Young Writers Society

This is quite possibly my favorite chapter. C: Aedaan is a very interesting character to me, one that I regret to say doesn't play an overly large role in the big scheme of things ... someday I might write more about him. For now, this is my chapter dedicated to Aedaan, and his stubbornly high-minded way of going about things.

~*~

Aedaan was quite out of his mind. Without his people, his lands, his rule, he found himself considerably diminished. Instead of the calm, efficient man he’d thought himself to be, he was becoming selfish and little, yearning after a power that was—for now—beyond his reach. And, in turn, he found himself envying the young Talon lord, who with so little power to his name managed to be so very kingly.

And that familiar! Aedaan had been astonished to find a Talon with such a powerful familiar, though that surprise had not been equal to finding that his dearest cousin, who had sworn so vehemently to smote the Talon scum, had fallen in love with the Talon lord. The world was not as it should be, and it was making him considerably uncomfortable.

He read the ancient runes until his eyes grew fuzzy and tired, and the light of the torch too insignificant to read anything by, much less see his way out. With considerable bumping and sharp exclamations of pain, he made it to the doorway, and felt his way back towards the throne room. This particular passage came out just behind the “king’s throne”—for that was what the rubble just beyond the doorway was assumed to be—and would have been, in its day, hidden with a tapestry.

He paused, however, just before the throne room, having heard a peculiar sound just beyond; and, in looking cautiously past the corner, he saw Ianna, crushed up against a wall, the Talon’s hands pinning her in place as his mouth moved over hers.

Aedaan shrank back, blinking quickly as if to dispel the image from his mind. He tried—desperately—to feel revulsion, but it did not present itself. So, instead, he drew himself up in the most kingly of poses, strode out into the throne room, and cleared his throat.

They were gone.

He stared at the place they had been for a long moment, sensing the residue of Ianna’s magic, and at length decided it was not worth the effort. He gathered his robes more firmly about him, and with only a small limp to denote his injuries, made his way back towards the camp. He found them there, sitting before the fire, hands absently entangled, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Did you find anything, majesty?” Ianna asked softly, when he settled down on the other side of the fire.

“Nothing,” Aedaan replied, scrutinizing her face for any sign of disloyalty. He found none; she looked at him as respectfully as ever, and if she smiled more, well, that was a side effect of love, wasn’t it?

“I’m off to bed, dinsatas,” Daeun murmured, rising from his place by the fire. She did not release his hand, but rose with him, and Aedaan watched as they walked, together, to where Anae lay, and laid carefully down. He was struck, suddenly, by the thought that over the last few months these three had become a family, a J’engar queen, a Talon orphan, and the leader of the Resistance—an odd, disproportionate family, but a family nonetheless.

“Sweet, isn’t it,” a gravelly voice said, and Aedaan turned his head to look at the grizzled old man who’d spoken. Fenn, Ianna had said. He gestured at the sleeping threesome. “He’s always been like that, taking in the oddest of folk.”

“J’engar,” Aedaan said imperiously, “do not mix with Talon. For too many generations we have watched your people kill ours—too many loved ones have been lost to trust you now.”

“Mistress J’engar managed it,” Fenn said bluntly. “And she hated our guts, didn’t she.”

“I do not know why Ianna has ceased to believe your destruction is required,” Aedaan admitted sourly. “Her love for the Talon puzzles me.”

“You can’t help but trust Daeun,” Fenn said mildly. “It’s his eyes, I think. His father was the same way—couldn’t come at him with a sword without falling to your knees and begging for forgiveness.” He pushed absently at the embers with a stick, running a hand across his nose. “She didn’t like it, not at first—living with us, I mean. She kept looking west. After she started helping m’lord heal the sick, she sort of settled, and that’s when the whole mistress thing began. No one calls her majesty, not in Genor. She’s Mistress J’engar to them.” He looked up at Aedaan, wrinkling his nose faintly. “Do you understand?”

“No,” Aedaan said shortly. “But perhaps, in time, I will. Explain to me the child.”

“Anae,” Fenn said, pleased. “Ah, well. She was sick, wasn’t she, and mistress laid a hand on her brow—like she’d done the others. Anae was healed, and gave mistress one of her big smiles. She followed them into the castle, and mistress didn’t have the heart to send her away. Anae grows on people like that. Pretty soon she was living there, and eating at their table, and playing with them in the garden. Everyone loves Anae.”

“And this talk of making her heir—”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Fenn said bluntly. “She’d make an excellent lady, with a temper like hers.”

Aedaan turned his face away, looking instead at the heart of the fire, which burned fierce and bright despite the lack of wood at its base. “There is one thing I must understand, Talon, before I may move on to the rest. Ianna defended him, and said that it was the will of the gods.”

“I’d hazard a guess that she meant the Goddess.” Fenn stretched his legs out, yawning. “Daeun told me, once, how he came to be our leader—he said the Goddess sent him a bit of black paper, and that when he touched it, it was as if he’d been transported to the heavens, though of course he never moved a bit. He’s received three such papers, over the years. The last was just before he and mistress came to Genor.”

Who are you to argue with the gods?

“Thank you, Talon,” Aedaan said, closing his eyes. “Leave me.”

Fenn sent Aedaan a slightly resentful look, but did as he was told, for he wasn’t a fool; he knew how powerful Aedaan was, and he wasn’t about to challenge him. Aedaan felt the resentment but didn’t care; he was still sorting through the information he’d been given.

Who am I to argue with the gods? he wondered faintly, and laid down beside the fire.