Chapter 5
Supper had ended.
Magnus and the Kings had retired for a sip of bourbon and for a talk.
They had suggested that Scott and Ororo should take a walk in the gardens together.
The garden was lush and full of many varieties of plants and flowers. The calm serenity would have been just what Ororo needed, but at the moment it was killing her. They had walked together now, a favorable distance apart, for what felt like hours. Scott kept his gaze straight, never once turning to look at her. The line of his mouth was drawn tight with the same unease that showed in every step she took.
They came to rest near a full bush of Shade’s Kiss roses. They still stood with no word between them. It was driving Ororo mad; if she was going to be married to this man, she would have them talk at least once before their vows.
“Your Father is a very kind man,” she said, her voice sounding like thunder in the midst of the silence.
Scoot finally looked at her, surprised by the sound of her voice, even more so that she was engaging in conversation with him. “Yes, he is that, indeed.”
“And a good King to his people, from what my father has told me.” She was doing all she could to keep the maddening silence away.
Scott nodded. “The best that could be asked for.” He pushed his spectacles higher up on his nose.
Damning tact and letting curiosity take command, she asked, “Why do you wear those?”
Scott dropped his head a bit. “My eyes make people uneasy.”
Remembering Remy’s strange set made her smile to herself. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is different about them?”
This clearly being a conversation he was not comfortable with, Scott stood ramrod straight. “I…uh… was blinded as a child.”
Ororo had not expected this. “I am sorry; I did not mean to pry.”
Scott nodded a bit. “It is fine, most people know of it already. But you are not the first to ask.” He attempted a smile.
“But you act as though you can see?”
Scott stood still a moment and then removed his glasses.
The moonlight shone just right to catch the glowing red that formed his eyes.
Ororo looked on intently. “I have never seen anything like them.”
Scott quickly returned the glasses to his face. “No one has; they were a gift from Magnus.”
A shiver went down her spine at the sorcerer’s name.
“I was a stable boy as a child here in the palace,” Scott began, “I stayed in the servants’ quarters, my father was a blacksmith. and my mother worked in the kitchens.” Scott took a moment, reliving the memory in his mind. “There was a fire one night in the stables; I rushed to try and free the horses, but a piece of rafter fell on me almost as soon as I entered. The wood had already begun to sear along my eyeline, and I remember feeling my eyes burn away, but I could still see the flames dancing in front of me. I remember hearing my parents’ voices too, calling to me. I screamed as loud as I could for them, and they must have heard me because I could hear their cries getting closer.”
Scott unconsciously rubbed along his brow. “Then I heard the loud crash of the roof collapsing, and then just the screams of my dying parents as they burned.”
Ororo was at a loss for what to say. “I am very sorry, I should not have brought it up.”
“Think nothing of it,” Scott said. “I came to grips with it long ago.”
“When I woke up,” he continued, “I was so scared with not being able to see, the darkest midnight with no hope of dawn, that is what I remember thinking; but a voice spoke to me, and at first I thought it was my father’s, so I jumped in the direction of it and wrapped my arms around him. It was not until he spoke again that I realized it was not my father, but the King.”
“I remember asking him to bring my parents back, at that age I thought the King controlled everything, even life and death. He never said he couldn’t or anything of the kind, he only held me until I passed from wailing and sobbing in his arms. I was moved into the palace after that, and over time the King adopted me. He had Magnus craft these special gems to replace the sight I lost.”
Ororo shuddered once again. “Magnus must be a very powerful man.”
Scott shook his head. “Very powerful, he controls the ore of the ground, and can shape it in any way he wants. He is very intelligent, as well.”
Ororo still could not get past the darkness that seemed to gravitate toward the Sorcerer.
They spoke no more for a while, just letting the breeze caress them and drinking in the smell of the flowers.
“You are unhappy with this arrangement, aren’t you?” he finally asked, giving her a wondering stare.
Ororo met his look; now they were getting to it. “Are you happy about it?”
Scott stood straight as a nail again. “Sometimes a person must put aside what they want for the greater good.” His tone was somber.
Ororo could tell he had told himself that a lot. “I know, ‘Duty before all,’ as my father would say.”
“Your father sounds like a wise man,” Scott said in his still somber tone. “It is for the good of both our people. But still,” he said after a moment, “it still hurts to let go of a binding of the heart.”
Ororo quirked an eyebrow; he had caught her interest. “Would it be safe to say that your heart has found that binding?”
The sadness in Scott’s calm and quiet voice spoke volumes. “It does not matter if it has or hasn’t, my path has been set before me and I must walk it, regardless of my feelings.”
Ororo nodded and spoke no more.
A bell sounded in the distance, from the Temple of the Mother, it was the first hour of the morning. The look on Scott’s face had changed dramatically. What was once burdened with a heavy sadness now rose high with a terribly hidden excitement.
“If you will excuse me, Lady Ororo, I have something I must attend to,” he said.
The effort he was using to contain his smile was quite admirable, Ororo thought.
Ororo bowed a bit and smiled, “I would dare not impend on His Majesty’s plans.”
Scott gave her a warm grin. “Thank you, my lady; I will see you later in the day,” and then he took off at almost a run.
Ororo smiled again; stiff as a rod he was, but a good man all the same. The matter he must attend must be important indeed, she laughed, having a good idea of what it was.
Temple of the Mother:
She blew out the candles atop the altar and hurried along with the last of her chores. Jean Greyhame had a meeting to attend. After the last of her work was done, she bowed before the statue of the Phoenix, saying one last prayer and out the front doors she ran, to the place that only one other than herself knew of.
A short distance away and an even shorter time later, beneath a young Dallen tree just outside of the city walls, the moon cast two soft shadows that were softly combining in the deepness of the night.
Royal Guest chambers:
Ororo lay in her bed, still faintly smiling because of the prince. He did have someone who was bound to his heart, and he was terrible at hiding it. She laughed aloud at the look on his face, almost bursting, in her memory.
Was that what it was like to be in love?
The smile faded as the question came to her mind. Ororo feared she would never find out the answer to that. She suddenly felt sorry for Scott. Which was worse, to never be in love, or to be and have it taken away as he would?
These thoughts pained her deeply. She rolled around in her bed, pulling the covers up close to her chest, in hopes of chasing away the sudden coldness she felt. As she finally drifted to sleep she dreamt. The dream was one she had been having for a long time, and it was something she looked forward to every night.
The dream of the stranger.
Dark and strong, he came to her every night, and she was always swept up into his arms and they were gone like night fleeing coming sunrise. In all the times she could remember having the dream, one thing eluded her.
His face.
Never once had she seen it; even when they kissed, she could never recall what he looked like. It did not matter too greatly to her, though, it was her dream, and in it there was only them.
No war.
No pain.
No Duty.
There was only herself and her dark stranger.
Morning:
The sun was rising and with it came the warm glow of a new day. They still held each other and kissed, knowing nothing else in the world mattered at the moment.
Ororo felt the strong arms encircle her waist and pull her close against a solid chest and a powerful body.
She opened her eyes to the figure before her and smiled. Even though his face was dark from the still lingering night, she could tell that he smiled back at her. She caught a small glimpse of his eyes and what lay within them told her all she needed to know.
They did not have to say it to each other.
They knew of the love between them.
Dawn came and the light drifted up to them. Ororo breathed hard in anticipation as the light climbed their bodies. There, she thought, just a bit longer. The sun had crossed his shoulders and was on its way to his chin when “
Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang…
Ororo sprung from her bed quickly as the noises of the bells drifted to her bedchamber. Hurling her pillow to the floor, Ororo sighed.
Lady of the Stars, could you have not granted me just a moment more!
Ororo cursed as she climbed out of bed; for yet another night, her stranger’s face stayed hidden from her.
Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang…
The ringing of the bells in the city made her wince. She dressed in a robe, put on her slippers and went to her door.
Two guards flew past her as she peeked her head out, along with several servants who were rushing this way and that.
“Excuse me,” she called to one, a young girl with hair cut short.
Turning in direction of the voice, she bowed low. “Yes, your majesty, what may I do for you?” she asked, her breath hard and fast from her recent rush.
It was far too early in the morning for formalities. “Forget the majesty rubbish,” she grinned, “what is your name?”
“Rahne, your maje… my lady.” She was clearly not comfortable with addressing her as such.
“Well, Rahne,” Ororo asked, “what in the hells is going on?”
Rahne hid a grin. The Moon Elf princess was the first member of royalty that she had ever heard use such language “I am not quite certain yet, my lady; all I know is that the Palace guard has been called to alert and that many soldiers are going to the front gates, something to do with a prisoner.”
Ororo thought a moment; something was happening, and being of the nature that her mother had given her, she wanted to find out what. “Any good places to get a look?” she asked the girl, grinning again.
“I know of a place,” she said, “but I have duties that I must attend.”
Ororo waved her hand. “Don’t worry, just tell them I got demanding.”
The girl laughed, “I am your humble servant, my lady.”
She waved for her to follow, and Ororo did.
Tyeradal Front Gates:
Logan had been dragged from the wagon rather roughly as they stopped before the great gates of the Aldriahn city. His leg pulsed with aches; by Pierce’s orders a medic had attended to Logan’s injured thigh. The smug bastard did not want his prize to bleed to death.
Logan had tried to refuse the aid, but a few swift blows to the head from a mace had given him no choice. The arrow had been removed roughly as well; there would be a large scar to form there, and bandaged, even if a little half-heartedly.
Still, though, the soreness of it all was hell.
Logan did not care about all of the physical pain, however; his mind still full of the faces of his men that had fallen. Melding with the pain was the overpowering hunger to kill the son of a bitch that stood a few feet from him now.
Pierce was talking with a large guard that had met them at the gates. Logan could smell the stench of ogre on the man. His body was, by far, larger than the biggest Aldriahan he had ever seen, and the squint of his eyes and the hanging jaw filled with yellowed and broken fangs spoke of a mixed heritage.
Creed stood dumbstruck as Pierce pointed to his captor and smiled smugly at the larger man. “Second Marshall Pierce has a fine ring to it, don’t you think?”
“How in the blue fuck did you get him?” Creed growled down at him.
Pierce smirked. “Ingenuity, my dear half breed, ingenuity. These brutes use the strength of their arms and think with the head of their pricks, as much as I would like to gloat, it is no grand feat outsmarting them.”
Creed sneered around his protruding fangs. “You are so full of shit, Pierce.”
This only caused the smirk to grow wider. “As I may be that, I am also the one who will be reaping the rewards for this.”
Pierce gave the signal to his men as he remounted his horse. “Shall we?”
Creed bared his fangs but waved his men to the front, and the group moved into the city.
As Logan passed Creed, the half ogre spoke “Gonna be a long night for you tonight, runt. We’re gonna get to know each other real well.”
Logan said nothing, only flashed his teeth in a silent snarl and kept walking.
Pierce got everything he had hoped for as they entered the main square. The streets were overflowing with people cheering him. He basked in it like a snake in the sun.
The same treatment was not given to Logan, of course. The people sneered and booed at the Northman. Rotted vegetables and fruit were thrown over him as he walked past them. They hurled curses, and some who were brave enough to get close spat on him.
Logan paid none of it any mind, only held his head high and walked at a steady pace, the rattle of his chains the only sound coming from him.
Atop a small battlement, which ran attached to the towers of the city walls, Ororo and Rahne watched the spectacle.
The view was far-seeing enough to see the entire expanse of the city, but at that distance, it was hard to make out all that was happening.
“Who is the man in the chains?” Ororo asked.
Rahne turned to her, with a touch of fear in her eyes. “I cannot be certain, my lady, but from the talk of the guards I overheard, they said that it is Logan.”
Ororo’s eyebrows came together in question. “Who is Logan?”
Rahne gasped in disbelief, “Logan of the North? You have never heard of him??”
Ororo shook her head no.
The younger girl swallowed loudly. “He is the son of the Northmen Chieftain. He is also Champion of the North Lands and its peoples.”
The sound of him instantly intrigued Ororo.
A dark look fell on Rahne’s face. “They also say he eats the hearts of the men he kills before their dying eyes, and that he uses the skins of their children as bed dressings, and that he….
“All right, all right, I think I get the idea,” Ororo said. “You make it sound like he is a Daemon or ogre.”
Rahne only shrugged, “Is there any real difference?” She turned to the Elven princess. “At least ogres do not try to pose as men.”
Ororo sighed; from all that was said of the Northmen, they sounded worse than any Daemon that ever emerged from the pits of the Hells.
“What will they do with him?” she asked.
Rahne shrugged again. “They will bring him before the king, probably forgo trial and have him either beheaded or crucified.”
Ororo was shocked. “Just like that, no trial, just straight to execution?”
Rahne raised her shoulders in yet another shrug. “He is a Northman, he deserves far worse.”
Ororo was growing quite tired of all the bigotry “He is still a person. How can you cast judgment so lightly? He is at least of your kind; how can you condemn him, yet stand in willing servitude to an elf?”
This flustered Rahne greatly. “But y-y-Your Majesty, the Elven People are nothing like these monsters. You and your people are fine and civil.”
Ororo stopped her. “I want to hear no more of it. You said they will take him before the King.”
“Yes, your Majesty, to be sentenced for his crimes,” Rahne said nervously.
Ororo turned and walked away.
“But, My lady, it is only for the King and his Court to stand in at such a time.”
Ororo heard nothing else the girl said, she just kept walking, trying to keep her mind free of the anger that was clouding it.
Throne Room:
King Xavius sat on his throne with a face full of troubles. He had received word of the coming prisoner and it brought him great unease. Having the Son of Lentrok spoke of many advantages some of his advisors had told him: A useful bargaining piece to sway the forces of the North. Charles knew that was not the case; Lentrok may very well care for his son, but holding him hostage would do nothing to stop his forces, even under threat of his son’s death.
If anything, it would make him a martyr for his people. While taking away perhaps his enemies’ strongest and most competent leader and fighter was a mighty blow, what to do with him was the question that plagued him.
Magnus had told him that he should not worry yet, and accept a victory for what it was. Good and reliable Magnus, Charles thought, always dependable.
Ororo arrived in the throne room just as the front doors of the palace flew open and many armed guards came inside. Her father was standing beside King Xavius on his right, and to the left of the seated King, Magnus stood as still as a bronzed statue.
Ororo felt that familiar shiver run down her spine and redirected her attention to the soldiers coming in. She hid a bit further back behind the pillar and remained silent.
With sword pointed in the expanse of his back, Logan entered the palace hall.
Eyes clear, head still held high, Logan showed no measure of defeat in his walk. He was a Northman and he would stand before his enemies and show them that he had no fear of them, and if he was to die on this day, by blade or torture or by the slow asphyxiation of being crucified, he would stand defiant to them to the end.
They stopped walking, and Logan gazed into the eyes of the men before him, no expression on his hardened face.
The half-ogre, Creed, he had heard someone call him, came beside Logan and pushed against his shoulder. “Kneel before your king, dog,” he said.
Logan just stood, his gaze never wavering.
Creed moved closer to him. “Did you hear me? I said on your KNEES!”
Again, Logan did not move.
Ororo stared at the Northman and felt a sudden tingle in her stomach. She had not seen such a man as the one that stood not far from her. While not very tall, his presence more than made up for it. He seemed to have an aura of power about him, one that warned others not to get too close.
And his body, she thought, feeling the strange pull of want she had never felt before, there is no space on him that is not defined with muscle. The animal skin that hung on his back added a very dangerous element that seemed to complete the package that was the man before her.
A barbarian.
The sound of a whip on flesh brought Ororo out of her thoughts.
Creed had grown tired of the Northener’s defiance.
“I said on your knees, you son of a whore!” he shouted.
Though the pain made Logan bite down hard, he never moved, nor never flinched, just kept his eyes on Xavius.
“Enough, Captain,” Charles finally said. “This man is a prisoner of war, and I expect him to be treated as such.”
Ororo had never heard the king speak with such a firm and hard voice, it was totally different from the warm tone she had usually heard. The situation called for a hard remedy, one that Ororo was thankful for; every lash on the Northener’s back had made her wince.
Creed, very reluctant, hung his whip back on his side and stepped away from the bleeding Logan.
“Forgive my soldiers for any foul treatment they may have bestowed upon you,” Xavius said. “Trust me, you will not be treated that way any longer.”
Logan laughed in his mind Doesn’t mean I won’t return their many favors, old man, when I get the chance.
“As I am sure you know, I am King Xavius of Aldriah, and this is King Delleous of Dallendwood.”
Logan slightly shifted his gaze to the tall, dark-skinned elf. The look on his face spoke of a powerhouse of spite for him. Logan returned the look.
Some valuable information had already been gained from this at least, he thought. The reports of the joining of the Aldriahn forces and the Moon Elves was true.
“You will be well treated here, Son of Lentrok,” the king continued.
Until I’m tortured to death…
“You will be given proper food.”
Laced with poison…
“…and you will be well taken care of…”
All the while the headsman sharpens his axe, Logan snorted in his mind. Why was this old man procrastinating? Kill him and be done with it!
“…until your sentence is passed.”
Delleous leaned down to whisper in Xavius’s ear, “Pass the sentence now, have him nailed to the nearest Dallenwood, and let it be over with.”
Xavius ignored him. “Have you anything to say at this time, warrior?”
An evil smirk lit Logan’s face. “Yeah, I do.”
Smashing his elbows into the guards behind him, Logan hurled his body toward that of the king’s. If he could just grip the old man’s throat in his hands, he could snap his neck with ease.
An invisible force stopped him in mid-air.
The tall one in the purple robes that had not spoken held his staff in Logan’s direction. His chained arms and legs both began to stretch in opposing directions. Like a rack they pulled the Northman until a groan escaped his lips, then a growl, until he was screaming in agony.
“Magnus, enough!” Charles cried.
“As you wish.” The sorcerer dropped his staff and Logan crashed to the ground.
As he lay there, through the pain, and from the corner of his eye, in the back of the large hall he saw something he knew could not be real. Long white hair and shocking blue eyes on the most beautiful face he had ever seen. The look on her face spoke of horror, and the emotion in her eyes cried out with sympathy.
That was how Logan knew it was just an image brought on him by the pain. No one here could be so beautiful, and certainly no one here would feel sympathy for him. Dropping his eyes away, but with the thought of the angel he had just imagined still fresh in his mind, Logan began to try and stand.
Guards were set on him the moment he reached his feet, and he was roughly restrained.
Logan looked back up to King Xavius, expecting to see the old man shaking in terror. It was a bit disappointing and also a bit reassuring that the old King still sat, his breathing normal and regular, with only a small hint of anger in his eyes.
“I offer you fair treatment, Northman” he said, “but know that any attempt on any life here will result in harsh treatment for you.”
Logan laughed out loud.
The king signaled for the guards to take him away.
Ororo stood very still a moment, going over what just happened, her breathing shallow. The act of aggression from the Northman had surprised her, but it was the moment their eyes locked that made her breath catch.
His eyes were so very well known to her.
She knew it.
Drips of silver into oceans of dark blue,
She had seen those eyes before.
Where is what she could not determine,
A dream perhaps, a voice inside her said.
NO.
Ororo shut down that train of thought quickly.
Silently moving away from the pillar, she went back to her room, trying not to think of the Northman and his so-familiar eyes.
Dungeon:
The guards threw him into a small and dirty cell and slammed the door hard. Logan rose to his feet and saw Creed at the cell door.
“I don’t give a damn what the old man says, runt,” he said, taking a finger and running it over his whip that was still covered in Logan’s own blood, and licking it clean. “Tonight when me and the boys all have a little conversation with ya, I’m gonna hear you scream.”
“Funny,” Logan said, “I said the exact same thing to your mother.”
The smile on Creed’s face vanished. “Just you wait, runt, just you wait.”
With that Creed left, and in a damp and filthy cell, Logan sat and tried desperately to think of a way out of the situation he was in.
All the while his mind periodically drifted to thoughts of snow-colored hair and blue eyes.
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