Servant Ambrosius
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Befitting of a King
🕑 Added 2024-09-02 04:30:47 +0000 UTCPJO World
The Winter Realm, The Winter Fort
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The words on the screen, meant to celebrate his triumph, do nothing to excite Aemon as he stares at them. 16,600 CP in total now and Aemon cares not for them, at least not yet. For he has not found a use for them yet.
Dismissing the screen, he stands from the bed, his body screaming in protest through the entire endeavor. Still, pain is an old friend of his and it does not stop him from standing until his right hand makes contact with the bed and an unbearable burning pain the likes he has never felt before causes him to stumble back down, a scream escaping from his throat before he can smother it.
Bringing his hand to his eye he cannot help the snarl that grows on his face. His right hand has been burned black and heavily scarred beyond repair. He knew the burn would be bad but he had been hoping against hope that the scar would be light. Unfortunately there is only so much that hoping can do for him.
“It is not merely your hand.” says the Other, drawing Aemon’s attention to him. “Your spirit has been scared by that flame, and while it will not do irreparable damage to you it will henceforth make the mystical arts of the healing variety far harder to enact from henceforth.” he explains.
“I was never much for the healing arts anyway.” says Aemon as he stands, avoiding touching his hand to any surface. “Still, at least my hand is functional.” he adds while clenching and unclenching his fist, wincing all throughout.
Before the Other can reply the door to the chamber is opened and two castle guards and four knights of the Royal Guard enter the room, spears at the ready to maim any opponent.
“Your Majesty!” exclaim the knights as they kneel upon seeing Aemon unharmed.
Seeing the guards enter nearly a minute after his scream, Aemon is tempted to harshly reprimand them. Messmer may be dead but they do not know whether his loyalists have all surrendered. However, the matter will be left up to their commanders to deal with.
“Have clothes brought to me.” he commands.
“At once.” replies one of the castle guards as he rises and quickly exits the room with a bow.
Turning to the remaining knights, Aemon cannot help but ask, “How long have I been indisposed?”
“No more than twelve hours, your majesty.” replies one of the knights, causing Aemon to nod with a thoughtful hum.
“And the battle?” he asks with a frown. Falling unconscious immediately after slaying Messmer was shameful and dangerous. Unfortunately seeing Percy strike down Vortigern and the reassuring presence of his Black Knives lurking in his shadow had allowed him a brief moment of respite; a brief moment of respite whereupon his will momentarily faltered and he succumbed to injuries of the battle.
Still, Koios’ eye, or rather his new eye, had named all of his knights and commanders true in their loyalty to him as the new King of the Unseelie Court.
“The battle was won, your majesty.” replies the knight, bringing Aemon out of his thoughts. “We suffered many injuries but no losses according to the gossip.”
“No losses?” asks Aemon with a narrowed eye. That does not sound right. By his estimate even if Rellana had been occupied by Malenia or one of his commanders Vortigern’s rampage should have slayed a few of his knights and even more should have fallen to Messmer’s Fire Knights and his Black Knights.
“Vortigern’s rampage was centered in the throne room before he was pushed out by Perseus. And his Black Knights and Fire Knights surrendered soon after The Impaler’s death. As for Lady Rellana, she was captured by Princess Malenia.” explains the knight.
“I see.” remarks Aemon with a nod. The outcome so far has turned out better than he had hoped, now if Reina and Eredin were to return victorious then all would be perfect.
“There is another matter that I believe your majesty would be interested in.” says another knight. “Your dragon companion, Caraxes, has emerged from The Dragon Necropolis and taken flight.”
The news excites and intrigues Aemon. Through their bond he feels Caraxes’ wellbeing and emotional state, however unless he delves deeper into the bond he cannot know more. And now that the thought has entered his mind perhaps the muted rage is not his own but Caraxes. Still, Caraxes is nearly grown and lest he is harmed Aemon has no plan to impede his movements. The dragon may be wild and vicious but he has learned that anything not livestock is off limits unless told otherwise.
Before Aemon can ask another question the guard who had previously left returns with another fey. This one is male, short in stature and somewhat resembles the Children of the Forest if their heights exceeded five feet.
“Your majesty.” greets the short fey with a bow. “I am to be your personal servant for the foreseeable future.”
“And who has assigned you this task?” questions Aemon.
“The Royal Family’s household and the running of the Winter Fort’s workers is under the purview of the head of the Autumn Court, currently it is Lord Miquella. Of course when your majesty has found himself a consort such matters can be handed over to them.” explains the fey, drawing Aemon’s interest. Evidently Mab had thought such matters unimportant and had not included them in her crash course on the Unseelie Court. Which begs the question, what else did she omit in her lessons.
“And you? What is your ranking amongst the workers of the fort?” asks Aemon.
“As head of the servant staff I am naturally your personal servant unless commanded otherwise.” replies the fey.
“I see…and what is your name?” asks Aemon.
“Hersam, your majesty.” says the fey.
“Very well. You are dismissed.” says Aemon to the guards before turning to Hersam. “As you can see I am in need of clothing.” he tells Hersam, earning a small smile from the fey.
“I had anticipated such, your majesty, and had the staff prepare a variety of clothes befitting of you based on your preference according to your companions.” says Hersam before making his way to the wardrobe.
“Young Perseus was most insightful when it came to your choice of colors and symbols while the nightwalker, Simon I believe, provided us with the necessary style.” explains Hersam as he unveils a wardrobe full of black, red, white, silver, gray, and oddly enough blue clothes.
Some of the clothes possess dragon scale motifs, others possess fur, and some are clearly meant for warmer temperatures.
“Had we the time the dragon scale motifs would be made with real dragon scales. Alas we had to make do with the limited time. Of course, should you wish for it, it can be corrected, but the clothes would not be ready for another sennight. Dragon scales are such a difficult material to work with.” sighs Hersam, causing Aemon to smile.
“You do not do anything by half do you?” asks an amused Aemon.
“I pride myself on stellar fashion and I shall not have my King trapeze around in naught but the best.” replies Hersam.
“Very well, what do you suggest for today?” asks Aemon.
“Well, it is the day after a major victory and as such pride must be what is conveyed through your attire. I suggest a short red tunic with dragon scale motif on the forearms and shoulders, a long sleeveless black surcoat over, and the standard black breeches and boots. To finish off we add a single shoulder cape pinned in place with a direwolf pin, a single glove for your right hand, and a silver dragon signet ring on your left hand.” suggests Hersam, causing Aemon to raise an eyebrow.
“Red? The color of Messmer?” asks Aemon.
“As you are not one for ostentatious showings wearing your enemy’s color after slaying them will have to do, it does help, of course, that red is also the color of your patriarchal house; otherwise the idea would not have worked. Of course we can always resort to wearing your enemy’s skin, but I have it on good authority that you frown upon such a practice.” replies Hersam.
“I like him.” remarks the Other with a cruel smirk. Aemon wonders how many of his descendants agree with that thought for the emotion to be conveyed on the Other’s face.
“I am not a Bolton, I have no interest in wearing my enemy’s skin.” Aemon tells Hersam and the Other.
“Understandable.” says Hersam before beginning to dress Aemon, taking care not to aggravate his wounds or remove the bandages over them. Unfortunately nothing can be done about his right hand and only through willpower does Aemon stop himself from showing any reaction.
When Aemon is fully dressed Hersam makes to take Longclaw from where it leans but remembering the sensation of him using Conqueror’s Haki, or rather Conqueror’s Presence as his ancestors have named it, Aemon summons the sword to him and effortless straps the sword belt around his waist. As he does so an unbidden memory of Sung Jinwoo’s Ruler’s Authority rises to the forefront of his mind causing him to smirk.
From his previous display and the display during his battle against Messmer, Aemon realizes that thus far he has been too rigid in the use of his powers. He has been approaching them with the mindset of Jon Snow, one who is unfamiliar with the concept of manhwa’s and anime. He will have to change that mindset if he wishes to make the most of his abilities.
“Marvelous.” admires Hersam, and Aemon cannot tell whether he is admiring him or his display of power. “Now for your hair.” he says.
“What is wrong with my hair?” asks Aemon with a raised eyebrow.
“Nothing. The way it flows down to your upper back with such luster is simply beautiful. However, more can be done. Which is why I had this made.” says Hersam as he reaches into a shelf in the wardrobe and brings out a silver crown in the exact same fashion as Aemon’s iron crown.
“As long as one accessories, there is nothing wrong with simple fashion.” Hersam says as a small wind carries him in the air for him to place the crown on Aemon’s head.
As he floats back down to the grown he nods his head in appreciation.
“Worthy of the King of the Unseelie Court.” claims Hersam with a clap, earning a chuckle from Aemon.
“Good work, head steward.” says Aemon as he leaves the bedchamber and makes his way towards the throne room, the guards stationed outside of his room falling in step behind him.
“Alert all that I am awake and that they are summoned to the throne room.” commands Aemon.
Feeling the wind gently brush through his hair despite being inside, Aemon knows that his order shall be carried out by the unseen wind spirit.
Even before entering the throne room Aemon can see the devastation brought about by Vortigern’s rampage. The ceiling has been completely caved in, the statues demolished, the walls and windows lying in pieces around the room. Not even the Winter Throne has been spared for its seat and armrest are fractured and broken. Had the Winter Throne still been the anchor of the Realm the Winter Realm would have begun to fall apart, leaving the fey of the Unseelie Court homeless or perhaps even dead.
It makes Aemon wonder if Messmer’s true purpose was the destruction of the Court. The loyal son who turned himself into a weapon for his mother’s wishes is spurned and betrayed leading him to return in order to destroy all she has ever worked to create. It makes sense in a twisted sort of way.
As Aemon enters the throne room he finds that all have already gathered and await his presence. Even Eredin and Reina have returned from their missions, successfully too judging by their demeanor. Nodding in greeting towards his chat group members, Aemon makes his way to the Winter Throne, stopping only at the foot of the raised dais.
“The Winter Fort is no more.” says Aemon without turning to face his subjects. “In this war for the throne the fort and the throne did not survive. Still it is a small price to pay for an absolute victory. We have injuries, aye, but we suffered no fatalities.” he tells them while taking off his silver crown.
“This fort, this throne, are a symbol of a bygone era. They are a symbol of a different time. True they represent the Unseelie Court, and I am sure that their destruction brings many of you sorrow. However, do not despair!” says Aemon as The Winter Crown of iron manifests itself upon his brow.
“As long as this crown rests upon my brow the Court shall live on!” screams Aemon as his people unsheath their swords and roar to the heavens.
From the sky a dragon’s roar joins them before Caraxes lands behind Aemon and with a screech reminiscent of a weapon powering up sets the raised dais on fire with crimson flames tinted with white. Outside the howling of wolves and the caws of ravens join the sound of cheering fey and roaring flames.
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PJO World
The Winter Realm, The White Fort
The White Fort, once the most defensible fortress in the entire Winter Realm. Ruled by the house second only to the royal house, The Winter Court. Now it melts under the neverending crimson flames Caraxes.
The dragon came no less than ten hours ago, and with no warning set the fortress ablaze, killing all within the fort. Even now, despite the majority of the castle having melted, the fire persists still, serving as a symbol of what is to come to any that dares to persist in their foolish thoughts of rebellion. The members of House Cumhail had once claimed themselves to be second to none, now they claim nothing.
Author's Note: Here's the latest chapter. As usual, tell me what you guys think.
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