Staring at the cold stone walls that surrounded him, Asher let out another vicious curse. He had long since lost count of the curses that he had spat whilst staring at this room that had become his prison. When he had first awoken his body had cried out in pain, pain so terrible that it took everything he had to suppress it, no energy left to even scream. Physicians surrounded him channeling power into healing spells and using artifacts expensive enough to bankrupt a small country in an attempt to make him whole once more. It was all in vain, never again would he be whole, as the abyss left by his mother’s betrayal threatened to devour him.
Throughout the process all he could do was lie there in bed, a single window overlooking the forum, and the physicians that treated him, his only contact with the outside world. It was from there that he managed to grasp the true carnage that his mother had wrought. Half of the city had been reduced to ash, and a quarter more reduced to just about waist high, but the death toll was the most staggering of all. At this point there was no way to distinguish one body from another. Everything had been reduced to ash and charcoal, the few remaining bones scattered around the city could’ve been counted on a single hand, and were too brittle to even be touched. It was believed that over three quarters of the people living in the capital had been killed though an exact number would be impossible, since the census building had been destroyed. There were very few wounded, just being in the vicinity of the flames had been enough to cause immolation.
Day in and day out he lay on that bed, nothing to do but ponder what would happen from now on. Vengeance and answers were at the top of his list at the moment, but he knew that both were far away dreams, impossible in his current state, so he focused on his recovery. As he imagined the things he’d do to get the answers from the woman that put him in this condition a savage smile spread across his face causing the nearby Healers around him to shudder in fear.
He slept, ate, and shat out the poor excuse for food that the physicians gave to him claiming it would help in the recovery. They learned not to feed him that anymore when he grabbed one of them by the neck and forced him to his knees. Taking the hard loaf of bread he had stuffed it into the man’s mouth as he poured a pitcher of water over the man’s nose.
The next morning he was given a proper meal, but something in him snapped, something in the looks that they were giving, made him worry. Grabbing the same physician that he had abused yesterday, he once again dragged him down, until he was on his knees. Grabbing the soup bowl he poured its steaming content into the physician’s open mouth. All around him the other physicians are held captive by the horror of what he had just done. In the time that it took for them to process that a sick and twisted 15 year old had poured steaming hot soup down their colleague’s gullet, and opened their mouths to protest or scream, they found that their voice had fled them. The man that he had forced to drink the soup was clutching his throat gasping for breath, and it wasn’t due to the heat of what he had been forced to endure. Everyone watched in morbid fascination as his face changed color to a pale color and his lips turned bluish. With one hand clutching his chest and the other still grasping the bedpost he fell face down. A literal pool of blood was forming around him, as he lay there unmoving. The spell broken by his collapse, the other physicians attempted to help, but it was too late, and the man was dead. Taking advantage of the confusion, Asher palmed a wicked looking dagger off of the other physicians, and hid it under the pillow. His only defense against those who would try and assassinate him.
Several days would go by before another attempt was made, this time with one of the doctor's attempting to use an old fashioned knife. As soon as he stepped into the room and the door closed behind him, he charged, brandishing a blade dripping with poison no doubt.
Before he could even think, his reflexes honed by years of training the dagger was in his hands, held in a reverse grip, as Asher prepared to meet his opponents attack. Using his left hand he parried his assailant’s incoming thrust, with a standard knife hand block. Rotating his block he grabbed onto the assassin’s wrist, making sure to keep control of the man’s weapon, he pulled forward. The murderer not expecting his victim to put up a fight was caught unawares by the sudden counter and stumbled forward right into Asher’ waiting knife. Aiming for the man’s right side; blade held slightly angled upwards he plunged with surgical precision in between the man’s ribs, not even nicking them in the process. The reverse grip providing extra power to his cut he dragged the blade through bone, cutting through the man’s sternum and exiting out the left side. Switching grips, so that the blade was held in a standard hammer grip he brought his arm up, thrusting the blade under the man’s jaw and up into his brain. With a quick twist he freed the blade waiting for any response from the assassin. Watching as the life faded from his eyes, and feeling himself grow stronger, made him pause and wonder is this what his mother had felt with every life that she had snuffed out? Shaking his head to clear such thoughts. and seeing his own bloody form, he sighed, pushing the dead man off his bed. Swinging his feet off the bed, he gingerly tested his weight on the balls of his feet, this would be the first time that he had properly moved around in almost 3 weeks.
Standing he powered through a wave of dizziness and nausea, grasping onto a bed post for support and it passed. Taking a few deep breaths, he righted himself, and grabbing onto the breeches of the assassin dragged him into the hallway. Positioning him against the door, Asher struggled to lift him, as he manipulated the body like a mannequin. Placing the hands on top of one another and then moving them above his head, he grabbed the assassin’s knife and plunged it through both palms and deep into the wood, leaving the man transfixed against the door as a warning to any other assassins. Smiling in satisfaction he wiped the blade off the dagger that he had taken from the doctor and after placing it under his pillow pulled the covers over his body and slept, exhausted at the amount of energy he had exhausted.
Not even the screams of the physicians calling for the guards were able to wake him at that point, as his lips curled into a vicious smile.
About a week would pass, as he lay in bed reading a book, no more assassins had dared to show up, and the physicians had left him mostly alone, only coming around to check on his recovery. The only human contact he had was from the Servants bringing him food, before scurrying off before he could open his mouth. It was only natural that they feared him after killing two people, and on another level they knew that if they had stayed he would’ve forced them to sample his food for poison. With nothing to do time passed by slowly until one day he was awoken by an argument taking place in his cell.
"Two men dead! Two! One of them, a gifted physician! What kind of fuckin' fifteen year old is fucked enough to ruthlessly kill two men?"
"Technically your majesty, one of the murders was not my son's fault." A second voice smoothly responded. “And as for what kind of fifteen year old, need I remind you of what we were like at that age?”
"Semantics Aetius!" The King bellowed. "That was a different time, we grew up in war, not in peace! I have hundreds of people howling for blood and revenge after what happened. I haven't slept in almost a month and we’re still trying to figure out what ash pile belongs to what person. I don't need any more problems, and your family can't bear to suffer anymore."
At that Aetius Drusus, Asher’ father promptly shut his mouth. "It's probably Valentia's fault. Seeing his mother consumed by black magic, killing thousands of people and then turning on her own son, the trauma is probably enough to have scarred him for life."
There was a brief pause before the king spoke again. "Did you know that she had been practicing black magic?"
"No my Lord."
The faint rustling of fabric alerted him to the fact that the King was reaching under his cloak, taking a peek as Asher saw his sovereign draw forth a golden orb. Pouring power into the artifact a wave of energy spread forth passing through the walls, and sealing the room so that the two men would be able to talk privately.
Afterwards the King sighed, his shoulder falling in resignation at the answer, as he took a seat in a nearby chair. "I was born nearly 215 years ago, I've known Valentia for almost 197, which is slightly under how long I've known you, and never in all those years I've known her did I ever suspect that she would turn to the Black."
"To be frank Sire, she always had a wild, unpredictable side to her, and combined with her thirst for knowledge..." Aetius replied leaving the end open to discussion.
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"Drop the royalty crap, Aetius, we're alone now. Still that woman was more devoted to the light than most of my Paladins, she wielded the highest concentration of Magic that anyone had ever seen since Ancient Times. She served as an Inquisitor for many years, and is responsible for the execution of hundreds of practitioners of Black Magic. If anything else it’s ironic that she falls for the lure of darkness after she persecuted those who believed in the same thing. None of this makes sense."
"That woman never made sense to us, yet she always knew how we were feeling.” Aetius said, smiling grimly. “Emotional range of a teaspoon, if you remember her saying.”
The King glared at him. "This is no laughing matter."
"Then perhaps the Valentia we both knew was nothing more than a facade. Her devotion to the light a simple overcompensation in order to avoid suspicion."
"I highly doubt she could have fooled us for so long, no I suspect something else is afoot. A scheme perhaps, to bring about the return of the Black magicians. And Valentia is nothing more than a simple pawn."
"Do you think that she was corrupted?"
"She often went and traveled to other lands, so it is possible that she might've stumbled upon an ancient vault."
"Valentia never stumbled upon anything. If she found a cache of relics, she did so purposefully."
Another pause as both men sorted through their feelings. "I loved Valentia for the longest time, by the Black, I would've probably married her if I didn't have to deal with the Pillars threatening open rebellion if I didn't marry one of their daughters. I'm sad to say that I was a weak king at the time, I should've just married her and told the Pillars to piss off."
"You had no choice, you needed the support of the other Pillar families in order to mobilize the armies, and even if you had married her nothing would've changed she still would've fallen, and we'd still be in this situation if not a worse one. If the Queen was found practicing black magic and was responsible for the massacre of thousands of civilians we'd have open revolution on our hands. No, it was better I suffer this burden alone than to have plunged the kingdom into civil war.”
There was one last pause, the third and final lull in the conversation, as if both men were hesitant to continue the conversation, and in a moment of weakness Asher saw his father’s hands reaching for the decanter that was placed on the nearby table. Removing the stopper he poured himself a generous three fingers. His father rarely ever drank, hating how the alcohol impaired his mind. He had once boasted that he was able to count the number of drinks he had over his 214 years of existence with only one hand.
“I know from all of our years together that you would never turn your back on a fight nor on responsibility, but I’m telling you this one time, walk away. Valentia’s fall was not your responsibility, nor the lives that were lost because you failed to stop her.” The King said softly.
“I am her husband, that alone makes me responsible. While I can never atone for her actions I hope that my sacrifice may pave the way towards some form of forgiveness.” My father said resolutely.
“The people love you Aetius, more so than me most days. To them you are seen as a hero, a savior, a provider, and a shepherd. When famines struck and disasters occurred you opened your own doors, providing food, healers, and a place to stay for any family that stood on your doorstep; all from your own pocket. The wealth of the Four Great Houses is large enough to found a country but even then it is not unlimited. I also know that you took it upon yourself to provide for the families of the soldiers who died under your command, in addition to what the kingdom itself was giving.”
“It is only my duty, as a descendent of a founding member of this country.”
“A duty that many other nobles have forgotten. Your kindness is not something that the commoners would soon forget. Leave Aetius, no one is going to stop you.”
“You already know my answer, so there’s no point in discussing this any further.”
“You know what’s going to happen.” The King said, it was not a question but a final plea for his friend to escape.
“I do, I just ask my old friend that you watch over my son. Keep him out of trouble.”
“I will.” The King said, turning to look Asher in the eyes. Waving his hand he felt his eyes close as he was dragged into Nocturnal’s embrace.
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When Asher woke again, he looked around groggily, unsure of how much time had passed since the King had put him to sleep. Most disturbing of all was the fact the he found himself strapped to a chair in front of a window overlooking the Forum.
It lay silent, a sober atmosphere suffocating the spectators that crowded around the central dais. Four cloaked figures stood on the stage their features hidden beneath cowls. The silhouettes of swords were unmistakable, as three of the figures kept their hands resting atop the pommels. The fourth figure had drawn his sword holding it vertically with the flat of the blade towards him. Only a few times before had that place ever been so silent, its streets normally bristling with merchants, orators, children, and soldiers. The people were transfixed by the figure with his blade out, a single question on the lips of every person there, "What sword had been drawn?" Was it Miseracordia? Ius? Natio? Animus? The atmosphere was akin to a funeral as a single pathway opened through the crowd to the dais.
Knights clad in heavy steel plates marched two abreast, their swords, unsheathed, held skywards in their rights hands, as they carried thick tower shields in the left. Their movement was rhythmic, each pounding their feet in unison. The procession continued as far as the eye could see until they reached the platform, where they split standing on either side of the pathway. Without a signal a deep booming sound echoed as drummers beat a somber beat. The sound seemed to have no origin as it spread throughout the shattered remains of the city, mourning the losses that had been suffered. A single man proceeded up the corridor, gripping a sheathed blade. Garbed in a simple white tunic and full length breeches, stuffed into brown leather boots, he stared resolutely at the stage, prepared to face his own death. Striding forward, his steps in sync with the drum beats, the knights raised their majestic swords diagonally, almost touching with the opposite man's. After passing each pair the knights would swing their swords down and to the right until the point was an inch from the ground, before swinging their blades back, clashing the cross-guard against their shield and holding the blade vertically.
So it continued, each knight paying homage, their visors obscuring their faces, but a profound sadness surrounded each man as he clashed his sword against his shield. After what seemed like an eternity the man reached the stage. Marching up the steps he walked up to the lead man, falling to his knees he held his own sword in front of him, resting his forehead against its pommel. The lead figure drew back his hood with his left hand, and the crowd gasped at the appearance of their Lord, the King.
"Aetius Drusus Ferrum Subigere." The King said, his voice cutting through the thick atmosphere like a hot knife through butter. "Aetius, to those of us who called you friend, Drusus one of the Four Great Houses responsible for founding our Empire called thus by those seeking your favor, Ferrum to your soldiers and other knights, you are the epitome of that word the sword that strikes our foes and the armor that protects us, and lastly Subigere, the name that I had bestowed upon you. No man before had been awarded that name, to us it is a reminder of victory, to those we defeated the name is spat as the vilest of curses. You, my friend whom I've known for all my life, do you know why you have been brought here today?"
"I do my King." Aetius said, bowing his head deeply. "I can make no excuse for the actions of my wife."
“The failing of Valentia is something that can never be forgiven, and whilst the blame lies with her, nonetheless she was a member of one of the Four Great Houses. As is the custom, I put your fate in the hands of those who were wronged. May the witnesses step forward.”
One by one the survivors of the inferno stepped forward to the stage, they described in gruesome details the events that transpired around them, of the family that they lost, the wounds they suffered, and the road of hardship that awaited them as they attempted to rebuild a semblance of their normal lives. At the end of each of their tirades, they pronounced their sentence. Many proclaimed death, others banishment, Asher was even surprised at the amount of people that begged for clemency. By the time that each witness had said their piece he had lost count of the sentences, and it seemed like the king had as well. Turning to the one of the men he awaited the count.
The man shook his head sadly, "I am sorry milord." His voice soft yet it pierced the silence spreading so that even the farthest child heard it.
“I thought as much.” The King whispered, just loud enough for those in his immediate vicinity heard him.
“Aetius.” The King spoke. Turning the sword so that only those closest would be able to read the script engraved onto the blade. Damnatio. "Though you may not have been directly responsible for the flames, the judgment falls on you. You were our protector, the defender of the people, for over 100 years you've served as a loyal guardian. Ask of me mercy and I shall grant it."
"A King is the King, by the will of the people." Aetius responded solemnly. "A King must be just, he must be steadfast, and in the end must bear the weight of the country upon their shoulders. "I am ready, old friend."
Clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder, the King took a step back and tossed the sword above his head. "By the Will of the People. Damnatio"
The blade reached its apex and stopped for a moment before multiplying leaving 5 blades suspended in the air, poised to pierce the earth. As the knight's lay Aetius back on the cold stone the blades fell upon him. Like lightning thrown by the hand of God, 4 transfixed his legs and arms, while the 5th pierced his heart.
His last words, “It is only fitting that those who lived by the sword should die by it as well.”