A Tale of Blades & Blood-Chapter 29: Phoenix

[Norien's Point of View...]

As if it could not get any worse, Lord Orevian had forgotten what he had to say. He stood still, his breathing getting ever the more wild and unsteady. I could see his eyes were wide, and his mouth tried to open but could not let out a word. Save him, my mind argued, save him for goodness' sake!

Fortunate enough, Ser Merill stepped forward. "My lord, we have come here to request your support against the rebellion of the eastern folk led by Lord Folius Strix..." he began, his voice loud and his tone menacing yet calm, "...and by mercy of the divine, the heir to the crown has survived."

Lord Baeron laughed. His laughter became louder and more intense, and soon, the men that surrounded him followed. Cunts, I thought to myself, a batch of cunts. I wanted to slit their throats and silence their laughter, but before I could do anything, Lord Baeron spoke. "The heir to the crown alive?" he asked, still laughing at the idea. "You mean to tell me the young boy lord, Orevian Ballister, is alive after the bloody wedding?"

"Indeed, my lord. He is alive and well and under my protection-"

"Bring him out, then!" Lord Baeron commanded. "Bring him out and show us that the king's heir is still alive! Show us what your gods have granted you lot-"

"This is Orevian Ballister, my lord!" Ser Merill exclaimed, setting his hands on the shoulder of Orevian, taking off his cloak and revealing his true nature, which I realized now was even more grander than when we danced that day. "The heir to the throne and your rightful king stands before you now!"

The men beneath him whispered and mumbled, and he soon raised his hand. "Silence!" he demanded. With the word out, they all came quiet. Lord Baeron leaned forward, his long, black beard resting on his large belly. If the south is full of barbarians... I thought, he is the fattest of all of them. "You mean to tell me this feeble boy is the heir to the throne?" he asked seriously. For a moment, he did not laugh. He changed.

"Aye!" Ser Merill declared. "I myself, am Ser Merill of House Abbister, Commander of the Ballister Armies, Protector of the Crown, and Loyal Servant to the King!" he exclaimed loudly, bashing his hand on his breastplate, where the sigil of House Abbister, a hand with two swords behind it, was displayed.

"How could this be!?" asked a man aloud.

"Impossible, my lord!" exclaimed another, "this boy cannot be the heir! He should be in the south, burning among the corpses!"

The others shouted in unison, agreeing to the man's opinion. "Liars!" they chanted. "This is not our king! Throw him in the fire-"

"Silence, you lot!" Lord Baeron declared. As if it were magic, his words silenced the council... all but one stubborn man.

"Throw the damn mummer in the fire!" he exclaimed loudly. "It should be blasphemy to lie about such a thing! Kill him now, my lord-"

"I told you to hold your fucking tongue." Lord Baeron remarked loudly. "Ser Rylin!" he called out. One of the guards then turned his head slowly. "Take this man's tongue, will you? Do it outside and take three of the guards with you to keep still the fool." he commanded.

Soon enough, the man was dragged outside the room, and his faint but understandable screams turned into wails of blabber as his tongue was cut, sizzling as if touched by a hot blade. After that, the room went silent until the lord of the west spoke again, but even when Ser Merill showed utmost bravery before, he was now scarred at what he saw.

"You were saying?" the king asked, his back resting on his throne, his one brow raised, waiting for an answer. "Go on! Tell us how this boy's our king!" he demanded.

For a moment, I thought Ser Merill was speechless as well. That didn't come true, though. "M-my lord..." he began, "...this boy is the heir to the throne, King Orevian Ballister!" he declared, but his voice shaken a bit. "By the blessing of the divine, he escaped the wedding that day before the siege of Northrest Keep had occurred! He rode on a carriage with Lady Norien of House Ravenhan and a stable boy named Loran of House... uh..."

"Aelond!" Loran exclaimed. "I'm from House Aelond! How could you not know this- we've been together for days now-"

"Loran!" I snapped, silencing him. I gave him a gaze, and hopefully, a silent message he would understand. It's not the time for humor, I wanted to say, this is no laughing matter.

Ser Merill continued on. "He escaped the wedding on a carriage with Lady Norien of House Ravenhan and a stable boy named Loran of House Aelond! Now, he stands before you, asking for your support in his war for his father's death!" he exclaimed loudly.

The room was silent, but the occasional cursing and whispering of the three men left echoed still. "That's odd..." Lord Baeron began, "...a letter from the north arrived yesterday saying the same thing- asking for our armies... but one difference was there..." he noted, raising his finger and trying to recall the details, "...'Orevian Ballister is dead.' said the letter... but here you are demanding that this boy is the king." he said, his voice filled with suspicion.

"My lord- what letter? If it is fine to ask, who did it come from?" Ser Merill asked.

"A soldier." he answered. "Armored in steel and bearing the breastplate the same as yours. His hair was luscious, his face was thin, and his eyes were-"

"His eyes were blue and green... is that right, my lord?" Ser Merill asked, his hand shaking, and his throat swallowing every last bit of spit in his mouth out of fear. He hoped. He's scared, I thought, scared he might be wrong. "He declares himself Ser Merien, my lord, yes? He is tall, shoulders wide, handsome for a knight-"

"Aye, he is." Lord Baeron replied, every word said in a long manner. "How would you know, Ser... Merry, was it?"

"I am Ser Merill of House Abbister!" he declared. "And that soldier, my lord, is my brother, Ser Merien Abbister!" he exclaimed with joy. His smile was warm, and at the same time, relieved.

Soon, the whispers of the council erupt. This time, it died out on their own. The day was almost over, and the sun was going down. Lord Baeron spoke again. "This is something else, is it?" he asked, a smile on his face. "Two kings asking for my support... who do I choose?" he asked himself, his elbow resting on the armrest as his fingers stroked his beard lightly. "Tell me, Orevian Ballister, why should I support you over your contending lord- your... 'uncle' was it? Oren Ballister was his name, yes..."

His uncle... how could he win over his uncle? Loran thought the same thing by the looks of it. Ser Merill stepped back and let Lord Orevian make his claims. Even Caeris the rabbit was tense.

"When a king dies and his son remains, who is his heir?" he asked.

One of the men answered- "His son!" and other one exclaimed- "The one he chooses!" and the only one left merely watched it all unfold.

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"I have ridden from the cold of the north to the south..." he began, "...and from the south to the west, I have endured bandits of the road, entered your domain, and now I am here before you all to defend my right as king of the north!" he declared. The eyes of the three men below Lord Baeron looked at him closely.

"Why should we cover a boy over his uncle whose more of a man than him?" one man asked. The others nodded, silently asking the same question.

Lord Orevian paused, and looked at that man with a glare. "You think of me as a boy, yes..." he began, "...you all see me as a boy whose weak and scrawny!" he declared. "But know that boys have been conquerors before!" he exclaimed with pride, pacing the area before the throne.

One of the men laughed at him. "Boys as conquerors?" he asked. "Tell us who, boy! No mere boy has ever become a conqueror in the history of the kingdom-"

"Really, my lord?" he asked aloud. "Remember the tales of King Orevion and his brother, Oranus! They were ransacked in The Great Rampage as mere infants, gathered forces when they were only boys and, when they came of age, they launched an assault against the rebels and took back their kingdom!" he reminded them loudly. His ferocity echoed throughout the room.

"A fairy's tale is your evidence?" one of the men asked. "You compare yourself to conquerors in children's books, boy-"

"A fairy's tale, you say?" he asked, ready to turn the tide of the argument on his side. "If you do not take the tales of my ancestors, then perhaps you would remember the deeds of the eastern commander, Lord Loreys of Tiberrun!" he exclaimed loudly. The men grew uneasy at the mention of his name. "Do you not remember the stories of his conquests against rebels when he was only ten and five?" he asked, pointing to the east, "He crushed the houses that dared to defy his lord and he put their blood to the grave!" he declared, his veins rose and as if he was blessed by The Three Men himself, he had forgotten who he once was- a weak boy.

He stood for himself now- as a man. He is not the same anymore, I realized. He is... and will forever be... king.

"What would we have when you ride into battle with our men?" one of them asked. "Why should we waste our money with you when you are not even a worshiper of The God of Fire!?"

The rest of his fellow advisors agreed loudly. They were not shy about their words. They cut deep, calling Lord Orevian names of mockery like "Boy Lord", "Liar's Heir", and "Wonder Dreamer". He did not, however, falter.

"Believe me, my lords, I know how you feel..." he began, "...do you think I trust people easily after my family was nearly killed off in the wedding of my sister?" he asked aloud. "Do you think I trust people easily knowing that traitors lurk in every shadow of the world?"

The men gazed at one another uneasily, yet somehow still interested in Lord Orevian's answer. "If you think the worshipers of the God of Fire are enemies of the worshipers of The Three Men or The Winged God, you are mistaken!" he declared. "Those who have ears, hear me now! Your king has returned alive when you thought he was dead! I tell you now that when I sit on that throne, you will all be granted protection in the name of the true king!" he exclaimed aloud.

"So fight by my side, lords of the west, for the time has come for change! Support me, for the time has come to wage war on the unruly and fight for the cause of the just!" he yelled with confidence, as if touching the heart of every man inside that room. A man... I thought to myself, he is a man- no doubt.

Soon, Lord Baeron stood at the foot of his throne. With a look of admiration and respect on his face, he nodded lightly. "Well done, Ballister..." he began, "...somehow... some way... you managed to achieve the support of the west." he remarked. "You have our steel and men! The Houses of Faerelion, Blackstone, and Leros will stand by your side when you fight your war!" he declared, freeing his sword into the air.

In unison, his remaining six guards follow, and the remaining three men stand and kneel to King Orevian, who know stood high as a king... a true king. Together, the lords of the west recited their prayers:

"Letos, God of Fire and Light..." they began, "...behold, our king, whose flame we offer to you. Letos, God of Fire and Light, let him shine upon our world, filled with people of darkness and evil. Letos, God of the Eternal Flame that gives us life, may our king be as eternal as your flame, and as fierce as your fire, and as bright as the light you bring us."

In unison, they all declared the words that gave us all a chill in our spine:

"Together! The west declares their fealty to the king, Orevian Ballister, Son of King Orastor, whose fire has died! The king is here! The one who will save us all has arrived! Behold! Blessed is he who is here now in front of us, given by our lord almighty. In unison, we declare him King of the Weslands, the East Plains, the South Cradle, and the Rocklands! In unison, we crown him the Protector of The Realm! Long live the King!"