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Post by Celestial on Jul 7, 2014 21:28:56 GMT -5
Shiny, I made a thread of Medieval fanfics so I don't clog up my writing thread (it's dead anyway but I like keeping stuff neat. ^^). So here are some extra supplementary material relating to my Medieval characters and the world around them for your reading pleasure. Each bit of writing will have a title and that title will be colour-coded depending on whether it is an AU fic, a Stallion backstory fic, post-main roleplay fics or other, non-Stallion fics. Master Index of Canon Stallion Stories (In chronological order) - 1254/1259- Building and Rebuilding- Lachlan, Eamon Allendale. (collab with Shinko )
- 1260- A Friend For the Rest of Your Life- Maura, Alain
- 1264- Snotty Brat-Alain, Ambrose
- 1265- The Traitor- Lachlan, Maura
- 1265- Chocolate!- Stallionbros
- 1265- By the Sea- Margot, Llyr
- 1266- Last Visit of a Forgotten one/First Vision- Alain, Ambrose
- 1266- Separate Paths- Alain, Ambrose
- 1266- Falling- Ambrose
- 1278- Hello- Margot
- 1278- Drowning My Sorrows-Ambrose
- 1278- Shattered Heart- Margot, Alain
- 1278- The Truth Hurts- Margot, Llyr
- 1278- Mother's Warmth- Margot, Maura.
- 1279- Life-Alain
- 1279- Bitter Introductions- Alain, Ambrose
- 1279- The Land and the Sea- Llyr, Margot
- 1281- The Stag and the Stallion Part 1-9- Margot
- 1281- The Stag and the Stallion Part 10-Epilogue- Margot, Alain
- 1284- Gone at Sunrise- Alain
- 1284- The First Cut Hurts the Most- Alain
- 1284- A King's Power- Alain, Falcon (collab with Avery )
- 1284- In the Night, the Tsar Hired an Assassin...- Alain
- 1285-Welcome Home- Alain, Aveline (collab with Kristykimmy )
- 1285- Despair and Hope-Stallionbros
- 1296- Death- Alain
- 1297- Honouring the Memory- Alain, Ewan.
- 1299- Inventor's Gift-Stallionbros
- 1300- A Past and a Future- Parts 1-3- Lindsey
- 1303- The Sea Takes Its Own- Margot, Alain
- 1303- Ease the Pain- Alain, Margot
- 1310- More Than A Match- Isabelle, Hector
- 1311- How Far I've Come- Hector, Lindsey
- 1314- Come with Me- Alain, Ambrose
- 1314- The Weapon's Birth-Ambrose
- 1314- Locks, Talks and Hard Knocks- Morgaine, Laurie, Ambrose (collab with Shinko and Liou )
- 1315- The Things We've Shared- Alain, Margot
- 1315- Small Comfort-Ambrose
- 1317- Fears for the Future- Alain, Isabelle, Hector.
- 1323- Goodbye- Alain, Margot
- 1335- A Heart to Heart Talk- Ambrose, Roslyn
- 1371- Little Cuts- Ainsley, Corbin (collab with Avery )
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Post by Celestial on Jul 24, 2014 10:47:40 GMT -5
What time is it? Medieval headcanon time! =D I promised I'd post up my headcanons and here they are. I doubt they'll come up in the roleplay though but hey, it's fun to speculate and worldbuild. GodsCarricon
The god of Courdon, Carricon is as cruel as the people that worship them. They are genderless and are usually referred to with a plural pronoun, even though they are technically one deity. Carricon usually takes the form of a raven dressed as a Courdonian prince, though other forms such as a dog and a young man in glasses with coffee are known. They are the god of fate, death, change and storytelling. While at first they appear benign and will converse with their worshippers as mere mortals, Carricon knows their fates and will often laugh behind the backs of its worshippers at the foolish decisions that they make.
They demand regular sacrifices and will often get antsy if not appeased. If this is the case, they will select a worshipper at random and strike it down, often terrifying others in the process as they believe each and every one of them is at risk. There is no use pleading or bargaining with this god as they will take who they please and whose time has come. Each person lives in fear of what Carricon will bring them, though sometimes they can be a benevolent god and deliver good news as well as bad. All depends on how fate smiles upon their worshippers. Very rarely, they will even grant a mercy to its subjects but only if they feel like it. Carricon will answer your prayers if it considers them worthy but it will not give you too much guidance, feeling that it is sometimes best to let you figure it out for yourself.
They are not immune to making mistakes, however, which in part is what makes them so terrifying. Another part is that Carricon could easily talk to you as though nothing is wrong while secretly knowing when something awful will happen to you, all while not saying a word. Beware this deity, for they know all and take pleasure in the fact that you know nothing.
Ranumgen
Naturally, given the hard lives they live, it makes sense that the one god whose worship is spread all across Lange is a trickster god who governs luck, order, chaos and, surprisingly, numbers. Ranumgen can take on many forms, human or animal, so anything you imagine can be this deity. Among these forms is a young boy in a straw hat fishing or an old woman carrying a sack from which she will offer travellers a gift, which may help or hinder them. Ranumgen is a truly unbiased deity, having no preferences as to what help or misfortune those who worship this being get. Instead, the worshippers of Ranumgen wait and see if their deity will decide to help them today, thus deeming them lucky and helping them accomplish whatever task they set to. But there is no matter to the luck, it is impossible to influence Ranumgen with prayer. People simply worship Ranumgen because it is better than admitting that luck and chance are purely random.
However, that is not to say that Ranumgen does not care at all. On the contrary, this deity greatly enjoys mortal affairs and finds much delight in playing about with people as though they are puppets. However, Ranumgen does not do it in the malicious way but in a way that causes the most amusement, since what the deity does with people is usually out of character and ridiculous. Because of this, Ranumgen is involved greatly in the affairs of people and gods and has been responsible for shaping much of the world. A lot can be decided with just a roll of the dice or the flip of a coin. Lange.Lange
Lange is the country located to the north west of Kyth and stretching along much of the northern coast of the continent. Half of it is mountainous and much is covered in forest. The south-eastern regions are the easiest to live in- being comparable to Bern in terrain- but the majority of the country does not make for favourable farming conditions. This makes Lange a tough, harsh place to live in, especially come winter. The main exports of Lange are its mineral resources, such as iron, copper, precious stones and metals and items such as furs and timber. However, another very critical component in the economy of Lange is its mercenaries. Since so very little of its land is suitable for farming, many of the men of this country employ themselves out to foreign armies as mercenaries. They have a fearsome reputation for being tough fighters, even able to wrestle wild animals into submission, and are often obedient without question to the point of suicide. Even the women of Lange know how to fight, as they need to do so in order to survive in the wilderness of their country. Because of this, Lange is a war-like, aggressive state with a powerful army and a strong belief in their military superiority, although after the two wars with Kyth, that has shrunk considerably.
Much of Lange is rural, with very few cities around, being mostly concentrated along the south. The capital, Tiraspol, is the biggest city in Lange and the seat of the monarchy. Other cities are smaller and are where the noble families live but beyond those, the biggest settlements you are likely to come across are small hamlets. The infrastructure and roads of Lange are poor, both due to the climate and the harsh terrain. Being a Langean tax collector is a dangerous, thankless job, especially since nobody really trusts the monarchy, which is known for being corrupt and out of touch with its people, if not actively malevolent.
The Langean peoples are very superstitious, with beliefs varying from region to region. The only unifying religion they have is the worship of Ranumgen. There are small, ramshackle churches found in each village to worship their deity, often with crazy festivals, plays, costumes and even ritual fights among the people of the village. However, due to the lack of literacy in Lange, much of this remains unrecorded.
Despite their eagerness to trade and supply other countries, Langeans are very distrustful of foreigners in their country. In the cities, it is not so noticeable but foreigners out in the country are considered suspicious at best, due to there really being nothing in Lange for them unless they are spies. Because of this, Lange has a reputation for surly, unfriendly and unwelcoming people.
The climate and militarism do have one advantage: invading Lange is considered suicide. So far, nobody has attempted an invasion of the entire kingdom. However, Lange has invaded its neighbours in the past. Among these are the two wars against Kyth, the first one undertaken over thirty years ago and the second one taking place fifteen years ago. Both wars resulted in a loss for Lange and in the case of the second war, some acquisition of territory for Bern and Kine. The first Langean war was a war of expansion, where the king of Lange wished to steal territory from Bern, taking advantage of the death of the old Grand Duke. However, the Langean army was beaten back but not crushed. The second Langean war was a bigger affair, intending to take land from both Bern and Kine in order to cut dependence on foreign produce in Lange. It too, ended in defeat and in an event known as the ‘Capitulation of Lange’, where parts of the country were given to Kyth and treaties formed which gave Kyth a discount on the mineral resources coming from Lange, as well as any mercenaries they hire. However, this is unlikely to stop Lange forever. |
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Post by Celestial on Jul 31, 2014 5:22:58 GMT -5
So I'm thinking, since the Sieg/Alain collabpost revealed a little bit more about the nature of Ambrose's powers, I could probably post this up. It expands a bit more on what happened with Alain, Ambrose and Cebeline the night Ambrose was cursed. The Last Visit of a Forgotten One
Alain opened his eyes sleepily. A cold blast of air had hit the two boys as they slept and Ambrose, it seemed, had stolen his blanket again. As fun as it was to sleep over with his little brother, that was a bad habit of his. Still half-asleep, Alain rolled over to face the door and reached for the other blanket, trying to grab it and get back to sleep as quickly as he could. However, before he could do anything, he saw it.
The door was open. Somebody was standing there. Soft, dappled light danced around her.
“Mum?” Alain murmured quietly. However, as sleep cleared from his eyes, he noticed more details about their mysterious visitor. What he thought was long hair were in fact branches, one side covered in red leaves and the other with sharp icicle blades. The supposed cloak was in fact oversized arms that split into a multitude of fingers that too, were covered in foliage. One side contained the waxy, mature leaves of a summer tree while the other burst into colour with spring flowers. Gnarled tree bark covered the body of the entire being like scales and as it took a single step forward, it revealed not a human foot but instead something that looked like a tree root that twisted into a parody of a human leg. The whole creature was a tree trying to pass for a human.
Alain bit down on his pillow and stared at it, terrified. What was it and what was it doing here? How did it get past the guards?
It took several, dainty steps towards them before it staggered. Its foliage rustled and several leaves fell off, disappearing into thin air in a wisp of white mist. The light filling the room began to fade. However, the creature was not fazed. It recovered its balance and kept walking with the dignity of a queen going to her own execution.
His breathing thundered in his ears. Alain could swear the creature was going to hear him any minute and turn on him, killing him on the spot. He was shaking under his blanket but not wanting to move or make a sound in case he alerted it to his presence.
By now, the being was so close that he could see every detail of its bark, every petal on its flowers, and every vein in each leaf. And most importantly, Alain saw its eyes. The colour was soft and golden, like light pouring through a forest canopy, but the look in them was one of pure hatred.
Alain glanced at Ambrose but the other boy was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the creature that was now upon them. He should scream. Call somebody for help. Mother, father, the servants, anybody. But he dared not open his mouth. He could not. Fear paralyzed Alain completely.
It stopped once it approached their bed and looked over the two boys. He saw the tree bark moving aside as the face twisted into a snarl. At the same time, the golden eyes of the being glowed with rage before they began fading. Its expression twisted again into one of pain. White mist curled around the edges of its branches.
He felt cornered, like an animal, unable to run, scream or do anything to help himself or his brother. Alain felt completely at the creature’s mercy. He wanted to run, to push it away, and to save himself but his limbs could barely move. It was like he was moving through thick honey.
It loomed above them. Suddenly, the creature lurched violently and dug its long fingers into the side of the bed. Bark flaked away from its form, dissolving into the air in the same white mist. By now, the light was fainter than a tiny candle. It scanned the two brothers with its eyes and Alain could do nothing except meet its gaze with his wide, terrified eyes.
The golden eyes closed. The light disappeared. The being fell forward, the mist consuming it entirely on the way. It drifted towards the boys, reaching for them with its tendrils.
To Alain, it was like being let go out of a powerful chokehold. Without even thinking, he cried out and lunged out of the way of the mist that the creature gave off, leaping as far away as he could, anywhere, just out of reach of whatever accursed thing had happened.
Only a small tendril caught his hand and wound around it before disappearing. The rest of the cloud drifted over his brother and covered him like he had covered himself with the wretched blanket that had woken Alain up. For a moment it just hung there. He wanted so desperately to get it away from his little brother but fear overpowered him for the second time that night. But soon, the mist faded and they were alone.
Alain dashed over to his brother’s side, his heart racing and his breathing panicked.
“Ambrose! Ambrose! Wake up!” He dug his fingers into his brother’s shoulder, shaking him violently. He could feel tears stinging his eyes. The thought of losing another sibling was painful enough, the idea of losing Ambrose was unbearable. “Please be okay. Please. Please! Wake up! Wake up!”
“Alain, what?” Ambrose rolled over, frowning at his older brother. “I’m awake, why? What’s happening?”
Alain looked over his brother, taking in his features. It was dark but even so, Ambrose’s voice did not sound pained and his mannerisms were his, definitely. He slumped his shoulders and glanced aside, feeling quite silly.
“I...I just had a bad dream, I think,” he grinned at Ambrose. “Don’t you say anything.”
“Of course not, Alain,” Ambrose’s eyes acquired a mischievous glitter. “But how can you do your duty as the older brother if you can’t even protect yourself from nightmares?”
“Shut up, older brothers can have nightmares too,” Alain folded his arms and stuck out his tongue but he could not hide his smile. Ambrose was alright. Maybe whatever that thing was had been just a dream. He hoped that was the case. “Anyway, you stole my blanket. Give it back.”
“It’s just too warm and cosy,” Ambrose laughed but peeled the second blanket off himself and gave it to Alain. “Go back to sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow”
Alain took the blanket and curled it around himself as he lay down. Rain began to pat down against the stones of the castle outside, typical for autumn in Bern. But if the rain did not stop by the morning, they were not going to get to go play outside. They’d have to find some way to entertain themselves indoors.
Only time would tell.
And the immediate aftermath. This is the companion story to the second pic from the top. (This was originally in the first post but I added it in here) The First Vision The grey rain that heralded the arrival of autumn in Bern tapped against the stone walls of Destrier Castle. Since they had been denied the ability to spend their free time outside by the weather, the two sons of Grand Duke Lachlan were playing in the currently empty great hall. They had been allowed to stay there as long as they did not disturb anything so the boys were currently sitting by one of the grand stone columns, playing with their toys.
“And the brave knight dashes forward and swings his sword at the dragon!” Ambrose cried as he swung the arm of the toy knight to make the sword move. Wood clanked against wood as the two toys clashed.
“Aha but the dragon’s scales are too tough for the knight’s sword to pierce!” Alain laughed, making the toy dragon lunge at the knight in Ambrose’s hand. “It roars and swoops in for the attack!”
“But the knight leaps out of the way,” Ambrose lifted the toy knight right above his head and landed him against the flagstones of the grand hall. “His sword is now made out of unbreakable steel so that the dra-”
Ambrose’s arm dropped and he stared off into space, unblinking.
“What is it?” Alain turned around to look in the direction where his brother was staring. “There’s nothing there, Ambrose. Don’t try to fool me.”
There was no response. It did not even look like Ambrose had even heard what Alain had said. He just kept staring ahead, his eyes blank and glazed over.
“What are you doing?” Alain gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. Nothing. “Come on, you got me. You can stop now.”
Any minute, Ambrose was going to stop and laugh that Alain had fallen for it, he thought. He wasn’t going to be panicked by his tricks, although this was a new one. So he grinned and fidgeted with the toy dragon, flapping its wings up and down.
“You’re going to get bored before me, Ambrose,” Alain laughed. “Give up, come on. The dragon wants to eat your knight for dinner!”
He could not shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong. This was not like Ambrose, to suddenly stop a game for the sake of a simple prank. Alain swallowed, trying to hide his fear from his brother in case it really was just a prank but his fidgeting grew.
“Hey, come on, stop,” he laughed nervously. “This isn’t funny anymore.”
No response, no change. Ambrose’s eyes remained blank and glazed. His gaze did not even waver for a second. By now, Alain was beginning to panic. He dropped the toy and grabbed his brother by the shoulders.
“Enough! Snap out of it!” he shouted, shaking Ambrose as hard as he could but Ambrose remained stiff, barely moving from his kneeling position. His head flopped about limply but his eyes remained glazed.
“Please?” Alain bit his lip, trying not to cry from how scared he was. Memories flashed in his head of the deaths of his other siblings, vague and blurred, as though he was viewing them through water, but he remembered the weeping of his mother, the air of melancholy that hung over their father, the unexplained pain he felt. If he was going to lose Ambrose the same way...
“Stay here, I’ll go get somebody!” he told his brother, his breath coming out in panicked, ragged gasps. He did not know what was going on but he knew it was bad. For a moment he remembered the dream he had that night. But it was just a dream. It had nothing to do with what was happening.
As he got up, Ambrose went limp and fell onto the ground. A small whimper escaped from his mouth and he blinked his eyes a few times.
“Alain?” he murmured.
“Ambrose!” Alain cried and sank to the ground beside his brother, hugging him. “What happened? You just...I don’t know. Don’t scare me like that, you brat!”
“I...I saw...” Ambrose’s breath suddenly became panicked. “There was so much fire, Alain, so much of it. A big explosion happened and fire and smoke and it reached into the clouds and...and...”
He was shaking and almost on the verge of tears.
“You saw things? Fire? What fire?” Alain looked around. There was no fire anywhere, certainly no smoke or explosions. “Are you sure you did not imagine it?”
“No. It was real. I heard it, I felt it,” Ambrose curled up into a small ball, hugging his brother tightly. “It was scary, I was so scared!”
“It’s okay, it’s over, it’s gone now,” Alain untangled Ambrose from him. “I’ll go get dad or mum or nanny, you stay here.”
“Okay,” Ambrose nodded and sat up against the column, hugging his knees and shaking in fear.
“It will be fine. Whatever it is, it’s gone now,” Alain tried to sound confident but something told him that this would happen again. “Dad will know what to do.”
“Don’t leave me here. What if it comes back?” Ambrose whispered and buried his face into his knees. “I don’t want to see the flames again.”
Alain sighed and went back over to his brother, picking him up and taking him by the hand.
“You won’t. Now, let’s go see dad, tell him what happened,” he said. Ambrose gave a small nod.
“Okay, Alain,” he said quietly and whimpered. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“It’s fine,” Alain gave him a little smile and a hug. “Let’s go now.” |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 5, 2014 17:11:54 GMT -5
What better way to grace my shiny new thread than with Bad End AU? =D Well...sort of. This isn't actually Bad End AU, at least not how Elcie's writing it. This is something that can never, ever, ever happen in canon for more reasons than one but I won't spoil it. ...And They Will Obey Me. One moment, Ambrose had been talking with Alain, who was riding next to the carriage on horseback. The next, Alain had fallen, two arrows sticking out of his back and side. And in a split-second, the Courdonian ambush was upon them.
The noise of the battle raged around them as the few soldiers who were with them took up arms. However, the Courdonians who leapt out of the surrounding trees had the advantage of being prepared. Out of the corner of his eye, Ambrose glimpsed Garrick rushing at the archer who had struck down his father but that thought barely registered in his mind. All of his attention was on his brother, lying on the ground as his blood soaked his clothes.
Not even stopping to think about what he was doing, Ambrose half climbed, half fell out of the carriage. The ambush, the soldiers, the cries of pain from both Courdonians and Kythians alike did not matter; nothing mattered except getting to Alain. He was not dead, he could not be! Alain would not die this easily. They still needed him. Who else was going to help fight Courdon? Who else could?
“Brother!” Ambrose panted as he got to Alain’s side, barely thinking as he grabbed him and hoisted him up. Alain’s eyes turned to look up at him and Ambrose’s heart soared. He was alive! There was still time to save him.
Alain’s eyes focused on something behind Ambrose. The latter turned to see what it was and found himself meeting the murderous eyes of a Courdonian soldier. Ambrose cried out and raised an arm in a feeble attempt to defend himself as the large man raised an enormous sword over his head.
BANG!
The Courdonian dropped his sword and fell with a startled expression. He was dead before he even hit the ground. Ambrose’s eyes widened as he saw the Weapon in Alain’s outstretched arm, smoke pouring from its front.
“Not my brother, filthy Courdonian,” Alain growled. However, as soon as the man fell, his strength gave out. Alain went limp in his brother’s arms.
“You...you took it?” Ambrose gasped. Alain turned to him, smirking as he usually did but even so, it was hard to disguise the pain in his eyes.
“Yes. I figured...you’d not want it,” he said before his smile faded. “I’m sorry, Ambrose-”
“Don’t say that!” Ambrose held Alain up, trying to get him to sit up even though it was clear that his brother’s life was draining away. “You’re going to be alright. You must be!”
“No, Ambrose...” Alain shook his head as though he was just refusing food or wine at a feast. “I won’t be.”
Tears welled up in Ambrose’s eyes. He had never thought about losing Alain. His older brother was one figure he was convinced was going to live forever, for better or for worse. But the hot, sticky, cloying blood that poured from Alain’s wounds and soaked his clothes told him otherwise.
“No...please...don’t...” the words sounded so meaningless when he said them. He gripped Alain tighter, as though somehow, that would prevent him from dying. The noises and cries of the soldiers a few feet away could have been on another planet for all that it mattered to him.
“Ambrose...” Alain whispered and hugged him closer. “I never told you...your powers...”
He did not finish what he wanted to say. Ambrose stared in disbelief as Alain’s arms fell away and he went completely limp. He suddenly became very aware of the lack of heartbeat or breath in his brother’s body, which just a moment ago had been there. There was nothing he could do but wail with grief.
As he did, the Courdonians slashed the throat of the last of their Kythian defenders and slowly approached Ambrose. They had no reason to hurry; it was not like he was going anywhere.
Ambrose looked up at them but they barely registered in his mind. He glanced around, seeing Garrick and all of the Kythians lying dead around them. There were a few Courdonian bodies too but most of those who had ambushed him were alive.
He turned back to Alain and bowed his head over his body, not having any strength to move or fight. At least this way he would die with his family.
But the vision roughly dragged him away from reality. Ambrose cried out as he felt it flooding into his mind, taking over and pushing out all memories of the Courdonian ambush, of Alain’s death, of his own impending death. No! Why now?! His entire life, he had coped with it why could it not have the decency to leave him be now of all times?
No. If he was going to die, he wanted to die conscious, not in the grip of whatever infernal power had taken over and destroyed his life. So he did something he never did before. Ambrose gritted his teeth and in his mind, pushed against it, trying to force it away.
Flickers of it danced in his eyes but he barely saw them. His brain and body burned with the effort of trying to stay conscious and steer the vision away, back towards whatever part of his mind it escaped from. And for the first time in his life, he felt something else there; not just the ability to see into the future but other things. A great source of power that had been locked away was there in his mind. He pushed and herded the vision towards it, managing to grip it tightly and control it. Slowly, he started slipping back into reality. Slowly, Ambrose let go.
The vision spiked again, taking advantage of his moment of weakness and he cried out. In his mind, he gripped it again. It felt like trying to force a dragon down into the ground. No, it was going to where he wanted it. He was not going to be ruled by the visions anymore, not during the last moments of his life.
And suddenly, the vision went away, towards the source of power he had felt earlier. But now...it felt different. It did not feel like he was at any risk from them anymore.
Ambrose opened his eyes. And all around him, he could sense time flowing.
It was an odd but familiar sensation at the same time. His visions had contained an element of it but...not like this. Then, he felt like he was getting glimpses of the future by slipping out of the present but now, the present was flowing naturally all around him. It did not feel like time was being displaced. Not unless he wished.
A Courdonian gripped him from behind, forcing a blade to his neck. Ambrose gasped but he did not feel afraid. If time around him was flowing normally when it did not do so during his visions and he had fought his visions away then perhaps-
He focused on the blade of the sword, imagining it rusting away after many thousands of years. Time around it sped up.
There was a cry from the Courdonian as he dropped the now empty hilt.
“You didn’t tell us this one was a mage!” he shouted to his comrades.
“He wasn’t supposed to be,” another frowned and took out his own sword but Ambrose was ready. Time around the Courdonians slowed to a crawl as he slowly placed Alain’s body down onto the ground and stood up. Perhaps he should have been more surprised that he could control time but right now, the ability felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like an extension of the visions that followed him his entire life, except now completely under his control.
He looked around at the Courdonians who were frozen in place around him. The people who had killed his brother, his nephew, the people protecting them...he could in theory do with them what he had done to their sword. A part of him wanted to avenge those who they had killed but Ambrose knew that it would not be right. They were at war but these people were still people. Instead, he did as he had done before and focused on their weapons. Knives, daggers, bows and arrows, all rotted away and turned into dust as a thousand years passed in a second. The Courdonians stared at their decaying weapons before turning to look at Ambrose. He looked right back at them.
“Go. This is your only chance,” he told them, looking into their eyes. To his surprise, his voice barely shook. He was no longer afraid, not when his visions and time itself were under his control.
The Courdonians did not need to be told twice. They dropped whatever remained of their weapons and ran back into the forest. Ambrose was left alone.
He sat down and took a few moments to breathe, the enormity of the situation hitting him. Ambrose did not even look in the direction of Alain’s body, though he was slowly becoming aware of the blood that was beginning to dry on his clothes. His brother was dead. His nephew was dead. He had survived this ambush but what was Kyth going to do?
But...Ambrose had his power now. Wherever it had come from, it no longer controlled him. Rather, he controlled it. Perhaps with this...
He closed his eyes and slipped into the vision again, except this time, it did not carry him wherever it wanted but instead, he directed the current. Ambrose looked into the future, along the frontlines of the war with Courdon.
He saw the entire Courdonian army freeze in his tracks in front of him. The Kythians tried to rush in to kill them but he stopped them too, not wanting any more killing. The destruction of Courdonian war machines. Forcing the entire invading army out of Kyth. King Malik trying to commit suicide as the armies of Kyth marched into Rakine but Ambrose stopping him. Forcing King Malik to surrender, or else his capital would be levelled.
He came out of the vision but he did not feel as disorientated as all the other previous ones had left him. Ambrose’s mind was crystal clear and he knew perfectly well what he was going to do. But first...
He focused on the bodies around him. Time shifted and slowly, the bodies and the weapons sank into the ground. Ambrose wished he could give them a proper burial but he did not have the strength or the will to do so. He could not stand to look at the bodies of those he loved. Nevertheless, as time returned to its normal, the trees and the ground where the soldiers and his family lay burst into bloom, even though it was the dead of winter. It was the least Ambrose could do. He kneeled down beside the place where Alain lay, placing his hand into the spring grass that flourished in his place.
“Rest in peace, brother. And thank you for looking after me. I hope that I can continue where you left off,” Ambrose said quietly and got up. The frontline was a day away but perhaps, with his newfound powers, he could get there in a few hours. Only time would tell.
(Bonus points to whoever got the title reference. :3) |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 8, 2014 12:39:18 GMT -5
Now that roles have been revealed, I can finally post this. =D The origin story of The Weapon. The Weapon's BirthSeveral months ago, in Destrier...
Pieces of a device lay on the table, all scattered as the craftsman worked on it. Springs and small pins lay on the workbench, all quite delicate. The only thing that was not was the silvery metal pipe that sat by itself. There were wooden parts which lay off to the side but he could not quite glimpse them. All he could see were the metal parts of the item which was being worked on.
He snapped back into reality as the vision faded away. No, not yet! Ambrose tried to keep a hold of it, as though somehow he could will his powers into submission. But he had not managed this for the past forty seven years, why should this time have been any different? He rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply. Of course, why would he ever expect his visions to cooperate or have any sense of timing? They were a separate entity onto themselves.
Slowly, he got his bearings. He was standing in a corridor of Destrier Castle, on the way to do...what? What was he going to do? Did Alain want to see him? No, that was not the case. Did he have a task to do? He could not remember. But he remembered the device, clear as day in his head. He just had no idea what it did.
But he could find out. Ambrose could not remember where he had been going or what he was doing. If it was important, whoever had summoned him would not be happy. But it was a well-known fact that he was insane. He would have to endure their anger, condescension or pity, that was a given, but he was so numbed to it by now that it barely mattered.
At least he could still be useful in his own way. That was one thing the visions gave him: glimpses into the future which he, sometimes, could bring back into the present day to be used. Maybe this thing would also have a use? He had gotten a good look at it anyway.
Ambrose turned on his heel and dashed up to his workshop, grabbing one of the messy notebooks that he kept around. He dipped his hand into a drawer and drew out one of his more successful and useful inventions, a pen with an internal ink reservoir, and began scribbling down as much about the incomplete invention he had seen being put together as he could in messy, hurried handwriting. If something was hard to describe, he doodled it.
Half the part of inventing based on his visions was guesswork but by now, he had gotten good at it. His notes rambled and went on as he tried to work out how it fitted together and how each component worked. Hours passed by like this. It would have been a lie to say he did not enjoy it.
What was it? A farming device? No, far too delicate. A tool for building? An accessory? Something else? It was clearly handheld and it did not appear to be part of a larger device. Or, Ambrose shuddered at the thought, was it a weapon? He desperately hoped not. There was enough suffering in the future without him bringing some of here.
But whatever it was, he could only find out via one way. Several sheets of paper later, Ambrose finally got up and pulled out a larger sheet of paper and began to draw out the device, with all the parts he had seen, or at least how he believed they would fit together. It was like a puzzle and it gave his mind something to work on, a welcome distraction from everything else.
Finally, the plans were done. Now, it was time to order the parts. Ambrose would have to send servants to the long-suffering blacksmiths of Destrier to specially order the metal parts, of which there were many. At least the carpenters would not have such difficult work. Thankfully, Alain did not mind, and sometimes even approved of his projects, otherwise Ambrose would have been stuck.
He wondered briefly what Alain would think of this invention. Probably nothing, unless it could be useful to him. But it did not matter. Useful or not useful, Ambrose was still curious.
He began to draw out the parts that he needed to give to the blacksmiths for reference. Once they arrived, it would be time to put it together. For that, he would be on his own. The vision would not help him. |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 9, 2014 20:29:22 GMT -5
More fics, yes. This one is pretty sad though, and much longer than the others. Alain is 26 in it, Ambrose is 24. Oh and, trigger warning for attempted suicide. >> Just to warn you guys. Despair and Hope The war with Lange was over and Kyth had emerged victorious. It had been a difficult war, stretching over the winter and culminating in a brutal critical battle but they had won. For his first war and so early into his reign, Alain could not be happier with the results. There had been more casualties than he would have liked and some of the decisions him and his commanders made early on in the war, especially during the winter months had been poor but they had managed to salvage it. It had been ultimately an unsatisfying victory, Lange was not as poorly beaten as he felt they should have been, but everyone was tired and wanted to go home. Alain was included amongst their number.
He had ridden back into Destrier yesterday and had been happy to feel the elation going around the city. It was good to see his home town so happy and Alain had to admit, it was infectious, especially when combined with the triumph he already felt. He had also been glad to see his daughter and Margot, who he had to admit he was growing quite fond of. And by how her eyes lit up and the feast she had ordered prepared, she had been happy to see him too.
One thing, however, had prevented his homecoming from being perfect: Ambrose was nowhere to be found. He had not been seen for the past few days. That single worry hung over Alain like a dark cloud. It was why he had gotten up early that day and was now walking quickly along the corridor of Destrier castle which led to Ambrose’s room.
He arrived at the door and knocked sharply. From inside, there was a sudden scuffling of furniture. Alain frowned.
“Ambrose? Are you alright? May I come in?” he asked, already putting his hand on the doorknob and pushing it open. Sometimes, Ambrose was not in any condition to answer. If that was the case, Alain was needed even more.
He opened the door to find Ambrose on his feet, his chair thrown back in shock. His eyes dashed wildly before they settled on Alain. Immediately he tensed up and clutched his left arm to his side.
“Alain...I didn’t think you’d be up. And I didn’t expect you back home until later,” Ambrose said, his voice shaky.
“I was worried about you. I didn’t see you yesterday, I’d have thought you’d at least come down and seen me,” Alain replied, slowly coming in and closing the door behind him. Even without his senses telling him that something was wrong, he could tell that Ambrose was acting off. He was not usually this scared of his own brother. “Visions again?”
“Yes and no,” Ambrose looked away, his shoulders slumping. “I had a few yesterday but they...they weren’t the reason I didn’t come down.”
“Then why?” Alain asked, folding his arms. He smiled at Ambrose slightly. “Did you not miss me?”
“No, it isn’t that,” Ambrose shook his head vigorously before suddenly, all the energy appeared to be drained out of him. He turned away from Alain, though he kept his arm pressed to his side. “You seemed so happy. I just didn’t want to cast a gloomy air over everything.”
“You wouldn’t have. You’re my brother and I would have been glad to see you,” Alain replied carefully all while looking Ambrose over. He was shaking slightly and his eyes had a panicked look about them. However, this was different from his fear and concern over his visions. Those left Ambrose a lot more sluggish but he was perfectly alert and steady here, even if he seemed terrified out of his wits. It was the look of a man who was trying desperately to hide something but Alain could not think what his own brother would be hiding from him. He took a few steps forward. “What’s wrong?”
“I...it’s fine, Alain, I’m sorry I didn’t come down,” Ambrose gave him a weak, strained smile and held up his right hand to try to stop Alain. “You can go, don’t worry about me. I’m sure you want to see Margot and everyone.”
“No. I am worried Ambrose. You’re acting unusual,” Alain’s voice acquired a slight edge to it.
“Don’t madmen normally ‘act unusual’?” came the bitter reply before Ambrose seemed to realise what he said. His eyes widened and he looked up at Alain as the latter stopped in front of him. “Please, Alain, just go. Please.”
“No, Ambrose. I can’t stop the visions, I know,” Alain swallowed, not letting his voice waver. He reached out towards his brother with his hand. “But don’t push me away. I want to help.”
“You can’t help! Leave me alone!” Ambrose cried and brought his left arm up to swat away Alain’s hand. As he did, something slipped out of his sleeve and fell to the floor. Metal clattered against stone and both brothers froze in place, looking down at the source of the noise.
It was a dagger.
Alain’s gaze rested on it for a brief moment before he turned slowly to look his brother right in the eye. Ambrose had gone completely pale and had frozen in place, the terror apparent in his eyes and all over his face.
“Where did you get this?” Alain asked him. While his voice remained calm, every word was pointed and accusing.
“I...I got it from the armoury,” Ambrose swallowed, taking a step backwards.
“And why were you hiding it? What were you going to do with it?” Alain matched his step.
“I...I...” Ambrose shook his head, unable to form the words.
“Why can’t you tell me?” Alain’s anger began leaking through in his voice as he grabbed Ambrose’s arm. “You of all people, an assassin-”
“I’m not!” Ambrose cried and tried to get his arm out of Alain’s grip. “I would never do anything like that, Alain!”
“Then what is the dagger for?” Alain growled, holding on tightly.
“It’s for me! I was going to use it on myself!” Ambrose cried out suddenly.
Both brothers stopped completely and stared at each other, holding that position as though time had stopped. Ambrose weakly tried to fight off Alain’s hold on him but he did not let him go as he tried to process what he had heard.
“Why?” Alain finally breathed, still staring at his brother.
“Why not?” Ambrose turned away but not before his face twisted with pain. “Ever since these visions began, my life has just been one waking nightmare. I can’t do anything, I can’t enjoy anything and I see such horrible things.”
He tried to pull his arm away from Alain again and Alain let go, not sure what to say to that. He knew Ambrose was suffering from his visions but not enough to consider killing himself over it. Ambrose, however, turned away from him, not wanting to look his brother in the eye.
“I’ve had to watch a woman be brutally murdered with a club, a man tortured with brands, soldiers running into battle only to scream as the gas in the air reacts with the fluid in their eyes, so many other things...and I remember it all. I can recall every single detail, every scream, everything...” Ambrose shook as his voice pitched, growing more hysterical. He dug his hands into his eyes. “But everyone thinks I’m mad. I see all these things but they’re all in my head. They feel so real and yet they’re all in my head. I can’t stop them, I can’t control them, I can only watch as they happen in front of me, again and again and again-”
“Stop it!” Alain cried, grabbing Ambrose’s shoulders. “Please, Ambrose, just stop!”
Ambrose looked up at his brother, tears pouring down from his eyes. He regarded Alain for a few moments, his eyes desperate and pleading.
“If I die, it will stop. I didn’t want you to know but...now that you know, please, just let me end it. My death won’t be a great loss to you,” he laughed bitterly. “It would probably even be a relief, to get rid of the madman who is sullying the reputation of House Stalli-”
There was a sharp crack as Alain struck Ambrose across the cheek. He gave a sharp cry and pressed his hand where he had been slapped, leaning on the desk to recover from the shock. Alain’s breathing was rapid and shallow as he glared at Ambrose, furious.
“Don’t you dare even think that,” he said in a quiet, low voice that dripped with barely contained anger. “I don’t care how sullied our reputation is because of you. Whatever anybody says about you, you’re my brother. That will never change.”
“But I’m still mad. And I will continue seeing all this, from now until the day I die,” Ambrose murmured. He moved his hand slightly, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “Why me, Alain? What did I ever do?”
Alain shuddered at the question, remembering the night with the strange creature that had crept into the room and did...whatever it was that it did. There was no reason that he could think of for its actions. The only reason Ambrose had been cursed was because he had been too scared. He opened his mouth but immediately closed it, feeling the pang in his chest. No, he could never tell Ambrose about his part in this. That he was responsible for his little brother’s suffering.
“I envy you, Alain,” Ambrose whispered, his eyes still on his desk. “You have everything. The land, the title, your talents, your glory, your family-”
“What Margot and I have is a political alliance, you know that. My daughter is just an extension of that,” Alain said evenly and gave his brother a small smile. “I’m sure you’ll find somebody too, one way or another. There are plenty of nobles who would love to marry into House Stallion.”
“But not to a madman,” Ambrose shook his head. “You know how they all look at me. Nobody would ever have their daughter marry a lunatic, even if he is a Stallion. I’ll never have anyo-”
He broke off and stared into space, his eyes dimming as the vision played in front of his eyes. Alain stiffened, watching his brother carefully. There was no point continuing the discussion, not when the visions would force everything that came before out of Ambrose’s mind. He looked away from that unbroken thousand mile stare, knowing that Ambrose was not looking at him but unable to help the feeling that his gaze was accusing somehow. But Alain did not want to leave the room, not yet. He needed to make sure Ambrose was alright when he came out of the vision.
After a while, Ambrose’s body sagged and he leaned heavily on the desk, casting his eyes downwards. A small groan escaped from him and he breathed heavily for a few moments. His face remained out of Alain’s sight, however, so he could not tell whether the vision had been good or bad.
“Brother?” he asked, taking a careful step forward and reaching out towards Ambrose with his hand, though he stopped short of touching him. For a few moments, however, Ambrose paid Alain no attention until...
“I’m sorry, Alain. I can’t take this anymore.”
In an instant, Ambrose dropped down to the floor and grabbed the fallen dagger in his hand. Alain felt a split second of panic in his heart before he lunged to grab Ambrose’s wrist, stopping the dagger inches from his brother’s heart. For a few seconds, they struggled for control but Alain was much stronger and thanks to his training that had been solidified in Lange, he did not shake as much as Ambrose. Pressing his fingers into his brother’s wrist, Alain eventually forced him to drop the dagger.
As soon as he did, before Ambrose could even lunge to pick it up again, Alain threw his arms around him, holding him tightly against himself.
“Don’t, please. I beg you,” he said quietly, feeling his own eyes begin to sting with tears.
“Why not? I’m sick of this. I’m sick of living like this,” Ambrose sobbed, burying his head in Alain’s shoulder.
“I’m not losing my last sibling. Don’t do this to me, Ambrose,” Alain replied and clutched him tightly in response.
“Do you think I’m mad, Alain?”
“No. I believe you. I’ve always believed you.”
For a moment, neither of them moved before Ambrose lifted up his arms, returning Alain’s hug. Slowly, both the brothers relaxed, though neither had the desire to let go.
“There must be something worth living for, Ambrose,” Alain said quietly, trying to banish the silence that settled. “You can’t always see bad things in your visions.”
“No...most of the time it’s just people living their lives. But so many awful things happen in people’s lives...” Ambrose shuddered and his hands clenched, gripping Alain tightly. “But...I do see interesting things sometimes.”
“Like what?” Alain asked.
“Future technology, inventions, things like that. I do enjoy watching them work. It’s...actually quite interesting,” Ambrose’s voice was calm for the first time since Alain entered the room. Alain smiled. Before all this had begun, Ambrose did always like little things like that. Their toys had certainly been complex enough to fascinate him.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. He pulled Ambrose away from him, looking him in the eye.
“What if you could bring those inventions out of your visions and into the present?” he said.
“I could try...” Ambrose sighed. “But some of them are so complex. And others I only get brief glimpses of. Some have materials in them I can’t even describe.”
“Just...try, alright? Pick one and try,” Alain winced as the desperation came through in his voice. “As long as you get something from your visions in return for...what they’re doing to you.”
“I don’t even know if it will work though. I don’t have the skill to just make things like that,” Ambrose murmured.
“As long as you have a distraction, I don’t care. I just don’t want you to die,” Alain hugged him again but briefly this time. “Promise me that you won’t die?”
“I...I promise,” Ambrose bowed his head. Satisfied with that answer, Alain got up and offered his hand to his brother, who accepted it and used it to help himself up. Slowly, however, as he pondered the idea, a small laugh emerged out of Alain’s mouth.
“What’s funny, brother?” Ambrose asked, startled.
“We have always prided ourselves on being a forward-thinking house with the most advanced technology. I suppose this is the logical limit of it,” Alain gave his brother a mischievous grin. Despite himself, Ambrose could not help but return it.
“I suppose it is,” he said quietly.
Alain did not let it show but the smile on his brother’s face meant the world to him. It was a sign of hope. He picked up the dagger from the ground, putting it into his belt so he could return it to the armoury later.
“Then, for the good of our House, do this,” he replied, placing a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder. “And for your own good. I don’t want you to die.”
“I promised, Alain,” Ambrose sighed. “I’ll try to keep it.”
“And I will do my best to help you,” Alain let his expression slip and looked at Ambrose with sincere, sad eyes. “I believe in you. And if you died, it would break me.”
“...I’m sorry,” Ambrose lowered his head. “But thank you. For talking me down and for giving me that idea.”
“Whatever it takes to save my only sibling,” Alain replied.
“Why though, Alain?” Ambrose asked, sighing. “Why do you believe in me?”
Alain was silent for a few moments before shaking his head.
“Another time. When you’re feeling better,” he said quietly. “But for now, may I stay here? I don’t want you to do anything stupid again.”
Ambrose nodded and moved in to hug his brother again. Anything to get rid of the lingering images of the visions in his mind. And Alain was more than happy to help. |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 13, 2014 11:30:34 GMT -5
With the reveals about Cebeline out of the way, I thought I'd provide a bit more info on her and her religion. Also because I had this creepy idea. Mildly bloody at the end and some disturbing themes, just warning you guys here. Little Girls and Old GodsBern, 700 years ago.
I shivered as the cold winds its way into my clothing, seeming to permeate me until even my insides were frozen. The cloth wrapped around my feet that passed for shoes is soaked through and only the wool it is stuffed with is kept me safe from frostbite. Not that it mattered if I got frostbite or not. While the clothes I wore on top were rich and beautiful, the priests and my parents had not dressed me to come back.
I shuddered and stop in place, hugging my arms around myself. Torian, the high priest accompanying me, walked a few steps and stopped, noticing that I am no longer following him.
“Sianna? What’s wrong?” he asked me. “Why are you tarrying?”
“I’m scared,” I murmured, feeling tears prickling in my eyes. “I don’t want to go.”
He sighed in frustration and turned around to face me, folding his arms.
“It is necessary, girl. Think of the village,” he told me slowly. “If it is not you, we shall simply pick another girl for this great honour.”
“But why?” I replied, looking up at him. He growled.
“Why?!” Torian gestured around at the snow-covered forest. “You think this is normal, girl!? You think that snow this deep and thick in late March is normal?!”
I shook my head quickly, terrified of his sudden anger. The high priest, noticing how startled I was, relaxed slightly.
“Our harvest was poor and we could not keep up with offerings for the winter. Now she is angry with us. Only you can bring back spring,” he explained and leaned down to me, smiling. “You don’t want your mama and papa and brothers and sisters and friends to suffer because this winter doesn’t end?”
I thought back to mama and papa, how starved and cold they looked, and to my brother Laird, whose coughing had only gotten worse due to the unceasing winter. They all needed me and I understood that but at the same time, I did not want this.
“Come on, let’s go,” Torian took my hand, clearly tired of waiting for my answer. His fingers were frozen and I could feel him shivering too, despite the many layers of clothing he wore. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”
I nodded and allowed myself to be dragged by him, pulling my legs through the snow banks as we headed deeper into the forest. I kept my head low, not wanting to show the high priest how much I really did not want this. It felt ungrateful. To be chosen out of all the children in my village was a magnificent honour, especially since the necessity for such a choice only came about once every decade or so, maybe even less but...I wish we did not need it. It would have made me feel better if mama had not cried so much all while telling me how special and lucky I was.
Finally, Torian stopped. I looked up and a chill unrelated to the cold ran down my spine. We were here. The Standing Stones. Even the air felt heavier as I sucked it into my lungs.
The high priest led me into the circle created by the stones and out of the corner of my eye, I caught the symbol on one; a snowflake. However, he led me past them, towards an enormous central boulder into which was carved the rough shape of a beautiful tree.
Torian moved behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, guiding me forward up the stone steps that had been placed beside the boulder. I could feel my heart racing as we ascended. For a moment I thought about turning and running but the high priest’s grip on me was firm and my legs felt too stiff and shaky to make it even a few steps through the snow.
At last, we reached the boulder and Torian lifted me up onto it, placing me down parallel to the carved tree. I shivered and whimpered as I felt the cold stone through my clothes, wriggling in his grasp.
“Hush, Sianna, it’s alright. It will be spring very soon. Hold still,” the high priest said and placed his hand over my eyes.
“Do you have to?” I cried, tears pouring out of my eyes. Only his hands stopped them dripping down my face.
“Yes. Otherwise she will kill us all with cold and starvation,” Torian murmured. “I’m sorry. If I didn’t have to, I would not do this.”
“Please...just don’t make it hurt too much,” I murmur and slump down, feeling completely helpless. This was it. This was all for mama and papa and everyone.
“I won’t, Sianna. You will go to her as painlessly as possible,” Torian said before his voice changed into a deeper more droning tone. “Great deity who governs the seasons of this land, since we have tarried with our offerings please accept this, our greatest sacrifice, in exchange for a rich spring and a warm summer. We hope that she will appease your anger and you will see fit to return time to its natural course.”
The forest was completely silent and with my eyes closed, I could not see what Torian was doing. All I was aware of was my heart beating in my chest like it was about to explode.
“I offer you the flesh and blood of this child. May she satisfy your hunger, Cebeline.”
Then the knife slashed across my throat. The carving of the tree beneath me filled up with blood.
Torian removed his hand from my face and I looked at him, wild eyed. However, he did not look back at me but turned around and descended down the steps. I gasped like a fish thrown out of a river but the cold of the boulder had drawn out all my energy and even breathing sent waves of pain across me from the gash in my throat.
I suddenly felt a weight resting on my stomach and somebody’s head appeared in my field of vision. At first I thought the high priest had come back but almost immediately, I could see they were much smaller and a lot more feminine. As she leaned closer, I gasped, which immediately felt like a mistake.
The creature looking down at me had branches growing out of her head where a human would have hair. Her skin was rough like tree bark and her head almost featureless save for two bright golden eyes which shone as they regarded me with hunger. The bark moved aside, exposing a small mouth which smiled wickedly. I could feel the creature pressing down on me as she leaned in closer to my wound.
I closed my eyes, feeling my life drain out of my completely. The last thing I sensed were tree roots winding around my body, the dripping of melting snow and the sudden warmth in the air which heralded the arrival of spring. And some bonus fridge brilliance/horror. As I was writing this, I realised that Cebeline has a fixation on children, since that who what she took as sacrifices. I guess since sacrificing a child means ending a future, which to a time deity means more than to somebody for whom time is linear.
But she also went after Ambrose and Alain when they were children, because their father had enraged her. In a way, they were supposed to be like the sacrifices of old. And I personally find that kind of freaky. |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 18, 2014 19:45:12 GMT -5
So...since everyone has been posting potential character deaths, I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon and post some of my own. Except mine is slightly different. Because I had ideas for how not one but two deaths would go, one mine and the other...not mine but would have impacted my characters a lot. Basically, these are the two stories of what would have happened if Ambrose died or if Aldrich had died at the hands of House Stallion. The Aldrich death is set during Round 11 for maximum angst. Ambrose's death is...whenever. But I shall let you guys read. Tiger, Lizica, if I made mistakes with your characters, tell me, since I am NOT used to writing other people's characters. Kill... After the destruction of the Jade Ring and the ending of the Shadow meeting for the night, Aldrich Finnegan walked back home. It was over. Now nobody would believe themselves to have the power over death. His fears concerning it were settled. New fears and doubts had replaced them, of course, concerning their course of action tomorrow, but for now, at least, the Shadows had made their voice heard and nobody would have the hubris to believe themselves the master of life and death. For tonight, that was enough.
Unbeknownst to him, a cloaked figure was waiting close to the studio. He had not wanted to get too close, he knew what the sculptures inside were capable of and had no desire to complicate matters by involving them. So he had stayed in the darkness, using the night to conceal himself as he waited for Aldrich to return home.
He saw him eventually, walking down the street with the gargoyle by his side. This made things a little more complicated but it was nothing that could not be dealt with. He stepped out from where he had been hiding. Despite his stature, his footsteps were softer than whispers, just as he had intended. No need to make any more noise than necessary.
So this was the true Heir to the throne of Kyth, ahead of Queen Destiney in line. The one who had disappeared at age three, only to re-emerge again at the head of the rebel movement. It had been quite difficult to believe when he had gotten the news that Prince Galateo was not only alive and well but aiming to retake the throne for himself. Nevertheless, with the situation being as it is, it would have been foolish not to investigate the rumours. So as soon as he had gotten the chance, the day after the mourning feast, that was exactly what he did.
Really, it did not take much to confirm those rumours. All he needed was his own eyes, his ears and his instincts, all of which were in agreement. With that realisation, the rebellion suddenly gained a lot more teeth. Without this man, they were a rag-tag group of peasants. With him, they were a legitimate threat to the stability of Kyth. That, now with the Courdonian threat hanging over their heads, could not be allowed. This was a necessary evil. If this was what it took to save the kingdom from war and strife then what was the life of one man? This was the right decision. The only decision he could possibly make.
Under his cloak, he reached into his belt, his hand curling around the smooth wooden handle of the weapon and one finger coming to rest on the metal trigger. The last few steps between him and Aldrich Finnegan closed.
With one hand, he took out the weapon and with the other undid his cloak. In one swift motion, he pulled off his cloak and threw it over the gargoyle that was beside the sculptor before he looked directly up at Aldrich. His blue eyes met the sculptor’s brown, owlish gaze. Before the other man could even say a word or run in panic, Alain pressed the Weapon to Aldrich’s chest and pulled the trigger.
The sudden noise exploded through the air. A flock of pigeons that had been roosting on the rooftop suddenly took off in a flurry of wings. Aldrich Finnegan, AKA Galateo Owl Ascension, fell to the ground with a bullet lodged in his heart.
Alain lowered the Weapon, bowed his head briefly with respect and turned away before anybody who wanted to check out the source of the noise came to investigate. He started moving back in the direction of Stallion Manor, keeping to the darkness so to avoid attention.
No doubt Ambrose was going to be furious at him for using the Weapon. No doubt the Shadows would want to try to avenge their best shot at the throne. No doubt the murder of the sculptor was going to raise a lot of questions. But Alain was prepared for all those things. This was for the greater good. He had killed people before to keep the kingdom alive. As long as Kyth remained secure, what was one more sin on his head?
***
A crowd had gathered by the time Ambrose and Lucinda arrived at Aldrich’s studio. Even before he saw the body, his stomach clenched as a bad feeling descended over him. Crowds like that never meant good things. They came closer with trepidation before Lucinda gave off a wail and without even seeming to notice the crowd, pushed her way through to the centre. Dreading what he was going to see, Ambrose followed.
His eyes widened as he took in the scene that had drawn everyone to it. Lucinda was clutching at the body of a man, her face awash with tears as miserable cries escaped from her throat. There was a stone creature asking desperately how this could have happened. All while the man lay completely still on the ground, his eyes wide with shock. Whatever had happened, it had been sudden.
Ambrose swallowed but managed to retain his composure as he went over and put his hands on Lucinda’s shoulders, doing his best to try and comfort her. This had to be her friend, the one she was talking about. Aldrich. What could have possibly-
His eyes drifted over the hole in his tunic, right on his heart. It looked like it had been burned through, exposing the perfectly round, neat wound in the flesh beneath. He had seen wounds like that but only ever in his visions. Right now, nothing existed that could do something like that.
Except the Weapon. The Weapon he had made. The Weapon that Alain had taken from him.
Ambrose leapt up as though he had been burned, covering his mouth with his hands as the realisation washed over him. His mind pushed against the thought, trying desperately to think of a way to explain away the bullet wound but nothing occurred to him aside from one answer: that Alain had used his invention to kill a man in cold blood. A man who, on top of being innocent, was Lucinda’s friend.
Alain must have had a reason. Something, anything...he searched his brain desperately but there was no reason that he could think of to justify an innocent man’s murder, especially with the Weapon.
Ambrose stared in horror at the hole in the man’s chest, unable to pull his eyes away from it. Waves of nausea battered him but not because of the wound itself, no. Instead, it was a single thought that danced in his head, repeating itself over and over until it was all that he could hear: I am responsible for this.
He turned and fled, pushing through the crowd and towards an alleyway, where, unable to contain his disgust and shock, he promptly threw up.
As Ambrose stood there, one hand resting against a wooden beam in order to steady himself, he tried to gather his thoughts. He had made the Weapon without realising what it was, just because he was curious what those parts were. As soon as he knew what its purpose was, he had wanted nothing to do with it. Alain had taken it and Ambrose had been too tired and too shocked to protest otherwise. He thought he could trust his brother. Alain was devious and scheming but he was not a murderer. Except it turned out he was.
He shuddered and covered his eyes. His own brother, the one who had taken care of him all these years, the one who had kept his sane, had killed a man in cold blood with a Weapon he had created with his own hands. Why? What reason could he have possibly had?
A short time passed before Ambrose stepped out of the alley. He glanced back at the crowd and immediately turned away when he caught a glimpse of the dead sculptor. No, there was no way he could stand to look at the dead man. Especially not with Lucinda around. He could not face her, not knowing what he knew. Instead, Ambrose turned in the direction of Stallion Manor, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as he headed back. He had a lot of questions for Alain.
***
The softest knock rattled against Alain’s office door. He looked up slowly, feeling his heart sink just a little. Even without his powers of perception, Alain knew exactly who this was and why he had come.
“Come in, Ambrose,” he said quietly, leaning on his desk and clasping his hands together. The door opened and, just as he thought, Ambrose half-walked, half-stumbled in, his face pale and his expression shocked. He looked as though he had just come out of a vision but as Alain met his gaze, he could tell that was not the case. Despite how shaken he appeared, there was none of the dullness in his eyes that accompanied his visions. No, they were bright and alert with a slight flash of anger in them.
“Why, Alain?” Ambrose’s voice was quiet but it did not shake. “Why did you kill him?”
“I did not think you would find out so soon,” Alain replied before he leaned forward. “The sculptor, Aldrich Finnegan was a Shadow. More than that, they were going to usurp the current Queen and put him on the throne. That could not be allowed to happen.”
Ambrose stared, reeling at the revelation. Well, at least it gave him a reason why. As that answer sank in, however, more questions bubbled to the surface of his mind and jostled for position as he tried to figure out which one to ask first.
“Why would they put a sculptor on the throne?” he blurted out first. “Why are the Shadows such a threat to you that you were happy to kill an innocent man? They are just trying to make their lives better! You of all people should understand that!”
“One thing at a time, Ambrose. First of all, they were going to put him on the throne because he was the long-lost prince Galateo Owl Ascension, therefore he has a claim,” Alain’s voice remained steady, “I have no problems with peasants trying to improve their own lives as long as they do not tear the kingdom apart. Think about it. Even if his claim is legitimate, he would have been brought into power by the Shadows, a peasant rebellion. Some of the nobility sees them as a threat and would support Queen Destiney. Kyth would erupt into a civil war between the supporters of the two claimants. With Courdon making aggressive moves, we could not allow that. So I took it upon myself to remove the problem.”
“Remove the problem?!” Ambrose exclaimed, staring at his brother with shock. There had been no trace of emotion or remorse in his brother’s voice, nothing to indicate he felt anything about this death. Alain was cold and calculating, he knew that much but hearing him and seeing him speak so calmly was horrifying. It was like his brother had been replaced with a stranger.
“It had to be done, Ambrose,” Alain said.
“No,” Ambrose shook his head violently. “I refuse to believe it, Alain. There had to have been another way. A way which did not have to result in a man dying. He was not guilty of any crime! How could you?”
“I did not enjoy it. I had to,” Alain sighed. “You cannot have two conflicting rulers. To keep the stability of Kyth, one had to be eliminated. He was innocent but his death will prevent many. You know how violent civil wars are. I did not want this occurring in Kyth.”
“That won’t solve anything, Alain,” anger flared in Ambrose’s voice. He approached Alain’s desk, feeling his gaze harden into a glare. “The Shadows will refuse to listen to us now. They will turn more violent than they already are, Blood will flow! What are you going to do about that? You might have just caused the same war you thought you helped to prevent!”
“I have thought this through. The Shadows will be hunted down and tried. They will not have the opportunity to do anything,” Alain looked up at his brother. “The peasant rebellion will be suppressed and Kyth will retain its stability so that we will be strong enough to stand up to Courdon.”
“The Shadows are not the enemy! I spoke to them. All they wanted was a voice, fairer treatment...how could you be against that, Alain? You want what was best for the peasants too, don’t you?” Ambrose cried.
“I do but I do not agree with their methods. The way they are going, with their vandalism and threats, it will plunge this kingdom into chaos if they get their way,” Alain narrowed his eyes at Ambrose. “When did you speak to them?”
“After what happened to Briar. I listened to them, they were not unreasonable. We should have given them a chance and you...you threw that away,” Ambrose was shaking with the thought of where this path was leading them. Now, there was no chance of reconciliation. One way or another, this was going to end with blood and suffering. And it was the fault of his own House. His own brother had literally drawn first blood.
“It shall be for the best, believe me,” Alain’s voice was quiet and his words were slow. “I am sorry, Ambrose-”
“No, no, how can this be for the best?” Ambrose’s hands clenched into fists. “How can my own brother being a murderer be for the best?!”
Alain stared at him for a few moments before he bowed his head.
“This was not the first death on my hands, Ambrose. I have killed men for the kingdom before. That is the price you pay for being nobility,” he sighed. “You are lucky you never had to take that on.”
“So you feel nothing about this?” Ambrose looked at his brother, disgusted. After Briar, he should not be this surprised that Alain was willing to go to extreme measures...but this was on another level.
Alain looked up into his eyes and immediately turned away.
“Don’t think I don’t feel anything. But I have made my peace with my decision. Somebody had to,” he said. “I pray that you will accept it.”
“No. I cannot. I’m sorry, brother, but I cannot condone you killing an innocent man,” Ambrose closed his eyes and turned away. “I can’t believe I trusted you with that thing.”
“I am sorry that your trust in me was misplaced,” Alain sighed. “In time, you will realise this was for the best. That this was the only way.”
“No. No matter what, there had to be another way. One which did not have to cost a man his life. One which did not turn my brother into a murderer,” Ambrose replied, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. “Goodbye, Alain. For everyone’s sake, I hope you don’t regret this decision. And you’re going to be the one to explain to Lucinda why her friend is dead.”
He walked out of Alain’s cabinet as quickly as he could, shut the door behind him and strode down the corridor with no destination in mind. Anywhere to get away, where he did not have to think about what had happened. He would even welcome a vision at this point.
In his cabinet, Alain sat still for a few minutes before he cupped his head in his hands. It was not like he had not thought about what Ambrose told him about and he had made peace with where this decision would lead him. But nevertheless, he suddenly felt very tired. As though his age had, for a brief moment, caught up with him.
“I hope I do not come to regret it either,” he whispered quietly to himself as he pondered what he was going to say to his granddaughter. ...or be killed. Ambrose frowned as he saw the Jade ahead of him. Master Leif? What did he want with him? He quickened his pace, trying to get to Leif quicker in order to listen to what he had to say. As the older man approached, however, Leif did not as much as look up at him, instead staring firmly at the ground. His pose was stiff and uncomfortable, with one arm firmly by his side out of Ambrose’s sight. Something was wrong, he could feel it, but he could not work out what, he only knew by the chills running down his spine that it could not have been anything good.
“Master Leif?” he asked quietly as finally he closed the distance between him and the Jade. “What happened? Is something the matter?”
Leif was silent for a moment before he gritted his teeth and looked down.
“I’m sorry, Lord Ambrose. I have no choice. This is what I have to do, what I have been ordered to do,” he said before he brought up the arm that he had been hiding, pressing the wand directly into Ambrose’s heart. Ambrose’s eyes widened but he could not do anything before Leif said those two words, the words of the Killing Curse.
A bright flash of light engulfed him and Ambrose screamed. At first the pain was only on the outside as the Curse worked its way into him but then he could feel another wave rising from inside him. The two forces clashed like opposing armies, catching him in the middle as it tore his mind and body apart. Visions assaulted his eyes, one after another, running by too fast for him to even comprehend. Blood poured from where he had dug his nails into his skin as if that could ever have helped. Still screaming, he fell down on the ground. The cobble he touched turned to sand in his grip. Around him, he just barely noticed the world become still, dulling the pain slightly. But it was only a brief respite as the world resumed its normal pace. He gripped his robe in agony but his grip was lost as the threads rotted away in his grip. As the Curse ate away at him, the time magic locked inside his mind ran rampant, a caged animal that had finally been freed.
And then, suddenly, there was no pain at all. Ambrose Stallion collapsed on the ground and lay still. His eyes were open and dull but unlike all the previous times he had worn this expression, this stare would remain unbroken.
***
As soon as his eyes came to rest upon the body, a feeling of dread washed over Alain. Even without his instincts flaring at him, telling him that something had happened to his brother, he could tell instantly that it was Ambrose lying there on the ground. His eyes widened, betraying his terror as he crossed the small distance between them and kneeled down on the ground beside him.
“Ambrose?” he said, placing his cane down on the ground and touching his brother’s shoulder. There was no response.
“No,” Alain’s eyes hardened as he turned Ambrose around and met his empty, listless gaze. It looked just like he was having a vision. Slowly, Alain shook his head, trying desperately to believe that that was all it was. Trying not to shake, he picked up Ambrose’s shoulders, holding him up.
There was no breath in his body. His muscles, instead of being stiff and deadlocked like when his visions came, were completely limp. But his face was the worst. It was twisted in agony, a scream which was now silent.
Alain’s grip on Ambrose’s shoulders tightened. His whole body shook as he held his brother closer, unable to keep his expression from turning into one of grief. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes but he managed to keep them back at bay, saving him some dignity. Right now, however, he could not care less. A member of his family was dead. And not just anybody: his brother, his little brother who had grown up with him, who was the only one of his siblings to survive...and now, even he was gone. His death had not even been a peaceful one.
Alain closed his eyes, feeling the tears go away. Slowly, his heart rate steadied and his breathing returned to normal. Neither his arms nor his body shook. He remained like that for a few minutes, clutching Ambrose’s body before he opened his eyes.
Only his eyes betrayed him. They were hard as the points of a knife, staring through everything that stood in front of him. Anger blazed in them, violent and concentrated.
“Who did this?” he hissed, looking up from the body. Nobody who had gathered around by now dared to answer.
Slowly, deliberately, he looked over Ambrose, taking in his injuries. He could figure out quite easily where the blood had come from, judging by the scratches on his brother’s skin. The torn fabric was more mysterious, however and Alain examined it. It looked like it had rotted away rapidly but there was no way it would have caused death.
Unless...this was a result of his own magic. But even that would not have killed him on its own otherwise it would have done that years ago. So somebody else must have triggered it. Somebody with powerful magic.
House Jade.
Alain lowered Ambrose’s body down onto the ground, picked up his cane and stood up, his expression completely blank save for the look of death in his eyes. He lowered his head slightly, staring ahead. His thoughts were perfectly clear and sharp as the blade in his hand: they would pay for his brother’s death. Not even their Lord Woo could save them from his wrath. Notes Regarding Aldrich: I had this headcanon for a long time, basically justifying how and why Aldrich would have died. Narrator-posts were loose with characterisation but I wanted Alain to remain IC for such a huge decision, hence why I was determined to work my headcanon into Carricon's canon, no matter what they said.
This is one of the reasons why I was so hesitant about killing Aldrich: it was going to be tough justifying it IC-ly for Alain, since it is a stupid decision and would only provoke more violence. Plus it would have absolutely broken House Stallion apart and turned them against him. Alain would not have done it but for the sake of game mechanics, he would have had to. Notes Regarding Ambrose: I would love to keep plumbing Alain's rage just to show you guys just how angry he would have gotten but hopefully this gives you a good idea.
Afterwards, I would only have posted with Alain. The plan was to basically have Alain seek revenge on whoever killed Ambrose, which would have been House Jade. He might have encountered Everett or tried to hunt down Leif, depending on whether I could make it obvious he was not the Archmage. But Alain would have tried to kill somebody, that's for sure. I would only have Ambrose-ghost come in at the crucial moment to stop him, which would probably have broken Alain completely, especially since Ambrose-ghost would be free from the visions and so happy.
Or if game mechanics willed it, Alain would have killed Leif and been satisfied with his revenge, much to Ambrose-ghost's horror. Either way, the game would have taken a dark, dark turn.
Aren't you glad you didn't kill Ambrose? 8D |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 26, 2014 21:27:55 GMT -5
More fics, yay. 8D This is a backstory fic with Stallion brothers, which is rather sweet, I think. ^^ Takes place after the end of the second Langean war. Inventor's Gift Fifteen years ago, Destrier
Ambrose looked up, startled as somebody knocked on his door. He had not heard anybody approaching, which was hardly unusual for him, but because of that, he remained still and quiet, listening for any sound to indicate who was on the other side.
“Ambrose, hello?” a female voice called out to him. “Are you okay in there? Are you having one of your fits?”
He frowned. Margot? She rarely went up here, let alone came to visit him, at least she did not do it alone. Fear suddenly gripped his heart and he leapt from his chair. What if something had gone wrong and she was here to deliver the news? Alain had been recovering but who knows what could have happened to him? The thoughts swirled in his head as he rushed to the door and opened it
“Margot, what happened? Is Alain alright?” Ambrose cried.
The woman yelped as soon as he opened the door and took a step backwards, holding up her hands in front of herself. However, that only lasted a brief moment before she lowered her hands, coughed and smoothed out her dress, regaining an air of composure. She gave Ambrose a small smile, though her eyes did not have nearly as much affection. He lowered his head, away from her gaze, and shrank back into the doorway to listen to what she had to say.
“Oh he’s fine, he’s doing much better,” Margot said, clasping her hands together in front of her. “He’s expressed an interest in seeing you. I told him it might not be a good idea, not until he’s better, but he insists.”
Ambrose looked up at her again, unable to keep himself from smiling. He had wanted to see Alain for a while, even since he returned home, but he had been unable to do so. Partly because almost everyone had stopped him, figuring a madman could not handle seeing his own brother injured. In a way, however, that had been true. Ambrose had been afraid of what he would find. It had been horrific enough seeing strangers in his visions get maimed and hurt; it would have been another thing to see his own brother going through the same fate. There was also the thought of what would have happened if Alain had not healed. It had not been life-threatening on its own but there was always the risk of infection, or other complications...
He shook his head, trying to get those thoughts out of the way. If Alain thought he was well enough to have Ambrose see him then it was time to see him.
“I’ll...I’ll be down soon, Margot. Will you tell Alain?” Ambrose said quietly.
“I will, don’t worry. You come down when you’re ready, okay?” she said as though talking to a child. “He’ll be in his room. I’ll tell him you’ll be there in a moment.”
“Alright...thank you,” he bowed his head to Margot as she walked away before closing the door.
True to his word, Ambrose made his way down in a short while, hesitating only when he reached the door to Alain’s room. He raised his hand up to knock but-
“Come in, Ambrose, I know it is you,” came Alain’s come from behind the door. Ambrose took his hand away from the door as though it was suddenly too hot to the touch. However, soon, his face broke into a smile. Alain could not have been so bad if he had heard him. With that, Ambrose pushed against the door slowly, opening it up and stepping into Alain’s room.
Alain was in his bed, a blanket thrown on around his shoulders, but he was sitting up at least. Several papers lay in front of him, which he was looking over intently. However, as soon as Ambrose entered, he pushed those aside and turned to look up at him. Ambrose stopped, returning his brother’s gaze as he looked over him. Silently, he walked forward and perched on the edge of the bed.
“Hello, Ambrose,” Alain finally said as Ambrose sat down. “I am happy that you’ve come to see me at last. I was worried. Especially what happened last time I came back from a war with Lange.”
“I’m sorry, Alain,” Ambrose bowed his head. “But I can assure it, it was nothing like that. It’s just...I was afraid. Afraid of what I would find. I heard you were in bad shape.”
“For a bit. But it takes more than some Langean solider breaking my leg to kill me,” Alain smirked. “At least the war is over; I don’t have to rush with recovery.”
Ambrose gave his brother an uncomfortable look as he said this. He knew it had not just been the broken leg. Alain’s face was pale and he was slumped over slightly. His eyes were still bright and clear, burning with their usual intensity and there was still an air of power around him, but at the same time, Ambrose could not remember the last time he had seen his brother so weak.
“When will you start getting better?” he asked quietly.
“Soon, I hope,” Alain turned to look out of the window.
“The physicians have done what they can, haven’t they?” Ambrose asked, a stab of worry going through him.
“They have but there is only so much they can do. These injuries take time to heal,” Alain replied calmly, though he still did not look at Ambrose.
“How...how long?”
“A month before I can get up, at least,” Alain’s reply was as neutral as possible. “Then I will still need a cane to walk for a while.”
“You are strong though, Alain, stronger than anybody I know. You will manage this,” Ambrose tried to smile.
Alain turned back around to his brother and for a moment, there was a look of melancholia in his eyes. Ambrose recoiled slightly at the unfamiliar expression on Alain’s face.
“You say that and yet, I feel weak, Ambrose,” Alain scowled. “I hate feeling so weak. So vulnerable.”
Ambrose sighed, looking away from Alain and gripping the side of his sleeve, suddenly uncomfortable here. Hearing his brother admit something so personal hurt. He was used to feeling weak all his life but Alain was nothing like him: he was strong, strong enough to rule Bern and fight in wars, something Ambrose could never hope to do. And yet, there he was, in the bed in front of him, unable to move and vulnerable. It felt wrong, unnatural almost.
It wasn’t fair. Alain had always been there when Ambrose needed him but now that Alain needed somebody, Ambrose had no idea what to do. He wanted to help, to do something for his brother like the latter had always done for him but what could he do? He was no doctor; he was just a madman who occasionally stumbled onto useful inventions.
An invention...perhaps he could make something or other for Alain. A surge of hope bloomed in him before he realised he had not the faintest clue what. It was best not to interfere with the healing process, in case he made things worse. Ambrose, shuddered, not even daring to imagine what could happen if he did. There had to be something else...
He smiled suddenly as he got an idea. Alain, noticing this, frowned.
“Am I missing something, Ambrose?” he asked.
“Nothing, it needs more work anyway,” Ambrose shook his head and got up. “I should leave you. You need rest.”
“Alright,” Alain smirked. “If there’s something else you need to be getting on with.”
“There is. I don’t know how to describe it yet though. Just...I hope it will help you, even a little,” Ambrose said. “Just...rest for now, please, brother.”
“Not like I have much choice,” Alain replied sardonically. “But go, Ambrose. Goodbye for now.”
“Goodbye, brother,” Ambrose replied and closed the door behind him. As he walked back down to the corridor towards his room, he was already pondering the invention in his head. Compared to some of the things he had created, it would be easy, but he needed to plan first. He had seen things like it before but not the specifics. He needed to work out how it worked before he could even do anything. But he had one month. Ambrose could only hope it was enough.
***
Luck had been on his side. The mechanism was nowhere near as complicated to work out as he feared it would be. And the blacksmith had been relieved to work on something slightly more familiar instead of Ambrose’s usual complex requests. Putting the ideas into practice, however, had been more difficult as he had no vision to compare it to. This ended up being all his own work. Whether it stood up to the test or not was all up to him. But it had worked.
He had gone to see Alain as often as he could since that day; however Ambrose never breathed a word about it to him or anybody. Over time, the colour returned to Alain’s face and he had managed to regain his former energy, enough to even start walking around ahead of the physician’s predictions. It still hurt Ambrose, however, watching his once strong brother limping with a cane, and the obvious disdain that Alain harboured for that thing. Which is why he was all the more determined to finish what he had started.
Finally, the day came to present it to his brother. Ambrose hesitated as he approached to door to Alain’s room, clutching the invention tightly in his hands. On some level, he knew it was silly. It would not help Alain feel less weak. How could it? It was simply an attempt by Ambrose to feel less useless, to help his brother in some way...at least he had tried. Alain had encouraged him to try and use his visions somehow and that was what he was doing. It was a tiny way to repay him but he would be giving his brother something back. He would not just be a useless burden on Alain and House Stallion.
There was only one way to find out if his gift was to be appreciated. Swallowing his nervousness, Ambrose knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came Alain’s voice from beyond it. Ambrose pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Instead of his bed, Alain was sitting at a nearby table, the cane leaning beside it. His leg was resting straight, held up by a stool beneath the table. He straightened up as soon as Ambrose entered and smiled at him, though he did not turn in his chair to face him.
“Hello, Ambrose,” his gaze immediately flickered to the object in Ambrose’s hands. A look of confusion flashed in his eyes and he looked back up at his brother, staying perfectly still. A pregnant silence descended over the two.
This was the moment of truth. Ambrose took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding out his creation for Alain to see.
“I...I made this, for you,” he said quietly. “You hate your cane, and you said you felt weak. I don’t normally make weapons, I hate it, but perhaps...” he lowered his gaze, feeling quite ridiculous again. He had made a mistake, of course he had, “...if you had something like this under your fingers, something that could double as a weapon, you might not feel as weak?”
Ambrose bowed his head and wordlessly held the cane out to his brother. Alain took it carefully, trying to keep his scepticism from showing as his eyes ran up and down its length. It had been made out of smooth, dark wood, lacquered to make it look almost pure black. A silver horse’s head served as the handle while the end had been tipped with iron in order to make it more durable. Alain ran his hand across the top of the cane. A smirk appeared on his face as he found the small switch on its side and pressed it. With a small, barely audible click, the bottom of the cane opened to reveal the glimmer of the thin sword inside. He took it out of the scabbard, holding it aloft and swinging it in a wide arc to test the balance.
“A hidden blade? Interesting,” Alain remarked, closing the cane and looking up at Ambrose. “Hard to believe you would see such a specific mechanism in your visions though. Or the design of the handle”
Ambrose shook his head. “I asked Margot to help with the design of it. But as for the mechanism...I saw things like this in my visions but never what made it work. I worked it out myself.”
Alain raised his eyebrows before a smile spread across his face. With another click, he closed the sword cane and lowered it to his side.
“It is a good gift. Thank you, Ambrose,” he said. “I won’t be able to fight with it-”
“I’m sorry. I know it isn’t very useful. But I just thought-”
Alain held up his hand. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Ambrose looked down, cowed by the remark.
“I do appreciate it. It is nice, knowing I have a trick up my sleeve, despite how I am at the moment,” Alain smiled. “And you have come far in your inventing, if you can make a mechanism all by yourself.”
“It’s nothing, just a spring, that’s all. Nothing complex,” Ambrose said but he could not help but smile a little under Alain’s praise. It was times like this that made him feel like he was not totally mad. “I’m happy that you like it.”
“I do,” Alain smirked. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even use it when I don’t need a cane anymore. It is handy, having a hidden blade. Though,” he looked over the cane again, “If that happens, I might ask for you to adjust it. The curve of the handle is unfit for a sword.”
Ambrose looked away for a moment. Despite Alain’s happiness with the gift, the idea of him actually fighting somebody with it, not just in self-defence but properly, was not one he liked to consider. He knew what his brother was capable of but the thought of being an accomplice in it terrified him. But...this was Alain. Ambrose trusted him; he would never hurt anybody unless he had to. And if he could be useful to him, even in such a small way, he would gladly take it.
“Anything you want, Alain,” he said, giving him a smile. Notes and commentary: Yes, this is a backstory for the swordcane. The cane in the main roleplay is version 1.5. The handle was replaced to make it more sword-like, whereas this is an actual walking stick, but it retains the same basic design, and the blade.
I don't know why you'd want to know this but it's there. |
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Post by Celestial on Sept 12, 2014 18:19:44 GMT -5
To help me get over my writer's block and inspired by the discussion on the Skypechat about characters eating chocolate for the first time, I decided to write pointlessly cute things involving little Stallion bros. It somehow became this huge story. And it's still just pointless fluff that has nothing to do with anything*. xD So, here you go, enjoy, I guess? Alain is six in this story, Ambrose is four. So they're...quite little. xD And of course, Ambrose doesn't have his visions yet. * Celes of 12/12/2015: I said that then. This story is the origin of Absolon. Chocolate!Destrier, 49 years ago
The feast day of Saint Absolon could have just been any other warm spring day were it not for two things. First were the smells that wafted from the kitchens and all throughout the corridors of Destrier Castle. Roasting meat mingled with the scent of baking pastry and rich stew to give hints of the banquet that was going to be held later that day to celebrate.
The second thing that made this day stand out from the norm was the sudden influx of people from all the minor houses of Bern flooding into Destrier to celebrate that day. While some from the northern, more mountainous parts of the province had come a few days in advance, most were just arriving, their carriages pulling up into the courtyard outside. Once there, grooms scurried up to tend to their horses and take them to the stables while the representatives from each noble house stepped out and made their way across the cobblestones towards the main building of the castle, their legs weary from the journey.
Little did they realise that in one of the high towers overlooking the courtyard, two boys eagerly watched their progress. The sons of Grand Duke Lachlan were kneeling on a bench below a window, practically leaning out of it, and grinning widely as they surveyed those below them.
“Look at that one!” Alain cried, pointing to a man in green and blue. “He’s so bald! Like an egg!”
“It’s so shiny,” Ambrose giggled beside him before his eyes were drawn to another noble who had gotten out after the bald man. “And look, Alain! He’s-”
“Boys, havenae you had enough of making fun of our guests?” came the gentle chiding voice of their mother behind them as she looked up from her sewing. “It’s nae polite to laugh at other people, especially noble visitors.”
“Sorry, ma!” both boys turned and chorused in unison before they looked back over to the window, continuing to peer down. By now, the nobles they had watched had disappeared out of their sight into the castle.
“I wonder where he was from,” Ambrose murmured, resting his chin on the windowsill.
“Oh, I remember! It’s...” Alain tapped his hands against the stone as he thought. “Umm...green and blue...I know it, it’s-”
The creak of the door interrupted whatever he was going to say. The brothers’ heads whipped around as the elderly servant entered. His eyes rested on them briefly before he approached their mother.
As soon as he had entered, she had put her sewing away and now waited with her hands clasped. “Hello, Nathan. What news do you bring?”
The servant gave her a curt bow. “Lady Maura, Grand Duke Lachlan requests your presence in the great hall to greet the guests that have arrived.”
“Ach, the joys of nobility,” she said with a smile and got up from her chair. “What about Ambrose and Alain? Did Lachlan say anything about them?”
“No, his Grace did not ask for them,” Nathan, replied.
“Good. They would have been so bored,” Maura’s smile grew a little wider. “In that case, will you stay with them and make sure they don’t get into trouble? Until their nanny gets here at least?”
“Of course, milady,” Nathan bowed again.
“Thank ye,” she focused her attention on Ambrose and Alain again, who were once again engrossed in staring out of the window, though no longer making comments about the people down below. Quietly, Maura came up behind them and took their shoulders, pulling them away from the window to get their attention. The two brothers climbed down off the bench and looked up at her, their hands clasped tightly behind their backs as they awaited what she had to say.
“You be good, don’t be getting into trouble now,” she told them in a gentle tone. “If you don’t, there will be delicious things at the feast for you both.”
“Oh, yes, milady, about that,” Nathan suddenly piped up, “The kitchen staff got very lucky and found a merchant selling chocolate down at the market today.”
Hidden by Maura from the servant’s gaze, Alain froze in place. He turned his head slowly to let his ears better catch the words that the servant was currently saying.
“They thought it would make for a fine addition but wanted to know if you or his Grace would object to using it to make dessert for the banquet.”
“I dinnae see why not. I’ll have somebody send word to the kitchens to get started on something,” Maura replied. Her hands tightened on the shoulders of the brothers as she smiled back down at them, “I’ll see you boys later, alright?”
Despite her smile and the kind tone, there was a steeliness to her eyes, which both boys had learned the meaning of long ago; don’t get into trouble. Alain nodded and grinned once he met her gaze and Ambrose followed his lead but his nods were half-hearted, as though he was distracted by other things. Maura sighed and hugged the two boys closer for a brief moment before removing her arms from them and exiting out of the room, leaving only the two brothers and Nathan to watch over them. Ambrose watched her go blankly but when she left, he tugged on Alain’s sleeve.
“Alain, chocolate is a good thing, isn’t it?” he asked. Alain turned to his brother with an expression of mock horror.
“Of course it is! It’s a luxury from Elacs, rare and really expensive but delicious and sweet. It’s wonderful,” he grinned.
Ambrose smiled as his brother explained it to him and leaned closer. “I hope we get to try some at the feast and it doesn’t all go to the nobles visiting mama and papa.”
Alain’s grin grew wider and more mischievous. He glanced up at Nathan, who by now had sat down in another chair and was watching them like a hawk. The boy turned away from the servant and flicked up his right hand, palm upwards. Once Ambrose repeated the gesture, Alain climbed back up onto the bench and leaned out of the window, propping himself up on the sill with his elbows. Ambrose did the same and then turned his head, watching and waiting for Alain’s next gesture. But instead, Alain moved closer to him and almost pressed his head close to him conspiratorially.
“Do you want some chocolate now?” he asked. “Mama said it’s in the kitchens. We can go get some.”
Ambrose’s eyes widened and he stared at Alain momentarily before he smiled widely and nodded. “I do. I would love some, it sounds so nice! But...mama said to stay out of trouble.”
“We won’t get in trouble,” Alain replied. “Trust me. You’ll love it. Even if we do get in trouble, it will be worth it.”
“Okay,” Ambrose’s smile grew wider before he looked over his shoulder at the servant still sitting in his chair. “What do we do about Nathan? He won’t let us, will he?”
“No,” Alain shook his head. “We have to distract him.”
Ambrose once again looked back over at the man watching them. “What if we just ran away?”
“He’d catch us. He’s old but he’s bigger than us,” Alain whispered. He pondered the question, lost in thought for a moment before he looked up, grinning. “I know. Follow my lead.”
With that, Alain turned around and jumped down from the bench. True to his word, Ambrose did the same and together, the two approached Nathan, their arms pressed flat against their sides and their faces trying to mimic an innocent expression that even the Lord Woo’s angels would envy. The elderly servant tilted his head slightly as they approached, sitting up in his chair and leaning forward towards them.
“What’s wrong, little lords?” he asked, giving them a gentle smile.
“Can we go outside into the courtyard to play?” Alain looked him right in the eyes. “All the nobles are inside with mama and papa now, right? We won’t bother anyone.”
“Perhaps...” Nathan frowned, pondering this. “But Lady Maura-”
“Mama didn’t say keep us here, only keep us out of trouble,” Alain pointed out.
“Oh please!” Ambrose shifted from foot to foot, still looking up at the servant. “Alain is right and we’re bored here. Can we go into the gardens?”
“Well...alri-”
Alain grinned and grabbed Ambrose’s hand before the old servant could even finish, dashing out of the door as though chased by a monster. They had just enough time to hear Nathan groan as they raced down the corridor. At the nearest corner, the two brothers turned sharply and kept running until they found what they were looking for: a closet. Alain pulled at the handle and both boys grinned widely as it easily gave way. They ducked inside and closed the door behind them, leaving only a small crack for light to pour out of. Noise of their breathing seemed to fill the entire space and Ambrose clapped his hands over his mouth to try and disguise it. Together, they peered out into the corridor outside, their hearts racing as they waited to see if their trick worked.
Shortly, they heard Nathan’s tired footsteps approaching. Both brothers bit their tongues, becoming as still as they possibly could. Slowly but surely the old servant came closer to their hiding place. They could hear him grumbling under his breath, though the exact words eluded them. He approached their hiding place and...passed right by it, continuing on down the hallway and down the stairs at the end of it, no doubt continuing on to the gardens. The brothers waited a little before they emerged out of the closet.
“That was mean. He’s going to go keep on trying finding us,” Ambrose said, looking down the corridor after the servant.
“We didn’t hurt him. And now we can go get the chocolate,” Alain grinned, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Ambrose nodded and Alain took his hand again, starting to run down the other end of the corridor and towards another set of stairs.
“Let’s go. This way to the kitchens,” he cried.
“And to chocolate!” Ambrose grinned.
They ran down the spiral staircase and past all the levels of the castle, following the delicious smells emanating from the kitchens. As they got closer and closer, the smells became more intense, choking the air around the two brothers. At points, both of them had to stop and simply savour it, but they never stopped too long. Drawn on by the prospect of sweets, Ambrose and Alain continued on downstairs.
The closer they got to the kitchens, the more servants they saw, either carrying things from the storerooms or ferrying prepared dishes somewhere so that they would not take up valuable room. Most of them barely paid attention to the two brothers as they snuck closer, being far too absorbed in the task of getting ready for the feast so they were able to sneak unimpeded towards the doorway that opened up into the enormous hall that comprised the great castle kitchen. Here, the thick cloud of scents almost seemed to cling to everything, making the air into a soup of various foods. However, both Ambrose and Alain did their best to ignore it, focusing instead on the task they had set themselves. They stopped at the edge of the entrance, hiding behind the beam of the arch and looking out at the open fires and hearths that comprised the interior of the kitchen.
“Alain, are you sure it is here?” Ambrose asked.
“Mama said the kitchens so it should be here,” Alain kept scanning the room with his eyes until finally, he grinned widely and pointed. “There it is! Except...”
Ambrose looked over to where Alain was pointing and frowned. Sure enough there were several large slabs of chocolate resting on a platter but there was an obstacle between it and them. Namely, a large, middle-aged woman who both knew as one of the cooks of the castle.
“Aisling,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes at her. As he did, however, he noticed her take one of the slabs and start breaking it apart, tossing the pieces into a bronze pot and stirring. His breath caught in his throat and he looked up at Alain. “What do we do?”
“I’ll get the chocolate. You distract her alone,” his brother replied, pushing him forward slightly.
“How?” Ambrose asked, looking back at Alain.
“You’ll think of something. It will be okay, little brother,” Alain replied, giving him a smile. “Go. Clear the coast for me.”
Despite his worries, Ambrose gave Alain a cheerful nod and, mustering all his confidence, strode up to Aisling, giving her a sweet smile.
“Hello, Aisling,” he said, blinking up at her.
“Oh, hello, little lord,” the cook said, glancing down at Ambrose. “Where is yer brother?”
“Not here,” the boy shook his head quickly.
“I see,” she nodded. “What do you want, I’m busy.”
“I...uhh...” his eyes dashed back and forth before they settled on the pot she was stirring. “What’s that?”
“Chocolate. I am melting it fer the feast to make cake,” Aisling explained, breaking off another piece of the slab and throwing it in.
“Oh...” Ambrose tried to get closer to peer inside the pot but with a practised hand, Aisling pushed him away. “Why can’t I see?”
“It’s hot,” she replied briskly. “I dinnae want you getting burned, the Grand Duke would ‘ave my head for it.”
“Alright...but Aisling,” Ambrose glanced briefly to the side, seeing Alain sneaking past. At this, he grabbed the edge of the cook’s apron, trying to direct all her attention to him. “I’ve never seen or tried chocolate. Can I please have some?”
Aisling frowned. “This chocolate is for the feast, little lord...”
“Oh please, please?” Ambrose looked behind her and had to hide his grin as Alain grabbed one of the slabs. However, before she could notice, he directed his eyes right up at her. “It’s just a bit. So I know what it tastes like.”
Aisling met his gaze and held it for a few moments before she gave off a low sigh. “Alright, little lord,” she began to turn to get a bit from the slabs. Before she could, Ambrose grabbed her apron again and tugged.
“Could I have some of the melted stuff? From the pot?” he asked sweetly.
“Fine,” Aisling dipped her stirring spoon into the pot and brought out some of the gooey brown liquid before bringing it down to Ambrose’s level. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Even through the haze of odours that emanated from all around him in the kitchen, the sweet but slightly bitter scent of the chocolate managed to cut through all that. Ambrose’s mouth watered. He took the spoon from Aisling and licked the chocolate off it.
The sweetness and bitterness he had smelled was there but stronger and more intense. It was creamy too, the heat just making it even more so. But even though it had melted, it was not like a liquid at all. It was instead sticky and Ambrose had to keep it from clinging to the roof of his mouth.
Alain was right, this did taste good.
“Thank you,” he smiled widely up at Aisling and looked behind her again, just in time to catch Alain’s grin. He had grabbed a cloth and now had the chocolate slabs wrapped up in it, which he was clutching tightly to his chest. Light on his feet, he began creeping away, making a wide circle around Aisling and heading for the exit. Ambrose looked back up at the cook, smiling so widely now that the corners of his mouth almost touched his ears.
“You happy now, little lord? Can I get back to my work?” she asked impatiently.
Ambrose nodded quickly. Aisling turned around, becoming thoroughly engrossed in her cooking, just as Alain moved up around behind her. With a grin, the two brothers took off from the kitchen as quickly as they could before the cook even had the chance to notice the theft.
They ran down the corridors and out of the castle itself, sprinting through the courtyard and out of the gates into the gardens that stretched out beyond the castle walls. Panting and out of breath, Ambrose and Alain flopped down on the grass, laughing loudly.
“That was so much fun!” Ambrose said once they had both recovered. “Did you get it?”
“I got lots!” Alain exclaimed and untangled his arms around the cloth-covered slabs of chocolate, placing it down between them. Ambrose smiled widely and leaned forward on his hands as his brother unwrapped the bundle. After the taste he got from Aisling, he wanted more.
Two huge, glistening slabs greeted them as the cloth fell away. Without even waiting for Ambrose, Alain grabbed one, broke a chunk off and began eating it.
“What about me?” Ambrose cried, looking with indignity at his brother.
“You already got some. Break off your own bit,” Alain said in between mouthfuls. “Besides, I did all the work and got this for us.”
“You’d have been caught if not for me,” Ambrose reached out for the other slab and tried to snap off a slice. However, the tough chocolate did not bend under his grip. His hands grew sticky as he struggled with it but still it did not break. With a loud grumble of frustration, Ambrose pulled the slab over to him and began eating it. The solid chocolate tasted even better than its melted form. In an instant, he forgot how sticky his hands were, becoming too engrossed in the sweetness of the chocolate.
“You’ll be sick,” Alain laughed.
“It’s so good,” Ambrose smiled up at him. “You got two anyway. One each.”
With a grin, Alain picked up the broken slab and also began eating it whole.
“What do you think, brother? Was it worth it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ambrose nodded. He looked down at the ground as a thought occurred to him. “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”
“We didn’t take that much anyway,” Alain shrugged, “You got to try chocolate, Ambrose. Don’t ruin it. If we get in trouble, we get in trouble together, as always.”
“Okay!” Ambrose nodded. Without needing any more words, the two Stallion boys continued to dig into their respective treat, savouring what they had before eventually, somebody would discover them. For now, however, as they sat in the gardens with their chocolate in hand, nothing was wrong. It was a good feast day. |
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Post by Celestial on Sept 29, 2014 16:09:53 GMT -5
So I have a ton of fics to write. But this idea randomly attacked me while I was out shopping and I had to write it. Especially to contrast with pointless fluff Stallion bros above. Takes place a few days after 'Last Visit of a Forgotten One' and 'First Vision'. Separate PathsDestrier Castle, 47 years ago
Alain hesitantly knocked on the door of Ambrose’s room but the only reply he got were the echoes of his knocking off the stone walls of the castle. He swallowed nervously and shifted in place, trying to listen for any sound beyond the door. Normally Ambrose would open instantly and they would go out and play or to their lessons or wherever they needed to go. But that had not happened these past few days. Not since that one morning when Ambrose had frozen up, right in the middle of what he had been doing, and stared off at nothing. Except, judging by how terrified he was afterwards, it had not been nothing, far from it.
Whatever had happened to him, it had not stopped either. If anything, Ambrose had been getting worse. Alain had overheard their parents talking at length about him. While he had not heard the full discussion, the very tone of their voices had been enough to convey to Alain that what was happening was bad. Not that he had needed any more convincing. Just the sight of his brother’s empty eyes and his scared crying had been enough.
Maybe, just maybe, today was going to be different. Perhaps whatever was happening to Ambrose had gone away. Or that it was just a bad dream he was having, just one that felt real, like the night before Ambrose began having his...whatever it was. But if it had gone away, he would be well again and they could go play out in the gardens together or pull a prank on the servants. Alain would even take lessons with him at this point. He did not really care how Ambrose’s visions would go away. All he wanted his little brother back.
He knocked on the door a second time but once again, only the oppressive silence beyond it greeted him. The boy bit his tongue, trying not to be afraid of what he would find there, and entered into his brother’s room.
As he thought, Ambrose was inside. He was sitting curled up on the floor at the foot of his bed, wrapping his arms around his knees and gripping his trousers tightly. His cheeks were wet and there were still damp patches on his knees. However, right now, his eyes were dull and unfocused. It was the same look he had gained a few days ago. Now it seemed like he wore it almost constantly, at least whenever Alain saw him.
He hated that stare. Seeing it in his brother’s eyes, which had before been so alive and cheerful, was like seeing a ghost possessing him. It was wrong and alien but at the same time, those were still Ambrose’s eyes. As frightened as Alain was of what was happening, it was still his little brother crying and suffering. And he was a noble’s son, the eldest son of House Stallion’s Grand Duke in fact. It was not right for him to be afraid of something unexplained, nor was it correct for him to abandon his only brother.
Slowly, Alain approached Ambrose, his footsteps barely a click on the flagstones. However, even if he had come with fanfare and music, he suspected that it would have made little difference. He certainly paid no attention to Alain as the boy came closer.
“Ambrose?” Alain said quietly. No response. “Little brother?”
He sat down next to Ambrose and gently touched his shoulder before gripping it and attempting to shake it. However, his brother was so rigid that Alain only succeeded in rocking him back and forth just slightly. It was useless trying to get anything out of him. Biting his lip, Alain crossed his legs and settled down, withdrawing his hands. He absently dragged his finger along the flagstones and listened carefully.
After a few moments, there was a rustle of fabric and a quiet whimper from the space beside him. Alain turned around. Ambrose had buried his head in his knees again and his shoulders shook from sobs. There was a hole in his trousers which he was covering with one his hands. Had that always been there?
He was distracted by a sob from his brother before he could think more about this. Alain leaned over and touched Ambrose’s shoulder, giving him a questioning look. At his touch, the other boy’s head shot up as though he had been startled by a loud noise. His eyes were wide with panic before they settled on Alain’s face, at which time they relaxed, just a little.
“Alain...” he murmured before fresh tears began to pour from his eyes. “Make it stop. Please. Make it stop! I don’t want to see these things!”
Alain stared helplessly at his brother. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how to.”
“Mum must know. Or dad. They must know. They know everything!” Ambrose began sobbing again and threw his arms around his brother, not even caring how haphazard that action was. “What’s wrong with me?”
“I...I don’t know,” Alain hugged his brother back. “Mum and dad must know. I keep hearing them talking. They’ll help.”
“Really? You think so?” Ambrose looked up at him
“Yes,” Alain nodded back, trying to sound more confident than he really felt. “They’ll figure something out.”
“I hope they do it soon,” Ambrose wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, “I want to go back to normal. I want to play again with you, brother. I want to-”
He broke off in mid-sentence and froze, his eyes once again acquiring the dull glaze that indicated a vision. Alain could feel the Ambrose’s fingers dig in as every muscle in them tensed. It was a side-effect of the visions, he knew that. It was not Ambrose doing that of his own free will. But to Alain, it spoke volumes. He drew his little brother into the hug, shielding himself from the terrifying stare that had now taken over.
“It’s okay, I’ll stay with you. I’ll be here,” Alain said, even though he knew Ambrose could not hear him. “It’s like nightmares, isn’t it? It isn’t real, it will go away.”
Nightmares...he thought back to that dream he had on the night before all this began. The creature he saw and the terror he felt facing it down. The mist it turned into that covered Ambrose before disappearing. It was so fantastic that it could not have been real. And yet...there was a strange, slight tugging in his heart, an unfamiliar quiet voice which told him one thing: it was real.
Alain’s breath came out in a shudder. He did not want to believe it, it was just a silly gut feeling. But it was so insistent, like he just...knew.
He looked up suddenly as heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Without even realising it, Alain’s grip on Ambrose tightened and he looked defiantly up towards the door.
A tall man was framed by the entrance and looked down at the two boys with eyes that were as blue as the depths of Bern’s many lakes. The look on his angular face was completely neutral as he walked into the room and stopped in front of the two boys. Wiping a stray lock of his blonde hair from an otherwise neatly trimmed brow, Grand Duke Lachlan looked down at the two boys, fixing his gaze on the eldest. He barely looked at Ambrose.
“Dad,” Alain said, meeting his eyes.
“Alain,” his father replied, “Get up, you’re coming with me.”
“Why?” the boy frowned. He did not like questioning his father but it was such a sudden, terse order that the word escaped him before he even realised.
“Because, as a young lord, you have things to do. Lessons to attend, practice to do, things to be taught,” Lachlan calmly told him. “It is high time you learned your duties and responsibilities for when you become head of this House.”
“I have been learning. Me and Ambrose always go to our lessons together,” Alain gripped his brother tightly but of course, he got no response.
Lachlan gave off a slow, quiet sigh. “Yes, you and your brother have been taught together before. Because there were two of you, I let you get off easy. But now,” he gave Ambrose the smallest of glances. Remorse flashed in his eyes, “You are the only heir left, Alain. So you must learn to act like it. From now on, you’re going to be given extra teaching. Alone. “
“And what will happen to Ambrose?”
“You will still be taught some things together, for now. But Alain, I hope you realise...” Lachlan paused again, wondering for a moment how to explain, “I do not expect much of your brother anymore.”
Alain's head whipped up. “Why not?” his voice acquired an edge.
“Because he has gone mad,” the Grand Duke stated bluntly, meeting the boy's glare. “You must understand that. You are old enough.”
“I...he....no! He can't be mad!” Alain cried.
“I'm afraid he is, Alain,” Lachlan's eyes softened a little. “I know you two are close. But you have to accept the truth, no matter how harsh it is. It is a skill that will serve you well in the future.”
The boy lowered his eyes. He knew his father was right but nevertheless, it was hard for him to come to terms with it. He turned back to look at his brother. As he did, he found himself meeting that unnatural stare again. What else could explain that? Peering into Ambrose's eyes, it suddenly became very easy to believe he was insane. Immediately, Alain chided himself for the thought. No, it could not be. When he had spoken to Ambrose just now, he sounded just like the brother he had known just a few days ago, before all this started. Distressed and miserable, yes, but not insane...he did not want to believe that.
“Can't you help him?” he asked, his voice growing more agitated, “You're the Grand Duke of Bern, head of House Stallion. We're one of the most powerful Houses in Kyth! You must be able to do something!”
“No. Not even the power of nobility can help somebody who is mad,” Lachlan's voice was full of regret. “I am sorry, Alain. But your brother is beyond saving.”
“No,” Alain shook his head, not willing to accept that. “Isn't there medicine? Mum must know something...or magic?” his eyes grew wide. “I know you don't like magic, dad, but if there is anything, for Ambrose's sake-”
“There isn't,” Lachlan said harshly. “There is nothing that can be done. Maybe I would consider magic if he was my only son and there was any spell which would cure this but neither of those facts are true. Your mother does not know anything which could help him either. There is no cure for madness.”
“But...what if it isn't madness?” Alain suddenly remembered the dream he had and that persistent gut feeling. He looked up at his father, wide-eyed. “Dad, when this started, the night before, something came into our room.”
“Something?” Lachlan raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Alain nodded and tried to recall the figure that he had seen. “It looked like a tree but also like a person. It fell onto Ambrose in a cloud of mist and just...disappeared. Maybe that caused his madness? What if it's a curse or magic-”
“Enough!” the Grand Duke's voice cracked through the air like a whip, stunning Alain into silence. “I know it is hard for you to accept this. But making up magical creatures to explain something that is easier explained by rationality...I expected my eldest son and heir to be better than some superstitious village fool.”
The boy bit his lip, realising his mistake. No, of course his father was right. It was silly of him to think that it was anything more than a dream. How could it be anything else? Bern was not known for its magic, this was not Corvus. Perhaps he just did not want to admit that Ambrose was mad. And yet, he knew that at some point, he would have to. It was the only reasonable explanation.
“I'm sorry,” Alain fought to hold back the tears that stung his eyes. He did not want to cry in front of his father of all people. “But it's not fair. Ambrose never did anything to deserve being mad. It's not fair for you to just write him off like this.”
“Madness is not something that can be controlled. Life is not fair, Alain, as you will have to learn,” Lachlan replied, putting his arms behind his back, “I have no choice. In order to make sure my last remaining heir is ready to assume the task, I must write off your brother.”
A terrifying thought flashed through Alain's mind as suddenly, he was reminded of the few stories about madmen that he had heard and how they were treated. He looked up with his father in horror. He did not want to believe he would be that cruel but the way he was talking... “You're not going to throw Ambrose out?” he cried, his face curling in anger as he tightened his grip on Ambrose. “I'm not going to let you! Mad or not, he's staying here!”
“Calm down, Alain. Your brother will stay here. I am no monster and he is still my son,” came the neutral reply. “Besides, we are a House of progress. We must set an example and take care of those who are less fortunate.”
Alain relaxed a little and smiled at his brother, hoping that maybe he had heard some of that. But there was no indication that he had. He was still dead to the world.
“Now, Alain, if you are quite finished, it is time. Your first order of business for now is sword practice. I cannot let you slack off any longer,” Lachlan said. “Let go of Ambrose and come with me.”
Alain hesitated. He knew he had to go with his father. It was his duty; he had to learn if he really was the only heir left to House Stallion. But at the same time, he had promised Ambrose that he would not leave him. The image of his brother coming out of his fit, distressed and sobbing, flashed through his mind.
“Can you send somebody to look after him?” he asked, looking up at Lachlan. “I don't want Ambrose to be alone.”
“Of course,” Lachlan's face softened for a moment. “But you cannot stay here.”
“I know, dad.”
“Father. It is high time you referred to me in a more formal way.”
“Yes, father,” Alain nodded and began to pry Ambrose's hands off his clothes. They were stiff and he struggled a little to get him to let go but eventually, he managed to break free. Carefully, he placed Ambrose's unresponsive hands in his lap and stood up, looking his father in the eye.
“I'm ready,” he said as calmly as he could. Lachlan gave him a small smile.
“Good. Now, let's go,” he began to turn but stopped in his tracks, giving Alain another critical look. “What happened to your clothes?”
Alain blinked and looked down at his shirt. Sure enough, there were two holes in the places where Ambrose had gripped him. He thought perhaps that his brother had somehow ripped it but the fabric did not look torn. Rather, the threads just ended, as though they had rotted away.
“I don't know,” he said quietly, examining the holes.
“First order of business, we will get that fixed,” Lachlan replied, heading for the door. “I will let it slide this time. These are hardly the first clothes you have ripped during your many pranks.”
Alain was about to open his mouth to argue, there had been no pranks for a few days now and he had no idea how he had acquired the holes, but there was no point. What other explanation did he have for what it was?
He waved the thought away and walked on after his father. However, he stopped by the door just before he exited and gave Ambrose a final look.
“I'm sorry, little brother. But hopefully somebody will come by to see you soon. You won't be alone,” he murmured, although at this point, it was a vain hope that Ambrose could hear him. Sure enough, as Alain thought, he did not stir.
“Alain?” his father's voice echoed down the corridor. With a start, Alain closed the door behind him and followed the Grand Duke.
For a while, everything was still in Ambrose’s room before the boy on the floor shuddered violently. His fingers convulsed but all they gripped was air. He gasped and looked around feverishly, as if trying to work out where he was.
“Alain?” Ambrose whimpered but there was no reply. The boy lay down on the floor, seeming to curl up around himself. Fresh tears began to pour from his eyes and he sobbed quietly for a few minutes before another vision stole away his consciousness. |
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Post by Celestial on Oct 4, 2014 21:40:24 GMT -5
Things that happen on the Skypechat within the space of a day: the Stallions in Medieville adopt a dog and she takes a particular liking to Ambrose. This sounds so silly when I put it that way but it's actually kind of sweet. xD So I wrote a small snippet of story with them, because ideas attack me when I least expect them. Small Comfort Dim lamps holding small fires lit up the street, casting shadows into the holes where the regular pattern of cobblestones had been broken. He guessed at the rough time period of this particular vision from that alone. It was far but not so far as to be completely unimaginable. However, Ambrose barely had time to register his surroundings before he heard it: the cries for help. No, no, please...whatever it was, he did not want to see it. He never wanted to see such things. A faint part of him prayed that it was not what he thought it was, but in a rundown narrow alleyway in the dead of night, what else could elicit cries of help?
Much to his horror, he soon saw how right he was. A young woman came into view, lit up by the dim lamps. Behind her ran a figure whose form was obscured by a long coat. However, what was unmistakeable was the glint of a long carving knife that they held in their hand. His eyes widened when he noticed it and Ambrose’s thoughts raced. Maybe she would get away from whoever this person was. Maybe he did not have to be forced to witness this, not this time. It would be different from those other visions that went like this.
Then she caught her foot in one of the potholes and fell. Even as she tried to get up, her long skirts tangled around her legs, making any escape impossible. With unrestrained fear in her eyes, she turned to find the other person looming over her. The knife rose and fell.
Any hope Ambrose had of avoiding seeing one more death was gone. All he could do was be rooted helplessly to the spot, staring at the scene that unfolded in front of him. Bile rose up in his throat. An involuntary reflex: he had learned by now he could never throw up in his visions.
He was forced to watch for far too long before finally, the horrific sight let him go and Ambrose collapsed in his chair, burying his head in his hands in an attempt to tear what he had seen out of his mind. It never got easier. That woman was not even born yet and he had witnessed her die in a way that was...horrible. Nobody deserved to die like that and yet, she had so many others would meet their end like that. Even though he saw, he was powerless to stop them.
A small sound from his feet broke through the haze left behind by the vision. It was high-pitched and stretched out, repeating itself several times. As he gradually returned to the world, Ambrose felt the sensation of something soft and warm resting on his legs and a wet spot pressing itself into his hand.
Slowly, he lifted his head up to meet the worried brown eyes of a scruffy, faded brown dog. She was whimpering and prodding his hand with her nose, clearly sensing that something was wrong, though Ambrose doubted she knew why.
He moved one of his hands and rested it on her head, flexing his fingers half-heartedly in an attempt to pet her.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Nutmeg,” Ambrose said quietly to her. The dog stopped whining now that she sensed he was slowly returning to normal. She got up from his feet and took a few steps before sitting back down and resting her head on his knees. The same pleading look that had won over Kirin and him appeared in her eyes.
He sighed and continued to stroke her, unsure if he could do much else with the vision still playing itself over and over in his head. But Nutmeg’s presence was comforting. As his hand ran over her head and neck, Ambrose could slowly feel the edge being taken off the horror of what he saw. Not completely, visions like that took time for him to cope fully, but enough for him to feel functional again. It was surprising what a dog could do, he pondered as he smiled down at her and scratched her behind the ear, an favour she returned by giving his hand a gentle lick. He had not regretted taking her in, out of the cold and the rain. But he was very grateful for her now. |
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Post by Celestial on Oct 30, 2014 17:23:03 GMT -5
An AU fic that ties in nicely with this fic of Shinko's in which a Courdonian version of Sieg, who is owned by Alain, is transported into canon and meets the canon-Stallionbros. It's complicated. xD But the Courdonian version of Alain and canon-Alain were so creepily similar that this happened. I would recommend reading Shinko's fic beforehand because it's so awesome because I don't know how much you can understand of this without it. ^^; A Dark MirrorAmbrose closed the door behind him, becoming still for a moment and listening to any sound of movement beyond but it sounded like Sieg had fallen asleep. No wonder, after all the questions that had been asked of him, he must have been so drained, both physically and emotionally.
“How is he doing?” his brother asked, approaching him so quietly he had barely noticed.
“You saw how he was and heard what he had to say, I think you can work out how he is, brother. He’s fallen asleep, thankfully, but...poor Sieg, he’s gone through so much,” Ambrose sighed and turned to look at Alain. “Though perhaps you went a little overboard with your questions?”
I had to figure out what exactly had happened,” he replied. “Crossing dimensions does not happen every day, after all.”
“No, I guess not, but still,” Ambrose shook his head. He started walking down the hallway. “I understand why it had to be done but I still felt so...so cruel.”
“Not any more cruel than what has already been done to him. I figure he’s endured worse from me than just questioning,” despite Alain’s assured tone, Ambrose could not help but detect the tiny waver in his voice.
“It wasn’t you who did those things, Alain, not really,” he said, shaking his head again.
“Of course not, it was the other me. The Courdonian one,” Alain’s voice suddenly swelled with so much venom that Ambrose could not help but stare at his brother, his breath catching in his throat at the anger that he noticed in Alain’s eyes. But on closer inspection, anger was not the only emotion he found there. There was something else he could not quite place.
“No, you would never do such things,” Ambrose murmured. A shadow of doubt rose up in the back of his mind but he quickly suppressed it. His brother, his own flesh and blood, was not the despicable slave lord who would reduce anybody, elf, human or otherwise, to the level that Sieg had been reduced to. “And it wasn’t just the other you who hurt him. It was also Baron Allendale.”
“Indeed,” A small laugh escaped Alain’s mouth. “It’s interesting. Had he been Courdonian, Allendale, the sweet Baron with a butterfly garden, would have been such an evil, disgusting slave-lord. Who would have thought? ”
“It is hard to believe,” Ambrose smiled a little but he was only doing it to reflect Alain’s emotion a little. In reality, he hardly felt amused. “But Courdon breeds terrible people.”
“I remember. I was at the Coronation too after all. I have seen what the Courdonians are like,” Alain lowered his head, pondering something. He stopped very suddenly, so suddenly that Ambrose had walked forward a little before he even noticed that his brother was no longer walking beside him
“Alain?” he turned, looking back at him. Alain, however, was looking off to the side, his face unreadable until Ambrose got closer and saw his eyes. There was an eerie, strange look in them, a distant and hollow one which somehow took away some of his brother’s usual intimidating presence. It took a moment for him to recognise the rare emotion that he read in his brother: doubt.
“Ambrose, you’ve known me all your life. You are my brother and my equal so I value your opinion. I know you don’t always agree with what I do but I want you to answer me this,” Alain’s jaw tightened a fraction. “Am I a good man?”
Ambrose stared at him, taken aback by this question. With his brother’s almost unshakeable confidence, the doubt itself was unusual but for Alain to just come out and say exactly what he was thinking, that was almost unheard of. The only time Ambrose could ever remember him being so frank was when they had visited what remained of Cebeline’s shrine.
He opened his mouth to reply but the image of Briar, chained in the wine cellar, came into his mind like an echo. Others followed in its wake; Alain’s desire to hunt down the Shadows while insisting it was for the greater good. How unflinchingly capable he was of killing. How he had kept asking Sieg just now all those questions without seeming to notice his distress and fear. Ambrose closed his mouth.
“You’re hesitating,” Alain remarked, a humourless smile forming on his face.
“No, no, brother,” Ambrose shook his head. “What kind of question is that? Why are you asking me?”
“Because I want to know,” came the calm, measured reply.
“Please don’t lie to me, it’s not just that. You always know what you’re doing, Alain, and you don’t care for the approval of others,” Ambrose said, frowning.
“Normally, no,” Alain sighed deeply. “But during the conversation with Sieg, as he was telling us what happened to him, I got a very clear picture of...his master, and his methods.”
“The acid?” Ambrose swallowed. He had seen what acid could do to people, far too well. It had only been once but it had been enough.
“Yes, that was very clever. To remind a slave to whom they belong, he used non-magical resources to wipe out any semblance of a previous owner and make sure that the only brand was the brand of the current one. The process is painful to make it stick in the slave’s mind. It makes for an excellent impression. Then the slaves are kept under control by having their individuality removed, making them believe that they are not people but animals. Then the punishments, designed to inflict a certain amount of psychological and physical torture to keep them cowed but useful, not the maximum amount, as Allendale would, but the correct amount,” Alain recited.
“Correct?” Ambrose’s eyes widened. “Alain...you can’t possibly...you can’t approve of that?!”
“Of course I don’t approve of it!” Alain’s voice acquired such an edge that Ambrose was forced to take a step backward. However, Alain seemed to barely notice, instead looking away from Ambrose, off to the side. “But I can understand it. I can understand that man’s methods, because those are exactly the methods I would use. I can track every thought that went into what was inflicted on Sieg.”
His hands tightened on his cane and he looked down, away from his brother, but he was not quick enough to hide the pain that flashed across his face. “I and his master think exactly alike. And that’s a terrifying thought.”
“No...” Ambrose reached out and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “He’s not you.”
“Are you sure?” Alain smiled up at him again. “When you hesitated, you were thinking about what I did to Briar Kidde, didn’t you?”
Ambrose removed his hand from his brother’s shoulder, swallowing and looking down at the ground. “...yes, I was.”
He thought back to the girl in the basement, who had been chained up and deprived of food, who Alain had tried to terrify into revealing information about the Shadows by playing with her mind like a cat played with a mouse. Of what he could have done to her if Ambrose had not stepped in and stopped him. Perhaps Alain would not have gone as far as he threatened but...he shivered. What if he could? Not even Ambrose knew the depths of his brother’s mind.
The idea that he could have done the same to Sieg, the Sieg that they had in the castle right now, suddenly did not seem so alien at all.
“Do you see what I mean now?” Alain smiled humourlessly. “And she's far from the only one.”
“But you...you had a reason. You're not a sadist, Alain, you had a very good reason for doing that to Briar,” Ambrose shook his head, trying to force the thoughts out of his mind. Alain's morals were questionable but he was not a monster. He couldn't be. At least, Ambrose did not want to believe he was.
“My Courdonian counterpart had a very good reason for doing what he did to Sieg. What he did was calculated. All for a single purpose: to break his slaves into submission,” Alain sighed. “What does it say about me, if I can recognise every single trait I have in a Courdonian slave-lord?”
“No, you're different. You're not a Courdonian slave-lord, for starters,” Ambrose looked up at his brother with sincere eyes.
“It's still rather terrifying how much of myself I can see in him. More than I should ever see in a Courdonian,” Alain let a momentary scowl cross his face. “On a rational level, I know that is not who I am. I am a loyal Kythian subject, I would never keep slaves or torture them like poor Sieg was. But-”
Here he gave a small chuckle, which had all the humour of a rasping crow. “It isn't easy, seeing myself reflected in somebody who disgusts me as much as my counterpart does.”
“No, it can't be. But despite everything you've done, brother, he's not you. Remember that,” Ambrose turned his head to the side, looking out wistfully. “Though it does make me wonder...”
“What?” Alain tilted his head a little, intrigued.
“If there is a you in that universe and he is like that...what am I like?”
At this, his brother burst out laughing. Ambrose stared up at him, startled by the sudden change in attitude.
“What's so funny about that?” he asked, blinking.
“Nothing, Ambrose,” Alain smiled. “But I don't think you have to worry as I do. Even in Courdon, I cannot imagine you being anything other than what you are like now,” he brought a hand up to his chin. “The fact that Sieg was not as frightened of you as he was of me is proof of that.”
“I wonder if I could ask him. When he wakes up, of course,” Ambrose nodded.
“If you wish. Though it is best if you do it,” Alain replied “It is best if I stay away from him, wouldn't you agree?”
“For now, maybe. You do intimidate him. Though you tend to intimidate a lot of people you meet,” Ambrose gave him a small smile. Alain smiled back but his eyes were dark and distant, not reflecting the expression on his face.
“I intimidate him a lot more than any other person,” he said dryly and walked past his brother, indicating he did not want to talk any more. Ambrose watched him go, reaching out to stop his brother before realising it was pointless. If Alain had no more he wished to say, there was nothing he could ever do to make him, nor did Ambrose want to. As worried as he was about his brother, there was not much he could do and he knew it. Alain was strong anyway; he would not have his confidence be shaken over something like this.
He had faith in his brother. And Sieg was the bigger priority. When he woke up, he would need tending to. Without further hesitation, Ambrose turned and headed down the corridor, going to arrange just that.
****
Looking after the poor half-elf slave and giving him what was, judging by how Sieg had reacted, the first small kindness he had ever been shown in his life gave Ambrose a strong sense of satisfaction. The conversation with Alain moved to the back of his mind as he focused on the task of providing Sieg with proper food, clothes and care, as well as calming him and comforting him. At times, Ambrose could not help but think of Xavier, though without a doubt, Sieg was in far worse condition than Ambrose had ever seen his friend. He wondered sometimes if this was how Xavier had been when he had come to Medieville. It was one of the many thoughts that had found their way into his mind as he spent time with the half-elf.
However, when he was around Sieg, Ambrose did not give his musings much attention, preferring to focus on one thing at a time; namely the task of making sure the half-elf was provided for and emphasising that he was no longer anybody’s slave. It meant he did not have to dwell on the sad reality that he knew lurked on the other side from which Sieg had come from.
But when he had done all he could and Ambrose decided to leave Sieg back in the room he had been given to rest some more, all those thoughts that had been held back by his task had come pouring in, like ghosts whispering in his ear. The half-elf’s scars, broken nose and skittishness told him stories of abuse which he could only imagine but nevertheless made the Stallion’s heart clench with sympathy. But it was the acid scar which always made him pause. Because that one had been inflicted by that world’s version of his brother, the same one that, by Alain’s own admission, shared more than just his face and voice.
And that thought inevitably led Ambrose to thinking about his own counterpart in that upside-down world.
A madman, a dishonour to the name Stallion...he had heard those things before, but never from Alain. In fact, it had always been Alain who was the first to refute those things. In the past, he had thought that his brother was one of the many people who had considered him mad but even so, to imagine that he would say that to Ambrose’s face with so much hatred and contempt, let alone strike him...it clashed so much with the supportive brother who had enough faith in him to suggest that he become royal advisor that he could not reconcile the two at all.
Yet if that Alain and the one he knew and loved shared so much...did they share this contempt too? Ambrose dismissed the thought right away. He had his entire life as evidence that this was not the case, with the capstone being that Alain knew the true cause of his visions. Even if it had taken him so long to tell him, Ambrose knew it was not because of any malice on his brother’s part. And it was Alain who had given him the idea to start inventing, something that, judging by Sieg’s surprise when Ambrose had shown him his work, his Courdonian self did not do. His brother and the Courdonian slave lord who shared his mind and his name were not the same.
He had to reassure him of that. So when Ambrose had the time, he searched up and down Destrier Castle, checking the spots where his brother was most likely to be. It did not take him long before he had found Alain in the small, private library in which the Stallions had stored the various manuscripts that they had acquired or had been given to them as gifts. He had been looking over one of the chained manuscripts but before Ambrose could see what it was, the older Stallion brother had looked up at him, smiling.
“Hello, Ambrose. What brings you here?” he said, turning around to face him. A brief look of concern flashed across his face. “I hope it is not something wrong with Sieg.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Though, he did tell me some things, things you might wish to know,” Ambrose nodded.
“Go on...” the tiniest frown crossed Alain’s face and his hands folded over his cane.
Ambrose swallowed. Suddenly, the words that were clear in his mind seemed difficult to say. How did you even bring something like this up? “Brother...what do you think of me, really?”
Alain’s eyebrows rose slightly and his eyes acquired an amused glimmer. It lasted a few moments before the expression was replaced with a small smile. “You are my little brother, an excellent inventor, especially considering you had no formal training, kind-hearted, almost to a fault, but that kindness serves you well and lets you keep me grounded at times. Morally, you are a far better man than me, I will admit that,” he tilted his head a little. “Why are you asking me such a strange question?”
“Because that’s not what your Courdonian self thinks,” came the barest murmur of a reply. The praise immediately lost a lot of its lustre when Ambrose reminded himself of that fact.
A dangerous look suddenly entered into his brother’s eye. “Really?” his voice was carried the menace of a distant thundercloud. “Then what does he think?”
“Sieg told me. He said that you- no, your Courdonian counterpart- believe I am a madman and a disgrace. By the sound of it, he hates the me of that world so much. And he...he hits him too,” Ambrose shuddered, thinking about it. “He doesn’t invent either. Apparently, he’s alone, with just the slaves to talk to.”
Alain’s grip on his cane had become deathly, only matched by the murderous look on his face. His eyes had hardened completely and there was a scowl playing on the corners of his mouth.
“That monster,” he finally hissed and looked up at Ambrose. “I can only hope that you do not have such a low opinion of me, Ambrose.”
“No, never!” Ambrose shook his head vigorously.
“Good. Because I would never do that to you,” Alain’s expression softened a fraction. “I care very deeply about you, brother, and I never thought you were a disgrace. I would never raise a hand to you either.”
“I know you wouldn’t, brother,” Ambrose smiled and moved closer to him. “And I am so grateful for that. For keeping me sane, for believing in me, for deciding that I am worth something...you don’t know how much it means to me.”
“I think I can guess,” Alain grinned.
“You were so worried, about your Courdonian self, I mean. Bur even despite everything, no matter what you’ve done,” Ambrose put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re not him. You’re a far better person than he is.”
“You say that just because I treat one person well? A member of my own family too,” despite his words, there was obvious amusement in Alain’s tone, easily reflected by the persistence of that grin.
“Alain, you of all people should be able to work out the implications of that,” the smile on Ambrose’s face grew. “You and your Courdonian self might think alike but you’re not him and he is not you.”
“I am glad you think so, little brother,” Alain nodded. “Because I never want to be that monster.”
“I’m not going to let you,” Ambrose shook his head.
“I would not have it any other way.” |
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Post by Celestial on Nov 27, 2014 19:07:42 GMT -5
Celes is done with coursework and wrote another fic, this one with young Stallionbros. It deals with an incident poor Ambrose would rather forget. And it is a long fic. Drowning my SorrowsDestrier, Bern, thirty six years ago
He could not see them but he knew that they filled the pews behind him. The Cathedral of Saint Absolon was packed to the brim with visiting nobility from all across the kingdom. Ambrose glanced over at the Brachyurans, occupying the pews at the front on the left side of the aisle, opposite Stallion. Looking back, his eyes caught scraps of the colours of Boovean, Arach, Ascension and even Jade. Woo, the Jades had come all the way from Corvus for this. He hugged his ornate cloak around himself, feeling very exposed in the presence of all these nobles. It would not be so bad if it was just the minor nobility of Bern but most of the major Houses were here too. If he had one of his visions, in front of all these lords, some of whom wielded the exact same influence as his father, he dared not imagine what would happen.
But that is, of course, if they even noticed him. Even though he felt like all their eyes were on him, waiting for the mad son of House Stallion to slip up, that was not the case. No, Ambrose thought, looking up at the three people almost directly in front of him, for once, thankfully, nobody is going to pay attention to me.
All the eyes of the guests were on the trio at the front of the Cathedral. The first was a man clad in a white cloak that was broken up only by gold thread that rippled in the light, exposing the patterns of flying birds that had been stitched into it. His robes shimmered too, though unlike his cloak they were pure white, as the Woo’s feathers were supposed to be. Upon his head was an ornate mitre, its white and gold surface decorated with white pearls and red garnets. It was his voice that echoed off the walls of the otherwise still cathedral, uttering words which he was reading from the large book in his hands.
The second person was his brother. He was nineteen, two years older than Ambrose, but the way he stood tall and held his head high, refusing to bow or bend to anyone, could have led anybody to believe he was older.
And the third was a woman named Margot Brachyura; the woman who Alain was marrying.
Ambrose tore himself away from the sight and turned his head to the left. His father, Grand Duke Lachlan Stallion and Lord Webster of House Brachyura sat on opposite sides of the aisle, with their Houses, but they were both watching the proceedings carefully. After all, they had arranged them. The younger sister of the Lord of Brachyura and the oldest son and heir of Stallion, bringing their respective Houses together in an alliance, that had been the intent. Even without being privy to the discussion, Ambrose had gathered that much from his parents, Alain and the rumours that had flown around. This was politics.
And yet...he turned back to look at the couple again. At first glance, they were solemn as they listened to the bishop reading their vows. Alain was staring straight ahead, his hands behind his back, his expression completely unreadable. Margot’s head was bowed slightly but at points, she turned to face her new husband which also allowed Ambrose to catch a glimpse of her expression. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and they creased a little sometimes as a small smile broke though. While most of the time, her dark blue eyes were fixed in front of her, occasionally, they darted up and lingered on Alain. It would have been invisible to most people but sitting so close, Ambrose noticed the look in her eyes. How they seemed to light up at the sight of his brother.
Nobody had ever looked at Ambrose that way and he knew it all too well. While the brothers shared similar features; high cheek bones, blonde hair and blue eyes, although Alain’s were much lighter than Ambrose’s, and were both tall, there was a world of difference between them. Whereas the younger brother was timid and meek, the older one projected confidence to the point where he could command everyone’s attention with just a look. He was strong, charming and charismatic, seemingly without any effort, which he clearly had to be in order to win the affections of a woman he had only met a few days ago.
He bit his tongue in order not to cry out and dug his fingers into his eyes as he felt the familiar tug on his mind. It was all Ambrose could do before the vision tightened its grip on him, cutting him off from the world. He found himself not in the Cathedral but on a long, narrow street lined with trees clothed in autumn colours. There were a few people here and there, all going about their business. A man walking a dog here, a woman watering plants there, nothing was out of the ordinary. Except for their clothes, which were in a style he had only ever seen in the visions, and the buildings, which only resembled buildings in shape. Their materials bore no likeness to the wood and stone of Destrier.
As quickly as it came, the vision let Ambrose go, depositing him back in his seat in the Cathedral. Mercifully, it had been an ordinary one, nothing horrific. Nothing that would have driven him to scream, like some of them did. But it had been a vision.
“Ambrose?” a calm whisper broke through the daze. There was also the sensation of somebody touching his head. Slowly, he removed his fingers from his eyes to look up at the person speaking to him. Concerned, familiar eyes, framed by tawny red hair which was beginning to grey in places.
“Mother?” he straightened up and attempted to sit as inconspicuously as he could where he was, casting a glance over past her, towards his father. Thankfully, if he had noticed the spike in his son’s condition, Lachlan did not show it.
“You had another one of your visions?” Maura murmured. She stroked his hair. “It’s alright, you can’t help it. Don’t strain yourself. Today is a big day.”
“I know,” Ambrose sighed. He brushed her hand away from him and averted his head.
That was the most important difference between the two brothers: Alain was not a madman.
The younger Stallion winced at the thought, feeling the stabbing in his heart again. It, like the visions, had become the background noise to his life but the ceremony had brought it out in full force. He did not want to envy his older brother, somebody he loved and respected, in a political marriage of all things.
But it was more than just the marriage. Ambrose did not know how Alain felt about Margot but she seemed infatuated with him. Nobody had done that for Ambrose, and nobody ever would. Whether by politics or love, there was no chance of him ever being the one to stand at that altar. Who would want to marry a madman, or give their daughter to a madman, even one of noble birth? His father had married his mother for love and yet he was not going to give Alain the same choice. Because, thanks to Ambrose’s madness, there was no choice. In the public eye, Grand Duke Lachlan Stallion only had one son; the strong one, the one who wasn’t mad or broken.
Ambrose closed his eyes, trying to fight back the sting of tears in his eyes. Alain was getting the life fitting to him: the life of a Stallion lord, then a future Grand Duke, with family and people who loved him. A life the younger brother would never have.
He clenched his fists as the envy flooded through him again. Like bitter medicine, he did his best to suppress it. No, he did not want to feel like this. Not towards Alain. But fighting against those emotions was like trying to fight an oncoming storm. All Ambrose could do was keep watching the ceremony and pray that he would make it through without another vision. Today of all days, in front of all those nobles, the Woo or whichever cruel god had given him this fate could at least grant him that.
The younger Stallion brother sat still, trying to keep his eyes away from the couple and at the same time, keep his emotions in check.
***
It was late afternoon by the time the ceremony had finished and it was time to head back to Destrier Castle. The newlywed couple were at the head of the procession, in a carriage that had, just for this special occasion, had been pulled by two of Stallion’s silvery signature horses. Behind them came their families. Ambrose himself had been bundled into the carriage with his parents, the same carriage they had arrived in, sans his brother. This morning he had been glad of his presence but now, he would not have been able to look his brother in the eye. Not after the sharp envy that had prickled at his heart in the Cathedral.
He had curled up in one of the seats, trying to make himself as small as possible. His parents chatted calmly opposite him but Ambrose could not help but feel the pressure of their gazes rest on him occasionally. They sat like this for a while until eventually, the coachman cracked the reigns and they started on the short journey up the hill towards the home of House Stallion.
Ambrose had stared blankly out of the windows as they traversed through the High Street, past ordinary people who occasionally stopped the stared at the massive procession going by. He hid away from them, deliberately avoiding their gazes. Even if it was not directed at him, he did not want the attention.
Mercifully, it was not long before they arrived at the castle. Lachlan and Maura climbed out of the carriage first, Ambrose following them. He scurried over to his mother, glancing over behind him as the various other nobles got out of their own carriages. She gave him a smile and squeezed his shoulder. A part of him wanted to brush it off, to not appear weak in front of the other nobles, but another part was grateful for the comfort provided by something familiar. His father walked beside them but he did not cast so much as a look at Ambrose. Not that it matter anyway, the young Stallion thought. The Grand Duke had other things on his mind; he should not have to pay attention to his mad son.
It only took a single step into the castle for Ambrose to be assaulted by the myriad of scents that had drifted up from the kitchens and permeated the very stones of the building. Light shone from the entrance of the great hall, beckoning in the guests that were filing in through the formal entrance.
Of course, he realised, it was time for the feast now, to celebrate the union. It would be an entire evening, possibly a whole night, of food and drink flowing freely. A night of loud shouts and a hall filled to the brim with drunken strangers from all over the kingdom all of them toasting to the health of his brother and his new wife. It would be a display of the power and grandeur of the host, House Stallion. One that a madman like Ambrose did not belong in.
“Mother?” he murmured.
“Yes, Ambrose?” she smiled at him.
“May I...” he stopped suddenly, catching a glimpse of Alain ahead of him as he headed into the great hall. His brother had turned back to look at the guests and for a moment, Ambrose could have sworn his gaze had settled on him. What would he think if his only brother had abandoned him, during his wedding feast? Even if Margot liked this arrangement, there was no guarantee that Alain did.
He couldn’t be selfish. No matter how he felt about this marriage, he had to be there. He could at least try to show some happiness for his own older brother and the life he was going to lead.
“It doesn’t matter, don’t worry about it,” he shook his head and tried to smile.
A hint of a frown crossed Maura’s face but she did her best to hide it. “Come on then, go inside.”
With the hand that was still on his shoulder, she pushed him firmly but gently into the great hall. At its head, on a raised platform, stood the high table. Whereas the other tables had been sparsely decorated, only to indicate the colours of the noble house which was supposed to sit there, this one was draped with flowers in teal and crimson, held together by silver and grey ribbon. Two ornate chairs had been prepared at its very centre for the bride and groom, flanked by smaller ones down the length of the table. It was to one of these chairs on the right hand side of the table that Maura guided Ambrose, past the members of House Brachyura, past Alain and Margot and past his father. He did not look at them as he walked until he came to the chair indicated for him and sat down. She finally let go of his shoulder and took her own seat beside her husband, who was already there and whispered something to him, though Ambrose did not hear what.
Already the buzz of talk permeated the air, mingling with the smells of the food that covered the long tables that stretched all the way down the length of the cavernous room. The younger Stallion brother glanced up, eyeing the other tables from his vantage point. He could see all the way down the great hall, eye down to the servants at the very far end milling around the table of some minor house. A shiver ran down his spine and Ambrose bowed his head, gripping the edges of his sleeves. Even hidden by the flowers and outshone by the newlywed couple, he was still exposed up here. At least Alain and Margot in their splendour would draw most of the attention.
The younger Stallion brother sighed deeply. As grateful as he was for that fact, he knew the kinds of attention they would draw would be very different. The knife of envy stabbed into his heart again. Why could he never attract such attention?
He knew perfectly well why. But it did not lessen the sting, far from it. A clap echoed out through the hall, cutting off the conversations that drifted through it. Ambrose whipped his head around suddenly to see that his father had stood up and was now examining the entire room.
“Thank you all for coming here to celebrate this momentous occasion. I am grateful for it and I pray that you enjoy the hospitality of my House to its fullest,” here he turned to the Brachyura patriarch, who had also stood up, and raised his goblet. A servant ran up instantly to fill it with wine as dark as the depths of the ocean. “May this lead to a prosperous alliance between the two great northern Houses, Lord Webster.”
“It most certainly will, Grand Duke Lachlan, that I am sure of,” the other Lord replied and raised his own cup, which another servant had filled before. However, they did not clink their cups together, instead both drinking the wine the same time. But while Lachlan sat down as soon as he had finished his glass, Lord Webster remained standing.
“Pour some of that wine for everyone,” he called to the horde of servants, who nodded and immediately began doing just that. The Brachyuran Lord smiled widely and, once his cup had been refilled, turned to Margot. “A toast to you and your husband, dear sister,” he shifted his glance to Alain. “Look after her, won’t you, my lord?”
“Of course. I swore before the Woo after all,” the Stallion smiled. Margot bowed her head, trying to hide her own coquettish smile. Ambrose turned away, staring instead at the wine that was being poured into the goblet in front of him.
“Wonderful! Then here’s to you both, and to our Houses,” Lord Webster raised his cup. The servants moved away, their task complete, and most of the nobles mimicked the Brachyuran lord’s gesture. As Lord Webster turned to toast the Brachyurans and Stallions at the high table, so they toasted with their neighbours around them.
Ambrose reached for his cup but as he did, Maura put her hand on his wrist, stopping him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t?” she told him. “Drink does poor things to- it wouldn’t be good for you.”
The younger Stallion stared at her. He knew what his mother was going to say before she had switched her words. For a moment, his annoyance flashed across his face before it had settled.
“Won’t it be impolite?” he asked quietly.
“Lord Webster will understand. Don’t worry, I’ll take the blame on myself if he objects.”
His jaw tightened. As if seeing that tiny cue, Maura smiled a little and brushed a lock of his hair out of his face.
“I worry about you, dearest, that’s all,” she murmured comfortingly. “Don’t do it for-”
She suddenly broke into a coughing fit, her breath growing wheezy. Ambrose recoiled, staring at her in horror. His mother frequently had these due to her damaged lungs, they were a fact of life, but it did not stop them being all the more horrible.
Much like with me, he thought. Thankfully, Lachlan had noticed and wordlessly gestured to one of the servants, who brought over a small cloth pouch. Maura reached for it gratefully and pressed it against her mouth, breathing it in until the coughing returned to normal. Only then did the concern that had erupted all over his father’s normally emotionless face finally subside. Unruffled, he straightened up and spread his arms.
“Eat and drink, my dear guests. House Stallion is determined to be a gracious host on this fine day,” he exclaimed and sat down. The hall filled with noise as everyone resumed their conversations and began to help themselves to the food that had been laid out on the tables in front of them.
But neither the Bernian roasted venison or the wine poached salmon or even the pear tart enticed Ambrose much. He helped himself to a few morsels, taking small bites as he usually did in case the visions hit him unexpectedly, but all the food might as well have been ash to him. The sounds of laughter flew around him, helped along by the merry music from the troubadours that had been hired to play at the wedding. As the wine flowed, so the volume of the conversations increased. At least it meant he was less likely to attract anybody’s attention. The younger Stallion glanced at Alain out of the corner of his eye but turned away when he saw him talking with his new wife. Of course, he had no time for his brother now.
Ambrose’s father said something to his mother and pointed to somebody amongst the lower tables. She nodded and the two got up, their chairs scraping against the stones. Maura gave Ambrose a brief look before she cleared her throat and departed with her husband, descending down the steps into the fray of guests. The younger Stallion was left alone.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the din. He turned, seeing that one of the Brachyurans had gotten up and was holding his goblet up.
“There’s-” he swayed a little but quickly regained his balance. “Isn’t there a wedding tradition in Bern where it’s cold until the couple kisses?” he grinned at Margot and raised his goblet even further. “Well, I say it’s cold! Cold!”
The chant was immediately picked up the table filled with Bern’s minor nobility and they raised their drinks unison. The Houses of Boovean and Ascension, lubricated by the wine, joined in. Margot flushed bright red, gave her brother the tiniest of nods and looked at Alain.
“Well if...it’s tradition,” she swallowed shyly. The corners of her mouth were curling upward.
“It is,” Alain nodded and stood up from his chair. Margot followed. Once they were standing, the two hesitated for a few moments before she leaned forward and kissed him.
Ambrose turned away as though he had been struck. The emotions of the ceremony flooded back in full force, overwhelming him. Tears began to sting his eyes as envy bubbled up in his throat again. It’s just politics, it’s just politics, it’s a political marriage, he kept saying to himself.
Nobody said it had to remain that way. He doubted Margot would let it be anyway. So Alain really would have everything. He would inherit the rule of House Stallion, have a wife and family, all the respect he could ever want...those things were meant for him, not for Ambrose. Ambrose would end up with nothing, except his madness.
A scowl materialised on his face and he glanced up. Any direction would have done, had it not been to his left. As he did, however, the jug of wine appeared in his view, along with his goblet. It had not been removed, nor was the wine that had been poured for him drunk.
He pulled it closer to him. Drink does poor things to madmen, his mother was going to tell him before she had realised what she was saying. But he was not mad. He knew he was not mad! So what harm could it do? What could be worse than the envy coursing through his veins? Even if the relief it provided was temporary, at least it would be some kind of relief. He was seventeen, old enough to seek the solace of its siren song.
Ambrose picked up the crimson wine and brought it to his lips, quickly letting it pour down his throat. The alcohol burned and choked him and he had to take a breath after drinking it. For a moment, the younger Stallion wondered if he was mistaken in his belief of dulling his pain. After a few minutes though, he began to feel the slight softness around his limbs. His cheeks grew warm and a tiny smile appeared on his face. He did feel better. So he poured himself another cupful, swallowing that in one gulp, anything to make the wonderful softness spread throughout him, to drown out his thoughts. A third quickly followed the second and then a fourth. The sensation of drunkenness spread from his body into his mind.
He was bringing another cup to his lips when the vision assaulted him. The great hall was replaced by the deck of an enormous metal ship of a strange design. It had no sails and long tubes emanated from its deck. He had seen constructions like them before: cannons. The sea swirled around its high keel and gulls called above his head. Suddenly, however, the cannons began to fire and it took him a moment to realise what at. Another ship much like it had appeared on the horizon.
But Ambrose did not get to see the end of the battle. The vision let him go and he collapsed on the table, just narrowly missing a joint of ham that lay nearby. He slowly struggled up, his movements sluggish. Of course, why did he think the visions would go-
A gryphon soaring through the sky, carrying two people; one a Courdonian woman, the other a young man dressed in Courdonian clothes. Except he was speaking Kythian.
As quickly as it came, it disappeared. Ambrose dug his fingers into his eyes, his breathing growing rapid and ragged. Two visions. Two vision minutes of each other. That had not happened since...since it had first begun when he was six. It...it had to mean something but the haze in his thoughts was like grease, preventing him from linking his ideas together. Maybe, maybe it was just a fluke? Maybe there would be no-
Two men arguing with another. One picked up a knife from the cutting board that lay beside them and stabbed the other in the heart.
It was not going to stop. Ambrose began screaming as soon as the vision faded. He tried to stand but his legs, turned into water by the wine, collapsed under him. Somehow, he managed to prop himself up by one arm and-
A man was up on a podium making a speech to a crowd. Suddenly, a woman leaps up, pulls a gun and shoots him. The screams that erupt from the people watching are deafening.
It ended like the others. Even in his drunken haze, Ambrose knew he only had a few more moments before the next one would hit him. He tried to pull himself up with his chair, even though the ground beneath him swayed like the deck of a ship. As he pulled himself up to the table, he caught a glimpse of the half-drunk goblet of wine. His eyes widened.
“Why? You were shupposed to helpme!” he cried, his tongue mixing the words together. “Why did you-”
The next vision cut his words off. Snow and several hunters with dogs trekking across a frozen landscape following deer tracks.
Eventually, it too faded and he returned to reality. The younger Stallion brought his arms up in front of him, as though he could somehow protect himself.
“Leave me alhone! Go away!” he shouted. Tears were beginning to pour down his cheeks. His head whipped around to stare down the length of the high table. The eyes of the Brachyurans were fixed on him. A few whispers emerged from their mouths, including a note of laughter which was quickly restrained. Margot clung to her husband and was saying something to him, her voice at points acquiring a hysterical edge. Alain, however, did not even appear to be paying attention. Like the others, he was staring at him but his expression was markedly different. Instead of the usual calmness, his mouth was slightly open and his eyes wide. Ambrose gave a small strangled cry as he recognised the emotion; confused and, worse, hurt.
Oh Woo, what had he done?
“I’m shorry,” Ambrose swayed and dropped to his knees in front of his brother, desperately grabbing his hand and digging his fingers in. His face, already flushed by drink, grew redder and fresh tears burst from his eyes. “I’m shorry, Alain, I didn’t mean-”
Darkness replaced his brother’s image. From somewhere, the crying of a woman emerges and eventually she comes into view. She is bloody and bruised, looking out of a window with bars across it. Then the door to her prison swings open and she is taken away somewhere. After a short while, there is the sound of screaming.
Those screams still echoed in Ambrose’s mind as he came to. His fingers tightened around where Alain’s hand had been but they clutched only air. Instead of where he had been before, his brother was now by Margot’s side, where she was clinging to him and pulling him away.
“Come on now, Ambrose,” a hand settled on his shoulder. It took him a moment to recognise Maura’s voice. “I told ya.”
She did. She had been right all along. He whimpered and his heart clenched. The air felt too hot and there was a weight on his chest that made him gasp for breath. Ambrose wanted to get away. Anywhere where he was not a disgrace and disappointment. Anywhere which was not here.
“Get away!” he screamed and pushed his mother off him, scrambling to his feet with all the grace of a fish stranded on land. The world rocked and he tried to get his hand on the table, however he misjudged the distance between it and him. He overbalanced. Ambrose tried to grab the chair to stop himself falling on to-
The rain and waves forced themselves into the younger Stallion’s sight. A storm was bearing down on a small town by the sea. Lights flicker in the streets and the windows before promptly going out.
As with its kin, it faded as quickly as it had come. Ambrose blinked, finding himself staring at the ceiling. His skin prickled. Slowly, he turned his head and met what seemed to be the judging gaze of every single person in the great hall.
The room had gone completely silent. All attention, whether it was Corvid or Ascension or Boovean, was focused on him. His clothes felt uncomfortably wet and his hand was resting in something sticky and soft. Ambrose turned his head. He had fallen on the table and now, spilled wine was soaking into his hair and his clothes, which had already been stained by the food he had landed in. Horror swept over him as he realised what he must look like.
And then, somewhere at the far end of the hall, somebody laughed. Several other voices rose up to join that person. Then others. In the silence, its echo was magnified by the great hall.
The laughter rang in his head like church bells, filling his entire head. There was no question what and who they were laughing at. Something told Ambrose he had to move but he could not find the energy inside himself to do it. Moving had made him into even more of a laughing stock than he already was in the first place. He stank of wine and there were bits of food all over him but he could not bring himself to do anything about it. This was what he deserved. Worse, as if to spite him, no vision pulled him way from this humiliation.
Several servants took him off the table and picked him up, guiding him out of the great hall. Ambrose kept his eyes firmly on the stones. He did not want to meet the eyes of the other nobility, or worse, his family. The laughter continued, each raucous note slapping him across the face.
Somebody shouted for silence just as the servants had taken him out of the great hall. Yet in the haze of drunkenness and another vision slipping into his mind, he could not tell whose voice it had been.
What happened next was unclear to Ambrose. In between his visions, he was vaguely aware that the servants had taken him up his room and removed his soiled clothes. When he had been quickly cleaned, some kind of liquid had been poured down his throat. After that, he had plunged into a dreamless sleep, finally safe from the nightmare that had occurred during the feast.
***
The first thing Ambrose did the next day was cry out in agony. Pain flooded into his head as soon as he opened his eyes. The visions had given him headaches but never ones which throbbed like open wounds, nor ones that turned the light hitting his eyes into glass shards. On top of it, his mouth was cracked and there was a foul taste in it, as though he eaten nothing but dirt the past day. He buried his head in his pillow, biting down on the fabric to stifle what ailed him. Warmth touched his head but it was no match for the pain that had taken over his temples.
Eventually, the pain had mercy on him and subsided just a little, enough for his thoughts to consist of more than screaming. Memories of yesterday poured back into his head. The wedding, the feast, the wine, the visions...the humiliation.
The younger Stallion brought his arms up and tucked them under his pillow, squeezing it as he felt his eyes stinging.
The latch on the door clicked and there was a creak as it swung open. Ambrose froze. He bit his tongue and buried his head further into his pillow. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to get a clue of who it was.
The visitor took several steps forward and the younger Stallion brother’s stomach dropped. No, not him. Anybody but him.
“Hello, Ambrose,” came Alain’s cool, calm voice from above him. Ambrose buried his head further into his pillow, trying to suppress a whimper, a task he did not completely succeed at.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Alain,” he murmured. “I ruined your wedding.”
Ambrose flinched as the sound of a chair being placed on the flagstones by his bed sent a fresh wave of pain across his forehead. The physical pain, however, did not concern him as much. He closed his eyes, not even daring to imagine Alain’s expression, or the anger or disgust he had to feel at his sorry excuse of a brother.
“It’s alright. You didn’t ruin anything,” the older Stallion brother told him. Judging by the position of his voice, he had leaned forward in his chair. “What happened to you, Ambrose?”
“I...” Ambrose’s shoulders twitched, “I had some wine. Too much. And that made the visions...it was like when I was a child again. They just kept coming.”
“I see,” his brother sighed. Ambrose tensed as he felt a tug on his hair. Alain removing a stray crumb, or something else like that, he figured. That’s what it felt like at least.
“Please forgive me,” he murmured. “I made all of you look so bad. What your new wife must have thought of me...”
“Margot? She was quite scared, I will not lie to you. But I calmed her down,” Alain replied and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry about it, Ambrose, not now anyway. You must feel like the ‘Pit after your visions, and the wine too.”
“...I do,” Ambrose swallowed, trying to purge the dryness out of his mouth. “I am never drinking again, ever. Not if this is what it does to me.”
“I’ll ask the servants to bring you some water and willow extract. It will help, trust me,” Alain replied. As quietly as he was talking, his words still sent small spasms of pain through Ambrose’s head.
He wanted to thank Alain for his kindness. But after what he did, any gratitude felt hollow. Even though his brother seemed to have forgiven him, Ambrose could not yet forgive himself. Especially when he considered what had driven him towards the lying embrace of the wine in the first place.
“Why, Alain?” he whispered, feeling the threat of tears in his eyes again. “Why am I cursed with this? Why am I mad? Why can’t I just live a normal life, a good life, like you?”
He bit down on his tongue as soon as he had said those last two words. His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for Alain to reply. But his brother had gone completely silent. Of course, why would Alain have the answer? Nobody else does.
At least, Ambrose hoped that was the case, and not his brother realising his envy for him. He did not want to feel that, much less have Alain knowing about it.
“Rest for now, brother,” finally came the reply. There was a slight scraping of the chair as Alain stood up.
Ambrose shrank a little as he felt his brother gently touch his shoulder but the sensation did not last long. As quickly as he had come, Alain turned and left.
The younger Stallion remained still for a while. Then, his arms tightened around his pillow, hugging it closer to him. No sound came from him save an occasional sob. EDIT: Oh and I submitted this to a short story competition at my university. So, if any Dan Hemingway judges come across this fic, don't worry, I am only plagiarising myself. xD |
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Post by Celestial on Dec 11, 2014 13:16:30 GMT -5
And now for someone completely different: the Langean Tsar who started the two wars in which Alain fought. He decided to pop into my head uninvited and forced me to write him. He's got a habit of doing that. So, here, meet Seraphim everyone. ^^ I'm not sure whether this counts as backstory or worldbuilding. Eh, I'll put it down as worldbuilding. The WarmongerNews rarely travelled fast in Lange but this one was the exception. It was in the late hours of a cold winter morning that the messenger arrived through the iron gates of Tiraspol Fortress, sweat pouring off his exhausted horse. He passed it along to the stable hands before running to the wooden stairs. The only thing that stopped him was a guard in a thick white coat that blocked his way off with a halberd.
“Halt! What is your business?” the guard barked. The messenger, panting heavily, pulled two things out of his bag. The first was a crumpled scroll. The second was a white seal which was carved with a winged snow leopard, sitting straight and proud with a crown adorning its head. The official emblem of House Irbis, the rulers of Lange.
“News for the great Tsar,” he cried, practically waving the seal in front of the other man’s face. The guard narrowed his eyes but nevertheless removed the halberd that was obstructing the messenger’s path, allowing the latter to run up the stairs and into the Crimson Palace itself.
He was stopped by a sour-faced attendant almost immediately, who took in the seal and the uniform. Nevertheless, his expression did not soften an inch.
“What new do you bring, messenger?” he asked, folding his arms.
“News of our Kythian neighbour,” the messenger replied. “I have ridden hard since the break of dawn from Uty to deliver this.”
“Kyth?” the attendant raised an eyebrow and pointed to a wooden bench standing by the bleached wall. “Sit there. I shall go ask if you are worth troubling him over.”
The messenger bowed his head and did as he was told, sitting down on the cold bench without much complaint. While his legs were cramped from riding hard and he would have preferred standing, he was not going to refuse a direct order. The attendant disappeared deeper into the palace, leaving the messenger alone.
It was a long wait but finally, the attendant returned, prompting the other man to stand up and bow as soon as he saw him.
“Follow me,” he said curtly and, without waiting to see if the messenger would comply, began to walk from whence he had come. It was not like the messenger had a choice in whether to go with him or not; he had to.
He followed the attendant through the palace until they reached two grand wooden doors into which were carved the various animals that inhabited Lange, on top of which, embossed with birch bark, was once again the snow leopard. Two guards flanked it and they eyed the attendant and the messenger both before they opened the double doors, letting them into the space beyond.
Thick square columns painted with murals held up the high domed ceiling. Light streamed in through the windows lining it, illuminating the armour that lined the walls between them. There was very little furnishing in the room save for a few benches at the sides but those paled in comparison to the throne that stood in the centre, in direct line of sight of the door on a raised platform. Its base was uncut black stone but that quickly gave way to elaborate red wood that had been carved into the shapes of forests or animals that ran all around the seat and across the back. Crowning it all were two animals that peered out at the visitors from the shoulders of the man who sat in front of them: the ever familiar, majestic snow leopard on the left shoulder but on the right, a weasel with an enormous, snaggletooth grin. The only animal across Lange that was universally sacred to the god Ranumgen and the representative of its favour.
However, the messenger was not so much distracted by the details of the throne as the man on it. As soon as he had entered, the man had fixed his bright blue eyes on him, his look changing into one of impatience and contempt. He could not have been older than his mid-thirties but those eyes had depths to them which suggested the intelligence of someone older. Unusually for a Langean man, let alone one so high up in its ranks, his deep chestnut hair was draped across his shoulders, framing a beardless face. A face which the messenger could instantly tell belonged to one of a mixed heritage, even if he would never dare say so in case it was treasonous in its implications. For treason it would be to imply the ruler was not completely a part of his nation. The crown of the realm, an ornate fur cap held in a gold frame and decorated with gemstones and pearls, rested upon his head, leaving no doubt who this was.
“Come forward, messenger, I do not have all day to receive you,” Seraphim Yuriev Irbis, Tsar of the Dominion of Lange spoke, his voice betraying a slight air of annoyance despite remaining flat otherwise. “State your business.”
The messenger approached him quickly, not daring to keep the Tsar waiting. Once at the foot of the steps that led up to the throne, he dropped to his knees.
“A message concerning our neighbour, Kyth, sire,” he held the slightly crumpled scroll out to him, keeping his palms flat. “Specifically, news of Bern.”
The Tsar raised a single eyebrow and got up off his throne, scooping the scroll out of the messenger’s hands. In one practiced motion, he broke the seal with one finger and unrolled it. Both the attendant and the messenger watched with eager eyes as he read until finally, he rolled up the scroll. A little smile began to spread across his face.
“Thank you. You may both go,” he said to the attendant and the messenger both, waving them out of the room. The two servants did not need to be told twice and rushed out of the throne room. Once they were gone, Seraphim sat back down, reading the message over and over again. With each reading the smile that had formed itself on his face grew a little wider and his eyes became deeper as they reflected the thoughts bubbling in his mind.
At last, he stood up and exited the throne room, clutching the parchment still in his hand. He strode through the palace, up to the second floor, not stopping until he reached a certain door, which he opened without hesitation.
“Mother dear, it is me,” he smirked. “I have something I wish to talk to you about.”
An old woman glanced up at him from where she was sitting at a table, frowning a little as she took in Seraphim’s look and manner. One of the palace healers, who had been pouring some liquid into a cup reflexively turned her head to regard the visitor before instantly looking away as she realised who it was. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, she handed the cup to the old woman.
“Your medicine, Mother-Tsaritsa Una,” she said quietly. The old woman smiled and took the cup.
“Thank you, Iva,” Una replied, traces of an accent playing on her syllables. She sipped at the liquid, swallowing it painfully before looking back up at her son. Seraphim, however, was glaring directly at the healer. Una sighed. “Iva, you should go. Leave me alone with the Tsar.”
The servant did not need to be told twice. She bowed her head and quickly scurried out past Seraphim, taking very good care not to so much as brush against him. The door behind her closed with barely a click and Una was left alone with her son. After another sip of the liquid in her cup, she looked up at him with a gentle smile.
“What can I do for you, Tsar of all Lange?” she asked him. Seraphim gave a single laugh and held the scroll out to her.
“News from our scouts of your homeland, mother. Concerning your House, in fact,” he told her. Una’s eyes widened and she put the medicine down on a small table beside her, almost snatching the scroll out of her son’s hands. Seraphim sat down on a chair opposite her as she unfurled it and began reading.
It was not long before a small gasp escaped her. Una dropped the scroll and brought a hand up to her mouth.
“Lachlan,” she murmured, “Little brother...it can’t be true. How can he be dead?”
“It says very clearly mother: illness,” Seraphim replied, picking up the scroll and furling it up. “Lachlan Stallion caught a fever and died just two weeks ago.”
A silence settled over the old woman like a blanket. She gripped the collar of her dress and closed her eyes for a few moments before opening them again.
“At least he apparently has an heir to take over,” despite the sorrow in her eyes, Una tried to make herself smile again. “I just pray he’s a strong young man.”
“Yes,” Seraphim purred, “And if he is not, perhaps it is high time that the Tsars of the North took over from the Grand Dukes.”
Una’s head whipped up. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean exactly what I said,” Seraphim leaned his head on his elbow, eyeing his mother smugly, “You’ve told me so many stories of your homeland when I was a child, mother. How much more pleasant it was than all these frozen forests and inhospitable cliffs. I still remember my visit a few years ago. You were right, it is beautiful. All of Kyth is. It must be so pleasant to rule over...”
“Seraphim...” the woman shivered, seeing the look on his face and the poison in his words. “You’re talking as though you want to conquer it.”
“Perhaps I do?” Seraphim lifted his head. “If the opportunity presents itself-”
“No!” Una stared at him in horror. A scowl appeared on the Tsar’s face, morphing his features like an earthquake morphs the landscape.
“Why not?” he hissed.
“Because...” Una flinched away from his gaze as she searched her head for the words to express the sudden chill that had settled in her heart. “It’s wrong. You will kill not just your kin but countless others too.”
“That’s the point of war, mother,” Seraphim replied as though he was explaining to a child. “And anyway, they are not my kin. We are one blood but they are nothing to me.”
“So what does that make me, Seraphim?” Una pressed her hands to her heart. A choking sound got stuck in her throat. “I am of House Stallion too.”
“You are, mother, and so I am mixture of the blood of Stallion and the blood Irbis of Lange: a fine combination. And at the same time, some weakling with only half his blood of noble stock is taking the reins of your home,” the Tsar spat out those words. “The strong overpower the weak. Nobles rule over non-nobles. That is an unquestionable law not even the great Ranumgen changes.”
Una bowed her head, which Seraphim took as a cue to lean forward. “I must thank you, mother, for that. Your bloodline gives me every right to those lands.”
She shuddered. While she had questioned Lachlan’s wisdom in taking a commoner for a wife, ultimately it had been his choice. Even if she had wanted to voice her objections, she had already been too far away in Lange to argue with him, let alone by some miracle change the mind of her stubborn brother. But she never imagined that her own son would use it to justify a conquest.
“Even so,” Una swallowed and looked up at him, reaching out a hand to touch his. “Seraphim, you already have Lange. You do not need Bern, the rest of Kyth or anything else. Why can’t you be content with what you already have?”
“What I already have...” without a warning, Seraphim slapped her hand away, fury radiating from his eyes and spilling out on to his face. “You may not be of this land but you have lived here long enough to know it. I am Tsar of a wasteland! The south barely makes enough to sustain the north! The animals here are less wild than the people! And you say I should be content with that?”
Una flinched away, raising her hands instinctively in the face of her son’s sudden anger. “Seraphim-”
“Meanwhile, Kyth is rich in farmlands, farmlands which we could use. And now an opportunity comes for me to even have a piece of it and you tell me to be content and let it slide?!” the Tsar roared, clenching his hand into a fist. But his rage subsided just as quickly as it came. A smile appeared on his face and he waved his other hand dismissively. “But of course, you are one of them. You grew up a Kythian, fat and soft, without the Langean hunger in your soul. You would not understand.”
“I would not understand, yes. You’re right, I am Kythian. And I know that you want Lange to be as rich as my homeland,” Una murmured, not even daring to look up at the man in front of her. “But this is not the right way.”
“It is the only way,” Seraphim raised a hand, as though pointing to an imaginary map. “I claim Bern as my birthright, while its new Grand Duke is still weak, and then from there, I shall expand further, into Kine. Then, if it is not enough, I have the choice between Lyell and the rest of Kyth. One thing at a time, however.”
“What about Kyth’s king? Or the other noble houses? Even if my House is somehow weak, you think the others will peacefully stand by?”
“They will be a thorn in my side but if I can get them on the run, they will defend their own lands. Each noble house looks after their borders first,” Seraphim lowered his hand. “Which is why Bern is my main priority. I shall take the weakest first.”
“And how much blood will soak the land while you do that?” a sob finally escaped Una as she gave up holding them back.
“As much as it takes,” Seraphim got up from his chair and kneeled down beside his mother, taking her hand. “But I shall spare my aunts, mother. For your sake.”
“But not your cousins,” she whispered.
“They are tainted. I am restoring the natural order. In a chaotic world, the order we make is the most important thing,” the Tsar smiled up at his aging mother. “And perhaps, once my conquest is complete, you may yet see your homeland again. Would you not like that?”
The shimmer of tears in Una’s eyes was the only reply Seraphim got. Feeling the conversation was over, the Tsar got up off his knees and on to his feet, ready to leave. However, as he turned, Una reached out and grabbed his arm.
“I beg you, reconsider,” she cried. “If not for me then for your children or for yourself. You’re acting as though you have already conquered it but Bern is not weak. It will fight back.”
“Lange is stronger. The northmen are forged in conditions Bernians, let alone Kythians, cannot imagine. They, and I, will prevail,” Seraphim snatched his arm away, “You are beginning to irritate me, mother dear. I have already made my decision; do not try to convince me otherwise.”
“Please, Fima-”
“And don’t you dare call me that! I am not a child!” Seraphim’s anger erupted out in an explosive scream. Una flinched at the sudden outburst, curling her arms around her protectively and staring up at Seraphim with horror. For a moment, she forgot that was her son in front of her, instead of some wild beast.
“Goodbye, mother,” the Tsar approached the door but just as his hand hovered above the door handle, he suddenly froze. “And don’t think about sending any warnings either. You know the roads of Lange are unkind to messengers.”
With that, Seraphim left Una’s room, glad to be away from her at last. It had been a mistake to talk with her. Like a worm, irritation wriggled in his heart at the thought of it. However, it did not matter what he thought. His mind was made up and his next course of action was so clear that it might as well have been a single track of footprints in the snow.
Tsar Seraphim turned on his heel and started on his way back to the throne room. There was a meeting to arrange with his minister of war and summons to send out to every village could reach. Ranumgen willing, in the spring, he and an army of northern men would descend upon Bern and Kyth like ravens upon a fresh kill. |
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