Faeron Faeron, that way it's not an error in enunciation and we can complete the set. Maybe I'll found a sister house and call myself Tyr Tyr. But then I guess your name would be Faeron Tyr, and that would just confuse everyone. Or, oh wow, what if I married you to one of my sisters? You'd be their adoptive brother, it's entirely legal without the blood relation, and you can be Faeron Faeron-Faeron. What a joy that would be, eh?”
“Fine.” Farron was old enough to understand sarcasm when he heard it. “Forget I even asked.”
“Your parents named you for a reason.” Tyr's tone was far more serious, maybe even reverent. He acted differently around children, playful and more prone to mischief but there were times where Alex would be surprised at how stern he could be. Not stubborn, but taking that part of him in a more appropriate direction to speak as a teacher would. Perhaps even a parent. “We were fated to meet, and if not they, the universe knew that. Do not dishonor their memory by seeking to change the last remaining bit of a legacy they have left in this world.” Farron's downcast expression at being gently chided turned to rosy cheeked embarrassment as Tyr tousled his hair again under Alex's vivid violet gaze. “I'll found a noble house in your name one day and you can call it whatever you want. But for now, you're Farron Faeron and you'll be happy with it.”
Then suddenly, without warning, as Tyr was wont to do, he pulled a longbow looped to the harness at his back. Legs wide, bowstring taut, letting fly with all two hundred and ninety pounds of draw weight. Sending an arrow whistling through the air and into the trees with a snapping sound not much different than the crack of a whip. A moment later, a heavy thump came, a green cloaked body falling from the tree and very dead, with the blunt tipped arrow impacting somewhere in the spine based on how the body lay.
“That's it for today, I think. Little rat almost gave us the slip.” Tyr said calmly, dropping the bow and quiver into his dimensional ring. He didn't like using ranged weaponry like that, but it was useful to have some non-magical way of attacking at a distance. “We won't be using this road anymore, they've marked it. Twelve farsight arrays in the sky as well. Best get scarce. Okami doesn't see any movement but I wouldn't be surprised if that changes, and quick.”
In line with his words, the undead made themselves known again. Marching crisply from the brush line and down the road in a tight formation. Lots of them, enough to be illegal in every state Alex was aware of, including Amistad. Necromancy wasn't forbidden, but having a private self sustaining army without leave was in violation of the accords. She'd say something, of course, if she thought Tyr would listen. He wouldn't, not about this. In any event, she couldn't scratch the feeling that he was right about everything all along. That he always had been, and that he was aware of his actions in a way she'd never suspected.
Ever since his time in Riverwood he'd been working feverishly at something or another, even something she'd rather not mention even in the sanctity of her own thoughts.
“Where are we going now?” Farron asked, huddled up in his thick cloak and shivering until Tyr warmed his body for him. It was cold, but it hadn't snowed for a few days, southerners had a much more pleasant winter season and most of the Brotherhood lands were milder than Amistad despite being so near one another. “What about my cabin?”
Tyr's answer came as he slapped his hand to the wall of the compact wooden structure and it disappeared. Expensive, but useful. He required a wholly separate amulet to store it all, but it was worth the trouble.
“What day is it today?” He asked the boy? Alex felt a warmth blossom in her chest as she stared at the backs of these two men. Tyr resting his hand on Farron's shoulder and giving him a proud squeeze. This is what life could've been. With only the slightest change in their respective destinies, they could have a real family. “Sunday, isn't it? It's almost time for church.”
“...Church?” Alex squinted at him. “You are going to church?”
“I've never been a fan of any god in particular, but that doesn't mean I hate religion. People often take it too far, but I see no reason why it can't be the foundation of a belief system. A code, we go every week.” Tyr replied softly, just quite enough so only she could hear him. “If anything it'll give him a foundation for learning not to trust them should he ever speak to one.”
“Didn't you make deals with no less than two?” She raised an eyebrow in skepticism.
“Who's more experienced than I am?”