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Land of Dichotomy (Original Fantasy). Chapter 3 - Emric I.
🕑 Added 2025-08-14 15:51:03 +0000 UTCThe least edgy character in this story.
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Chapter 3 - Emric I.
Light's Chapel.
4618 - 1st spring, 21.
Breathe. In and out. Calm. Steady the heartbeat and control the appearance. Feelings did not matter; only appearance did. Only how you conducted yourself mattered in court, before the powerful and influential.
That lesson had been beaten into his head, both figuratively and literally, since childhood, rarely a day passing without it being spewed in some form or another. It was one of the few things that stuck.
Which might have been why it was repeated so often.
Emric took another deep swallow of air, letting it settle in his lungs, before pushing it out through pursed lips, trying to steady the twitching of his fingers. It was going to be fine. It was. He was going to put on his newly forged fancy armor, walk down to the throne room, and accept his new position with grace and aplomb.
Yep.
Oh, who was he kidding? He was going to fuck it up, he was going to trip on nothing and fall flat on his face in front of everyone, or he was going to lose his voice in the middle of the ceremony and respond in a high-pitched squeak or, or-
The clearing of a throat from behind him cut off his spiraling descent into despair. The room he had been given the previous day to prepare was rather nice in his eyes, though he imagined most would find it luxurious. Good size with a large window placed in the east wall lets the early morning sunlight warm the room. The newly installed clear glass was kept in good condition and cleaned regularly, and a fairly comfortable bed was placed to allow the light to fall across it. Banners covered one of the walls, three of them- two depicting the Golden Sun in the proper colors of a red background, orange flames, and a golden circle, while the center cloth held the symbol of the Guardians of the Light.
Rather unusual, actually, to see a depiction that did not give the place of honor to the Sun. The servants in charge of decorations were normally very careful with stuff like this; they had to be to avoid the all-seeing eye of Matron Grifal, but he supposed the configuration made sense in this particular room.
A second throat clearing, somehow registering as annoyed, dragged his attention back from the sidetrack his thoughts were taking him again.
“Are you well, my Lord?” a soft feminine voice intoned, a quizzical note in her voice as she took in his distracted state. Her large eyes narrowed as she took in the wrinkled condition of his clothes and the hair tousled from hands running through it. A very light blue dress with white embroidery hugged her curvy body, the paleness bringing attention to her hazel gaze, curly chestnut hair that framed her face and fell to the middle of her back, covering a large part of her bust. Her skin was tan and soft, the kind of skin that appeared to have spent many hours outside in the light of the sun, and free of scars and blemishes, but for the calluses on her hands.
She was a rather short woman, barely reaching above his chest, and this only enhanced her looks, making her breasts and hips that much greater in proportion.
She was very beautiful.
Of course, he would never tell her that. Her ego would inflate to the point it could rival the most pompous of nobles, and the teasing would be unending.
“Yeah, I am fine. Completely fine. Why would I not be fine?” he knew he was rambling, yet did not seem able to stop himself.
Something softened in her eyes and smoothened the lines of her face from its look of exasperation.
“You are trembling.”
“It is excitement,” he tried to convince her, but even he had a hard time believing his faint and wavering voice.
He shied away from her further softening expression, unable to maintain eye contact with her. He did not have the nerve for this.
But then, she knew that too.
“It is almost time,” she said instead. By Azia, she knew him well.
Wait.
“Already?” he blurted out, head whipping around to stare at her. What? Where had the time gone?
In contrast to his outburst, she simply dipped her head at his inquiry.
“You need to get ready.”
Right. “Right, help me with this,” he insisted, no more room for dallying. The process of getting into all the stuff required for a full set of plate armor was rather complicated and made much easier with assistance, especially considering he had never worn this suit before. Showing the knowledge of when to speak and when to act he had come to expect of her, Rehn moved to accommodate him without comment.
The first part of the assembly to go on his bulky body was the thick, padded jacket he had already been dressed in after the bath he was woken to this morning. The pants with padded legs and thinly covered crotch region he likewise already bore, so that was the easy part. Next, the brightly polished mail shirt was dragged down his head and over his arms, falling to mid-thigh. Again, fairly painless.
Then came the actual plate.
Emric could not stop himself from releasing a shaky breath as he took in the armor, something he had avoided since he was given the room the previous night. He still struggled to believe it was his and he could touch it to his heart's content.
From where it was placed on its stand, its reflective exterior more closely resembled the perfectly still surface of a pond than it did metal, and almost exuded light, appearing to magnify it upon contact. As he had requested, the protective garment had been colored to match the light orange of the last phases the sunrise went through, highlighted with the gleaming grey of steel. The symbols of the Guardians and the Great Fire occupied the breastplate and the pauldrons, respectively, as was required.
It was stunning.
Rehn cautiously removed the first pieces from the stand, holding them like a babe in her arms, and brought them over to him.
First was the legs. Segmented sheets were attached to the top of his leather boots, while greaves and cuisses hid the rest of the leg from view, covering it behind solid steel. He immediately regretted asking for assistance with this part. It was a bad time to ruminate on how pleasing an image Rehn kneeling before him was. That would be the third most awkward erection in his life, with second place going to the time his mother entered the room without knocking last year, and it refused to disappear.
As for the worst one...
Actually, it would be the second most awkward erection of his life, after the previously mentioned one. After all, nothing of note had happened in that regard, other than that.
Ever.
And anyone who claimed otherwise was a liar and should be tossed in a cell for hearsay and blasphemy.
Luckily, the parts had been connected before Emric had to ponder suicide, with Rehn none the wiser, busy as she was being in awe of the material of the armor in her hands.
“It is so thin,” she muttered to herself as she closed off the sides of his cuirass.
“It is Sacred Steel. What did you expect?”
He could feel the heat of her glare on the back of his neck, “Sorry, millord, I don’ kno thinks lik’ tha’.” she drawled in an approximation of the broken speech pattern popular with the population of the Outer Ring, tightening the last buckle with an unnecessarily harsh yank. He flashed a grimace.
“Sorry.”
“Where did you think I would have encountered Sacred Steel before?” she questioned as she started on the bracers.
“I am not sure. Mother gave me that knife when I turned 13. You might have picked it up at some point.”
“Ah, yes, because rifling through the little Lordling's things is an excellent way to stay employed. Or for my head to keep being joined to my neck.”
“Father would not cut off your head,” he could not stop a hint of indignation from creeping into his voice. They may have their differences at times, but he was still his father.
“Of course not, that is a job for the common rabble. He would order somebody to cut off my head. He could risk getting a splinter. Or, Azia forbid, a speck of blood might stain his clothing.”
Another grimace stole across his face. That was an unfortunately accurate depiction of the man.
The last pull had his shoulder guards in place, and Rehn turned to pick up the last piece of the assembly.
Formed from the same orange metal, the helmet was as magnificent as the rest, with a rounded top that rose into a peak, and the mark of the Sun resting between the brows.
Two great horns extended from it, warping from slightly above either side of the mark, curving upwards and backward, and ending over the middle of the highest point of the base. It did not have a visor; rather, cut-outs had been formed starting at the chin, exposing most of his mouth, running up around his eyes, and with a thin extension protruding down to guard the nose. He had always found the restricted vision and enclosed nature of the more protective helmets confining and limiting, while the design he had gone with struck a decent medium.
At least he had thought so. And honestly, he just liked it, same as the horns.
Rehn turned the helmet in her hands as she made her way back to him and, with him bending his neck to allow her to reach, placed it onto his head. She stepped back to see him in his entirety.
“It suits you,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips, “makes you look powerful.”
In contrast, Emric could feel his grin threaten to tear the corners of his mouth. “I feel powerful,” his voice echoed hollowly as it bounced off the inside of the helm. Not that the feeling was surprising, it was the purpose of the magical steel after all.
He could not help the breathless laugh that escaped him as he grabbed the heavy wooden frame of the large bed, pushed up against the back wall, and, with only a single hand, effortlessly lifted it off the ground.
So this was what it felt like to be a legend.
He liked it.
With a dull and booming clack, he let the bed drop to the floor once more, turning to look for more things to try out his newfound power. He was interrupted by a rather terse reminder.
“We must be going. Now. You cannot be late.”
“You do not have to come.”
“Stop being obtuse.”
Emric released a disappointed sigh. What was the point of giving someone superhuman powers if there was no time to test them?
And how dare she insult him like that? At least he was fairly sure it was an insult. It did not sound like a compliment anyway.
But he knew that tone of voice. And she was right anyhow. He could not afford to be late, and it was better for her to be with him.
A look showed that she was waiting for him, cloth of pure white in her hands.
Right. He almost forgot about the actual last piece in the excitement of becoming superhuman.
Which was stupid. The cape was the second-best part. It was required that he wear a fucking CAPE to work! This was the best.
Turning around and bending his knees, he heard more than felt her attach it to the front of his neck. An approving nod had him grinning and moving for the exit.
A hard yank had the thick and heavy Stone Wood door almost smacking him in the face from the excess force, the hinges squealing in protest. So that was the reason for the lumber chosen.
Stone Wood was normally too heavy and solid to make something moveable like a door from it, but with the increased strength in mind, it made a lot of sense, as a regular door might have been torn out of the wall. He had wondered last night.
A nearly immediate stifled snort from behind him had him through the doorway quickly, moving at a decent clip down the wide corridors of white marble, clanging footsteps intermediately cut off by the fuzzy, long-haired carpets covering most of the floor. Thank Azia, that at least walking did not require retraining, even if he knew with certainty that a light jog would send him hurling into the nearest wall, or, knowing his luck, one of the many displayed suits of armor lining the hallways they found themselves in.
But for now, he would thank whatever gods responsible for preventing that from becoming a problem and sparing him the annoyance of having to stop every ten seconds for Rehn to catch up. He was fairly confident she was keeping up anyway. His neck swiveling upon his shoulders quite a bit farther than he was accustomed to, thanks to the damn narrow eye slots, he confirmed that, yes, she was keeping pace just fine, and without breaking character, even.
Head slightly bowed, eyes glued to the floor, half a dozen footprints in front, and hands clasped gently before her, she looked every part the demure servant, faithfully shadowing her master. No one looking at her would suspect that she had most likely dealt out more head slaps than she had words of bondage or servitude. Not that she was in any way inefficient as a servant, far from it, unless it was something truly unexpected, he did not have to say a word for her to anticipate his needs, nowadays. She was simply exceedingly rarely gentle about it.
It had been years since he had to check to make sure she was following, and the only reason for it now was the fact that he was incapable of hearing anything other than his breathing. This thing had been on his head for minutes now, and he fucking hated it.
How did the guards deal with this all day? This was his first time wearing it outside of the yard, and he already wanted to throw it out of the window.
The uncomfortable squirming sensation started in his gut again, as he could not stop himself from being thankful for the fact that he was not destined for the life of a common footman. Forced to dress like this daily, shit pay, even shitter food, and zero gratefulness. Oh, the King talked big at events like the one this morning, but in truth, it was barely about the commanding officers in attendance and had nearly nothing to do with the men supposedly being celebrated.
And if they made it through all of this, underfed, underpaid, constantly fighting somebody else's battles and only seeing their families once or twice a year, were they hailed as great heroes who dedicated their lives to ensuring the continued safety of the inhabitants of The Sunkissed Lands? Were they showered in accolades and had their deeds immortalized in song?
No, of course not. They were going to die face down in the mud, with the screaming of their companions, enemies, and horses blending into a single choir and the ringing of clashing steel, and an infuriatingly small pouch of bronze flames for the families would serve as the only epitaph they received.
He could hear the sound of hammering steel against steel reverberating around in the infernal contraption that passed for head protection at the mere thought.
It was almost enough to make him physically ill.
A small cough from his side brought him back to reality, and a glance showed that he had come to a stop in the middle of the hall. Rehn stood in the same position, the same distance from him, and did not appear to have even noticed the change in movement speed; however, previous noise had to originate from her, given they were the only ones present, except for the two guards posted at the upcoming turn and the two behind.
Had they been there the entire time?
Shit, he really got lost there. This was becoming a troubling trend.
Emric started forward again with the same even pace that had carried him this far.
But this was okay. He was in a position to make changes now.
Sure, the Guardians did not technically have any influence over lawmaking, only having command over their squads of Knights and warriors of various sizes and make. If they had any at all. Both the right to make one and the size of it were up to the King's discretion. Only the Commander and his chosen aide were provided with a seat at the Head Table. But the rest of them did have something almost equally important.
Direct access to the King.
If he were made aware of these problems, surely he would look into correcting them at least. Emric could completely understand that he was a ludicrously busy man; he had a kingdom to run after all, not to mention the various factions he had to keep the peace between and the forces of the Shadowed Plains constantly at their borders. If one were to consider all of these things, in addition to all the things going into keeping it all running as smoothly as it did, that he had no knowledge of, it made perfect sense that some things fell through the cracks and went unnoticed. And that was fine.
Emric was there to change that after all.
As the two of them rounded the last bend before their arrival at the end of the walk, a minor mystery that he was not even aware was a mystery got cleared up. As they passed the stationary guards, the metal-wrapped fist not holding on to the spear rapped against their similarly covered chest in a salute. Huh. So he had not imagined the sound. And how had he not noticed this? They must have passed dozens of guards on their way here.
He stopped, unsure of how to respond. Posted guards were not meant to acknowledge passers. So he called upon one of the few things that his mother had said, that Emric had paid attention to: Treat others as you wish to be treated yourself.
So, in that spirit, he reciprocated the gesture, striking his own breast with force. A beat and then two passed, all three of them standing in identical positions while the silence grew. He could practically feel Rehn’s glare attempting to boil his brain, so finally, he gave a small cough and started moving forward again, keeping his eyes directed downwards.
Awkward.
But this was rapidly going from troublesome to problematic. Was he starting to lose touch with reality, like Old Man Holden? He was 17, for fuck’s sake! That was much too early to go senile.
On the other hand, it could just be nerves. That made more sense, he supposed, than spontaneously developing crippling senility before his twenties. He merely needed to calm down; everything was going to be fine. Besides, they were nearly there.
Scratch that, they had already arrived.
FUCK!
The hallway they had existed mouthed out into a large room, with a couple of steps leading down into the chamber properly. At the opposite end, an identical opening was built, and in between, a large carpet had been draped, depicting a golden Knight in front of the sun and grasping a longsword buried in the chest of a blackened, armored figure lying crumbled at his feet. The bottom of the fancy rug faced a long, dark archway leading to a pair of great gates, which, if opened, provided quite the view of The Pit and its surrounding stands.
At the top of the probably horrendously expensive decorative floor-cover was a wide pair of double staircases that led to the second floor. The steps were shining, white marble, so polished that eating off them would be less dirty than using a plate, and at the bottom, a pair of metal-suited men stood watchful at either side.
At the top of the possible eating implement, there was another set of gates, though these were somewhat more reasonably proportioned. The doors were golden, of course, and the mark of The Great Fire sat center, almost seamlessly split by the separation of the individual gates, and the faithful sentries were very well camouflaged in their identically colored garments.
Emric halted in the middle of the carpet, facing the doors and their guards, and glanced at Rehn, managing to catch her gaze with his own forest green one, knowing that was the only clue she needed.
Without ever raising her head, she turned to him and gave a bow with a mumbled, “My Lord”, back completely horizontal, before passing by him to return to the room provided for them, all demure and submissive and not Rehn-like. There, she would ensure the clothing she laid out for him to wear for the feast afterward was ready.
He was still of the mind that it was the height of stupidity for her to follow him down three levels, only to turn around and go back to their starting point, for no reason other than he looked more impressive with servants shadowing him.
Even he had to admit, it gave a certain air of importance.
But he did not need those sorts of tricks after today, no matter the disappointment his mother would feel, knowing the countless lessons she struggled to get him through were ultimately pointless.
No, after today, he was a Guardian. His mere presence was going to inspire loyalty, love, lust, bravery, awe, and perhaps the slightest hint of fear would be appreciated. The days of underhanded tricks were over, the art of making polite conversation while in actuality insulting the other was unneeded, and finally, he could do away with the masks and just be himself.
His attention focused back on the two men standing before him. Both of them were staring at the walls directly in front of them, necks stiff and bodies unshifting, never acknowledging his existence. But he knew that they knew that he was there. They never moved, resembling statues more than they did humans, still and frozen. It annoyed plenty of the stuffy upper crust that haunted these halls, people who believed the whole world should take notice of their presence at all times, but he rather enjoyed them.
Many days were spent trying to get them to flinch, blink, or sneeze whenever he would escape from the cruel and unusual punishment that was lessons with Scholar Matthric. One of the smartest in the kingdom, his intelligence was only rivaled by his ability to make the most incredible, fantastic, and heroic battles sound as boring as reciting prayers.
His hands grasped the back of the helmet melting his head, and slowly pulled it off. So far, there seemed to be no problem with his new strength. That was good; it would have been bad if he had sent it flying across the throne room when it counted. It also gave him a chance to breathe, which he took gratefully, gobbling down deep swallows of air, both to cool off and to steady the nerves. The last gulp expanded his lungs before he placed the helmet back on his head.
He supposed one small mercy was the fact that he was not required to wear an arming cap, even if it did leave the actual helmet slightly loose and wobbly on his head. It was a small price to pay for not having a ridiculous woolen hat remain after the helmet was pulled off, pushing his dark brown hair flat down on his head. He could do without that kind of humiliation.
His eyelids descended to conceal his hazel eyes, and Emric let the darkness soothe him. Any second now, those doors were going to open and allow him to take his vows before his King, his future brothers in arms, and sister, who could forget Thabita the Fury, and whoever had been invited to observe. He had dreamt of this moment since he was 8, watching as Gardo the Bear, Andryric the Giant, and Holden the Holy rode through the streets, people screaming themselves hoarse in praise and admiration.
Any minute now, he was going to join those legendary ranks.
Any second.
…
…
…
This was like the start of a bad joke. Three men in armor stood frozen in a room, none of them looking at each other. It reminded him of one he had heard in a tavern once. Five men sat in a brothel: three Knights, a Scholar, and a Listener. Then one of the Listeners says- no wait! It was two Knights, one Scholar, and TWO Listeners. Then one of the Listeners says, “My cock has gotten so-”
The doors creaked as they were pulled from within.
Oh shit. Fuck. Here we go.
The gap was barely wide enough for his broad frame when he started forward, cresting the stairs with no acknowledgement of the guards. His focus was entirely on the path ahead, for once.
The difference between the entry hall and the throne room was apparent after the first step. Cold marble continued but became streaked with gold veins running towards the center, while thick, smooth pillars of a similar material shot upwards to support the roof. The hall was gigantic, sending the sound of his gait echoing loudly throughout the suddenly quiet place.
Lined up along the path heading for the center, the spectators, given the honor of being witnesses, stood, their eyes directed solely at him. He recognized most of the faces as various people of importance, Lords, Knights, and the murky level that floated around them, most often simply called that of wealth. Lady Sniror peered at him over her crooked beak of a nose, while Head Merchant Mobric watched him greedily with his small, beady eyes set in his overly large, fat, and sweaty face. Lord Klorin stood in a triangle formation with Lord Levin and Ser Farbric, closing ranks as the middle-tiers tended to do.
And near the end of the gathering, his parents.
His father’s flushed face and the way his fine tunic seemed abnormally tight, already under duress on the best of days, spoke of a man deep in his cups despite the sun only just moving from its position in the center of the sky. Standing ever faithful at his side, as always, was his mother, expressionless. Her flawless white skin was without a wrinkle, defying the ever-pressing advance of time, as a tribute to a life spent in constant, careful control. Despite the cold facade, her storm grey orbs glittered at the sight of him.
All the attention was distracting, he would admit, but it had nothing on the centerpiece. Standing to each side, five of his future comrades stood firm, two on one and three on the other. Emric knew the other three were away on some mission or another, having seen them depart. The guy in the armor almost identical to that of Zezun the Blessed must be the other newbie, the figure unfamiliar, but such information was gone from his mind as he finally came to a rest at the foot of the entire purpose of the grand cathedral they found themselves in.
After all, what was a throne room without a throne?
And what a throne it was.
A great pyramid of solid gold rose from the middle of the floor, where the streaks breaking up the marble met, step after step polished to shine like jewels, stretching a minimum of 10 meters up and four times that in width. Behind the monument, on the back wall, a great portion of the top had been replaced with gold-tinted glass, covering the area in a celestial column of colored light, as if Azia himself was reaching out and blessing the ongoings, as if it were a shrine dedicated solely to preaching his might. It was awe-inspiring. It nearly drew the eye away from the rest with its magnificence. Nearly. Nothing could detract from the flickering, billowing flames of The Great Fire.
Held up by a pillar placed behind the pyramid and equal in height, an enormous shallow stone dish rested, so big that it occupied half the room. And in this dish, a bonfire- no, an inferno- danced, casting shadows over every wall and making the unlit corners of the room morph eerily.
It was said this was part of the fire that caused the Eruption of Euphoril, scavenged by the devout and husbanded to the minor town that would one day become Shophoril. For over 4000 years, this flame had burned conscientiously and lovingly tended to by the Voice and the Ears. Legend told that as long as The Great Fire burned, The Sunkissed Lands would persevere, no matter the odds.
It had not always been located in this room. In fact, it was less than ten years ago that the King ordered the great bowl built, and the Fire split for the first time in history. From the way Emric heard it, that move caused some friction with the Listeners, who had kept it safe in the Temple since its arrival.
Such thoughts, however, were far from Emric's mind. He had his eyes locked upwards.
Silhouetted against the fire and atop the pyramid, the throne sat. With low armrests that flushed with the backrest, the chair was formed of the same material as the monument it rested upon, and, honestly, somewhat unremarkable in comparison, even if it was still grander than anything anyone besides the most wealthy would ever possess.
Upon this throne sat Epgard Shun the Radiant, perched like a surveying deity.
King of The Sunkissed Lands.
Voice and Speaker of The Great Azia.
Falling to his knee, Emric took off his helmet and placed it before him, head lowered in reverence, and crossed his arms over his breast.
Silence. Deathly, pressing silence, with only the crackling of flames to relieve the tension.
Then soft hands grasped either side of his face, softening calluses evident on the fingers. He had to fight every instinct he had to prevent any movement. How was he so silent? Was it the power of bare feet?
“You are Emric Grimtore, son of Padac and Lysra Grimtore?”
Starting with an easy one, he appreciated that. He was reasonably certain that it was a simple one, anyway. His Cyclian had never been the best, and there was rarely cause to use it, though the smooth way the musical words rang out with the King's voice made him wish he had practiced more.
It sounded very imposing.
“I am.”
“The one who wishes to join the illustrious ranks of the Guardians of the Light?” His voice was like the child of silk, wind, and honey, soft, rich, thick, and yet airy, snaking its way through his ear canals.
“I am.”
“Are you prepared to swear to uphold the sacred vows of the Guardians?”
Here we go.
“I am.”
“Do you swear to answer the orders of your King, without hesitation or second thought?”
That was somewhat of a given, seeing as he was kneeling before the King in question.
“I swear.”
“Will you give your vow to follow the commands of Azia, no matter the contents or personal feelings?”
Given that the Voice and the King were the same, that should not be too hard.
“I swear”
“Do you give your word that you will give your everything to the defense of The Sunkissed Lands as long as the Great Fire burns?”
He would.
“I swear.”
“And should the citizens of this great land be in danger, distress, or otherwise have need of you, will you answer the call?”
Oh, would he fucking ever.
“I will."
“Then rise, Ser Emric Grimtore, ninth and final member of the Guardians of the Light!”
Applause broke out from the onlookers, neither thunderous nor insulting, a polite clapping, as Emric rose to his feet, fighting the massive grin that wanted to overtake his face. When he got upright, he was met with the kind face of his King, a soft smile playing on his lips, and in his hands was a sword.
It was a beautiful longsword, the scabbard a crimson red with golden leaves decorating a good portion of its length. The golden guard was as intricate as any he had seen before, and the hilt was wrapped in red, matching that of the sheath, with the signature golden cord around it.
Emirc reached forward with carefully steadied hands to accept it, and as he did, the two men’s eyes met. The King stared into his eyes for a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity before Epgard’s smile widened a fraction, and he turned to the others.
“And now, in celebration of this wondrous man’s bravery and dedication, we feast!”
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Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed.
