Infaustus
--The Unlucky One--
Deprive a mirror of its silver and even the czar won't see his face.
-Russian Proverb
“The glass, get me the glass.”
Aetius rushed to do his master’s bidding, navigating the idiosyncrasies of the man’s personal chambers, to find one of the round, reflecting plates. The sparkling handle of one glittered in the gloom, and Aetius snatched the thing, and scampered back the way he came.
His master was crouched over some letters, his good hand clutched the edge of the parchments, making his knuckles blossomed a ghostly shade. There was a frown impressed on his face, and his dark eyes were narrowed into slits, like a cat‘s. It was not the first time Aetius had compared his liege-lord to a great cat.
The purple bruise on his master’s cheek was starting to swell, and through it ran a fresh gash bright against his fledgling beard. Aetius started for the wound, and thought better of that, and handed the glass over instead.
The man was staring still at the letters, his frown depressing deeper, his knuckles getting whiter. He made no sign that he noticed Aetius or the glass.
“Sire?”
His master looked up to him, and flashed a crooked smile; the one that he was most famous for. Most of the tension was gone from his face. “Thank ye, Aetius.”
When his master took the glass from him, Aetius retreated to his common place by the door. Glass in hand, the man proceeded to poke and press at the bruises on his face. He hissed and flinched away from his own fingers when he nudged the puffy wound on his cheek. Sallow pus oozed from it, and Aetius was immediately at his side to offer a ragg*. The blue cloth was the only piece of finery Aetius owned; he carried it wherever he went.
His master made a noncommittal gesture. “Laddybuck, I would rather you see to it, I aim to be all thumbs to-day.”
Aetius held his lord’s face by the chin, and proceeded to dab at wound with the cloth, letting it sup up the blood, grime, and pus. It would have been better if there was plastrum medicalis or even water to tend to the damage, but Aetius knew from experience that none was kept on hand. For some reason Aetius still was blind to his liege’s preference against the local alchemists.
The man’s face was rough under his hand, and Aetius tried his best not to cause any more pain, he knew to well what aches and throbs could do to ones countenance. Aetius was near finished when one of the guard men appeared at the open door.
He was broad and square like most of the hired guards, and spoke slowly as if forming words was a slight hardship. “Good Sire, Merlin would see ye now.”
Aetius was waved away, as his master unfurled. “Go. Tell him I will see him anon.”
Now that his lord was upright, Aetius stepped back, and tucked the cloth away. He fought the urge to be excited, and flee the man‘s presence. If Merlin had returned to Dinas Emrys, so had Pendragon, and with Pendragon, his entourage. There was one of Pendragon’s that he was yearning to see and the Stones of the Giants were no match for her. But, as any good servant, Aetius would wait until his master gave him leave. The want that filled him itched at his skin, but he did not fidget no matter how much his fingers craved to do so.
His master had retrieved the parchments, and sauntered toward the door. When he spoke to Aetius, it was low and stringent, like the sibilance of a snake‘s hiss. “Find Uther.”
Aetius found Uther in his quarters, though it was not particularly astounding that he would find the man there. During the course of Aetius villenage, he had never known Uther to stray far from his bed unless there was a tourney, festival, or questing to be done. As Uther was his master’s brother, Aetius should have sworn allegiance to him as well, but had neglected that small overture because he felt the man was too covetous and too foolish in his exploits. The fact that he had singular power over the one person Aetius cared for most was least endearing concept of all. Though he had never made his dislike for Uther clear, Aetius usually abstained from his presence.
The man in question was lounging comfortably, entangled in a blanket. Aetius almost frowned, it seemed the man worked rather fast.
“Sire. Your presence is requested.”
The man narrowed his eyes, as he flippantly looked to Aetius. “Ambrosius requires it?”
“Yes, sire.”
“I must come, anon, I suppose.”
The man made lagging moments to right himself, before dressing himself just as languidly. Aetius chose not to offer any help. If he could have had his way, he would have dragged the cur from his bed all the way to his lord’s feet.
Aetius led the way to Merlin’s quarters, Uther trailing behind him, and when they neared the door, Aetius could hear the voices -- Ambrosius and the wizard Merlin were speaking.
“Are you convinced?” It was his lord’s voice, laced with worry.
“I am. I have seen the signs before, dragons are the harbingers of change, and one so clear can not be overlooked.”
Aetius, having heard the tale of Vortigern, and the battle of the dragons Merlin had witnessed under Dinas Emyrs, was curious. The wizard saw another sign? Dragons, in Aetius opinion, were never a welcome gift, even if it was just was mirror of the creature.
“Death is not the only change a man endures, Merlin.”
He heard a sigh, before Merlin answered. “But, it appears the only permanent one. I am sorry, boy, that I do not have more admirable news.”
Before Ambrosius could say more Uther came barging around the corner and into the room. Aetius quietly filed in behind the large man. He noticed that his master did not reprimand his brother’s lack of protocol, but gestured to the letters that were set on the table before him. Aetius was glad to see the swelling on his lord’s face had reduced, and the wound look to be healing.
“Ah, brother, good of you to join us. It seems not only the women in your presence that must be under lock and key but the sheep as well.”
Aetius saw Uther stiffen at the comment and he smirked at the man’s discomfort.
“More, and more of my subjects are demanding satisfaction for your escapades, brother.” Ambrosius held up his hand to stall Uther’s retort. “We can deal with that, we have this to discuss, now.”
A large map that lay besides the letters, the marks, Aetius knew, were where the new Stones would be placed.
Merlin was sitting in a chair on the other side of the table. The wizard was dressed in animals skins, his extensive, mottled beard and hair hiding most of his face.
“Aetius.” Aetius turned as his lord addressed him. “I’ve no need of you here, you are at liberty for the time.”
Aetius nodded, and retreated from the room; wizards and the kin of kings had this way of making him feel very uncomfortable.
She was combing out her hair, seated cross-legged in a chair, in front of her standing glass when he arrived. At the sight of her, after so long, he was caught her beauty, and the life in his lungs escaped and his intentions of speech were lost; his attention was captured. Her hair was the color of rich honey, and it curved and flowed like the lines of her body. Her eyes were set in a heart shaped face, that belied the fire underneath. The most amazing thing about her face, though, was her lips, how he could always tell her mood by the way they were set. He was mesmerized as he watched her slender hand stroke the comb through her tresses.
“Is someone there?”
He was startled by her voice as she called out, but soon regained some composure, and entered into the room. “Yes, Evadne, ‘tis I.”
She stopped her grooming, and placed her comb on the stand which held the glass. When he swept forward, he could see the glimmer of his own being in it.
It had been so long, and, true, it was not in his nature to be the most patient of men, so Aetius picked up the comb, continued to brush her hair, feeling it soft and warm in his hands.
Honey, he thought and not for the first time, she must be made of honey. Fixated on her pale neck, he bent down to kiss it. She even tasted like honey. He, then, began to blot kisses along the elongated line of her neck.
She giggled as he did so. “Aetius, some one will see.”
“You mean, he will see. Do not fret, he is ineffectual.”
She raised a sculpted eyebrow at that. Aetius flashed her a grin, and chuckled. “None of my doing, woman.”
She sighed, and pushed him away. Confused, Aetius dropped the comb from his hands.
She extricated herself from the chair, and bent down to pick up the comb. Before Aetius could ask what he had done wrong, she had turned back to him.
She was undoing the ties on her dress.
Aetius gawked at her forward gesture.
“What?” Her eyes narrowed at his pained expression.
He tried to force his brain to work, to answer her but nothing came to his lips.
Then she started backwards towards the bed . At last she grinned, and let the dress fall. “Oh, Aetius, I doubt the both of us would have fit in that chair.”
Aetius sighed, and snuggled closer to her. “What exciting tales have you to tell me?”
He could hear the initial excitement in her voice. “The Stones are the largest I have e’er seen. But nothing was most weird than the return.“
She had stopped speaking then, and he felt her stiffen.
“What happened?” he prodded.
He heard her take a deep gulp of air. “Oh, in a shimmering thunder of fire a dragon appeared like the sun in the sky.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and Aetius felt her shiver, and the hairs on the back of his neck were raised. Dragons.
When he did not reply, she poked him in the ribs. He twisted towards her, “What?”
She raised her fingers to touch his forehead, “The creases are back, something distresses you.”
He frowned. “Have I such a betraying face?”
Her face was solemn. “I like your face.”
He turned her in his arms, and tightened his hold around her, then he rested his chin on her shoulder. At last he grunted, “It is but a thought… Dragons are unlucky.”
“Unlucky? Are you afraid, Aetius?”
He had been struggling with that same sentiment ever since he had heard his master’s talk. It had bothered him, that the conclusion was so far buried from his sight.
Did he fear for his lord? Had his lord not ruled well, and good, and been well and good with Aetius? Or was his fear that Uther should rule? And what of Evadne? What of his own self? Did his disregard for the rest make him selfish?
“No… yes, I suppose, yes.” The words were sticky in his mouth.
He felt her burrow against him further. Her voice was small when she spoke. “’Fraid for the King?”
“Yes.” Aetius mumbled into the crook of her neck.
“Oh. Well, father would say, the manner of a man’s fate is not just his own but of every man he has defeated. He will not go from this world unsated, I think.”
“It is not only my liege whom I vex over.” He murmured.
She squeezed his hand, and then snorted. “And I take comfort that, my love.”
*ragg = rogg = rag
HISTORICAL/FANCIFUL/MYTHICAL BACKGROUND
Ambrosius Aurelianus was the leader or high king of the Romano-British during the 5th century. He is featured in many myths and legends, as well as writings by Saint Gildas and Geoffrey of Monmouth. In Historia Britonum there is featured the story of the two dragons beneath Dinas Emrys, "Fortress of Ambrosius", the story is later retold by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Myth time! Vortigern was high king at the time and he was trying to build his fortress, Snowdon, but it kept collasping. Merlin informed Vortigern that there was a lake underneath it, and that was the reason it kept collasping. When the lake was drained, Merlin saw two dragons - one white, one red. The red one won prophesizing Vortigern's downfall. Ambrosius then defeats Vortigern and conquers Britian. Uther Pendragon, Ambrosius's brother, then conquers Ireland. Merlin travels to Ireland to retrieve the Dance of the Giant's Stones, to take them to Britian, and create Stonehenge. One the return trip, a star in the shape of a dragon fortells Ambrosius's death, and the kingship of Uther, and the kingship of Uther's future son, who would become Britian's greatest warrior, and unite the people.
