L'République Otters: Eleventh Month, First Day

"Autumn comes in many names. Some call it melancholy, others call it the beginning of winter. Some liken it to beauty non-eternal, others liken it to the fanciful facing its demise."
~Caledon the Bold

Source

)0(

"Tae…"

If Lars’ expression is that of a man shocked by guilt, then Aeravor resembles an animal waiting to attack. Amused by the contrast, Sarel Aphros disrobes before both men. Lars owes her something beyond compensation, therefore she knows he won’t say anything inappropriate. As for Aeravor, she knows he would rather kill her than to rape her on the spot. Placing her crimson robe on the naked victim who had suffered a bout of demonic rape, she places a finger on her lips. Both Lars and Aeravor know what to expect.

"Ah, the flames of lust and passion burning inside," mocks the seductress who used to be Nanaya no Tae'Jin, her naked shapely body daring either to pounce.

"For you, not me," snaps Aeravor, his wary gaze never ceding ground to temptation truly flagrant even for one like him, "I’d gladly pay a whore, not you. Why are you here?"

"I’d half expect you to ask why I’m even alive in the first place," giggles the white-haired beauty, her alluring figure gliding forward with nary an effort. Lars keeps a watchful eye on the unfolding scene, for anything can happen between a volatile man and a woman equally so. Any carnal union, unlike normal cases, is definitely not one of the cards in hand.

"Such a prideful man," smirks Sarel as she takes Aeravor’s hand and places it on her chest, a whisper invading his pointed ear, "Like a wolf refusing to die a dog’s death."

With a snarl, Aeravor refuses to grab Sarel’s breast. Like fire melting ice, his strength has been sapped, his pride placed at her whims and mercy. Then fatigue is swiftly usurped by searing pain, a duel of resolve now unfolding. Tae’Jin was right. The Vánagandr is a wolf refusing to die a dog’s death. Even though he has rejected his status as one, he can never deny himself for what he is. It is a paradox, a contradiction which Aeravor would rather die than to concede defeat against. Being part of the pack and being a wolf are both different and the same. Different because he no longer has anything to do with them. Same because once a wolf, forever one. It is a war which he cannot win, but this futile act of rebellion is the only thing separating himself from an animal. And this woman is now using something factual to bait him. This is why he hates her, this is why he loves only Ji'Yeon. And this was why Ineis von Stormhearth made him both her paramour and the Shield to Dessail’s role as the Sword.

Then that bastard appears out of sudden. Though 'tis merely for an instance, there is no mistake about that man. He who is also a Vánagandr, he who also lives apart from the pack. His hair is white, long, and untied. Like Aeravor, the front is parted towards the side. Unlike Aeravor, his eyes of azure blue are not like fire but of ice. His elven sabre sheathed, a finger placed on his lips. Such a taunt is no different from what Tae'Jin did, an insult meant to ridicule the years of his life lived thus far.

"AOR!"

With a single roar directing towards his adversary, Aeravor creates an opening for Sarel to exploit. With a wicked smile unlike the leer her prey is used to giving, she pours out a fiery deluge into Aeravor’s mind. No matter how strong a fortress of ice may be, it can never stand before a flood of fire. No matter how durable the best blade of steel is, it will always be warped before the Circle of Fire.

Lars can only look on in shock, a sudden show of power throwing Aeravor off his feet. His back collides into the trunk of a nearby tree, the impact knocking the Vánagandr out cold. The victor walks with graceful steps towards her prize, the wolf at her mercy like a fallen prey before the hunter. The demon hunter knows Tae'Jin will not harm Aeravor, the three of them having Ji'Yeon as that common bridge. Even after so many years, her death still manages to restrain them. The builder is no longer amongst the living, yet the bridge remains strong. It is as if what is dead still remains alive, that the most merciful of all people in an unkind world never died in vain. Is it really the case? More likely it is an illusion woven by the hands of an enchantress called regret. Lars loved Ji'Yeon, the Cinha in return only treated him like an undependable older brother. Tae'Jin loved her, the two regarded themselves as sisters unrelated by blood. As for Aeravor…

"Ah’na has always treated you better than the rest," whispers Sarel as she locks lips with an unconscious Aeravor. Despite Tae'Jin’s never-ending protests, Ji'Yeon never distanced herself from that man. The sisters made a promise not leave each other in the lurch. That the only way for Ji'Yeon to seek her own happiness is for Tae'Jin to attain it first.

"If not for you, Lars Alterfate. If not for you, ah’na would still be mine and not his."

Fire flashing within her crimson eyes, Sarel directs her wrath towards Lars. She knows it was never Aeravor’s decision to take her sister. It was Lars pushing the two. Before one, he played the encourager. As for the other, he played the agitator. If Ji'Yeon was left alone, none of this would have happened. And that includes her current life trapped in a dead girl’s body, memories of both the host and stayer haunting her still.

"Tell me, Tae. Tell me what you’re out to do to Aera."

Any attempt to hold back his emotions must have been laughable, for Lars can sense his voice trembling with regrets and guilt. For a split instance, he had tried putting up a brave front. He attempted to fake himself without realising it, the Lars Alterfate who spent the best part of his life with the closest thing to a family.

"I will protect him. Don’t worry," answers Sarel while shaking her head slowly, "As for you, I suggest you better watch out for yourself."

With a chilling look and a statement of intent, the spiteful beauty vanishes in an eruption of crimson sparks. And together with her, Aeravor.

)0(

Karen was no fool. Her father has made plenty of enemies, the lurid reputation of Graniar Calig Tenias being synonymous with the demons so many have whispered about. While she always scoffed at things never seen, the only child of House Tenias has never doubted what was visible. Namely, the depravity of her father. She saw her mother murdered in cold blood at his hands, the resultant fear gripping her never loosening once. She witnessed little boys and girls brutally ravaged, their screams mocking her every night. Any unfortunate accident was always resolved via money and a couple of shovels, there were moments where Karen wondered when her turn would come. Not at the hands of her father, but that of other men. She was not blind. Compliments directed towards her buttocks were degrading at best, outright obscene more oft than not.

She recognised her assailant. Unlike so many harbouring a grudge unwarranted, his intent has got nothing to do with her father. He was the son of a minor noble, his father always flattering Graniar with beautiful words and maidens equally so, gifts which her father happily accepted. Unlike Karen, this was a case of father and child under the same teacher. The kind of teacher which only the world can give, a teacher called depravity. She has always scoffed at the idea of demons, yet this man to her was now truly one.

She managed to prevent her dress from getting ripped asunder, her mantle firmly wrapped around a petite frame against the wind. Autumn arrived four months ago, the cold biting deeply into her despite protection. Her mind kept returning to that moment a year ago, they were seventeen back then. He commented on her breasts. He said they’re small, but there was nothing offensive detected in his honesty. He had offended a few boys no different from her attacker, they attempted to trap him by asking how he viewed her figure.

"Erm… nice arse, small stack?"

Those were the words from Gael Kodr, words which would have gotten himself six feet underground. Karen intervened on time, the inciters forced to cough up a handsome sum as compensation. Credited to her in name, but secretly given to him. Cowards could only be only this courageous before swords drawn by armoured guards, their surcoats bearing the arms of House Tenias. She first baited them with the promise of favour behind closed doors, after which everything fell into place come the appointed time. Alas, the ruse was exposed. She underestimated the situation, her father said nothing before that shameless fawner asking questions about fake bodyguards.

It was a miracle that he has yet to penetrate her. Or perhaps he was just enjoying the process of toying with his prey before capturing her to perform the final deed. Karen could only imagine what her father would do once that animal has finished his beastly business. To be married, to be abused, to be…

She never finished that thought as she was roughly grabbed from behind. Her fingernails scratched his arm, her heel lashing out. A slap stung her cheek in reply, she felt something toying with her loins and her mind went blank. Then a roar shook her back to her senses, goosebumps caused by the impact. That sickening sensation inside her had already stopped its course, the sight greeting her was one of a wicked man yet to undo his pants and a heroic boy of her age. His features were all too familiar, his look resembling a young lion. His eyes have never changed, they were of sapphire blue. First, he vented his fury on Victis Blaem. Now he was grappling another lowlife like a mighty man wrestling with a bear. One hand was clamped against the jaw, the other arm wrapped tightly around the neck. Six years ago, he defended the honour of those who could not fight back. Six years later, he was now defending the helpless. This time around, however, Gael Kodr has matured into a man, for the cub was now a lion.

The quarry attempted to retaliate, his sturdy form contesting against a force continuously pulling him back. As the prey struggled against the predator, Karen’s eyes widened with terror. There attached to the belt was a dagger! She didn’t want to think what might happen if things went wrong, all that she could think of was Gael’s safety. As her father always enjoyed saying, better is a stab with no one looking than an army storming the gates.

The knife was drawn, the attacker’s eyes widened in the most terrifying manner. Karen Tenias could only stay seated on the ground and rooted in fear. Tears flowed along her cheeks, her hands covering her mouth. Once, twice, and thrice. Gael was now stabbed three times in the abdomen. Sure the fourth stab would kill him!

"No, Father Above, no! Please protect Gael. He does what is right, so please protect him!"

Then a sickening crack resounded loudly, a murder of crows taking flight. That sound was etched in her mind, the scenario a portrait lasting for eternity. The knave was dead. His eyes were widened and he wore a gaping look. His neck was broken, the dead body reminding Karen of a puppet with its strings severed. Death never beckoned for a righteous smallborne, for a lady's prayer was answered. Gael remained alive, Karen could never forget that countenance. For a moment, she saw the visage of a leering beast. It was that same face Gael gave to Victis Blaem, the very same features which oddly drew her to him.

"Heh… I killed someone."

Immediately, Karen knew what must be done. If word of this deed began to spread, Gael would be hanged. As a member of the nobility, she understood only too well how the rules were made and played. Finding the strength to stand up, she pulled Gael towards her. Laying hold on the back of his head, her lips met his for a lingering moment with her chest pressed against his torso.

"Listen to me, Gael," she whispered into his ear, "Let's do it here. I will testify that Karen Tenias gave her virginity willingly to Gael Kodr. My father will be angry, but I know he loves me as his sole daughter more than anything else."

"Shafting girls? Not sorry to say that I don't live for that."

Karen took a step back in shock. It was not the crude nature of Gael’s reply which forced her back. It was the understanding that Gael Kodr would rather die like a lion than to hide like a craven dog. Her heart broke this very instance. Why did she desire him in the first place? She knew right from the beginning that his heart belonged to her best friend, a false noble by the name of Alestrial Eliaden. She who was not even a Causacean. She whose heart of kindness made the smallborne ignore the fact that she’s a Cinha. A fit of jealousy briefly conquered Karen, her animosity directed towards a friend whom she knew was undeserving of such an emotion. Then she suppressed the darkness in herself.

A resigned grin was given with shoulders shrugged, Gael Kodr walked away while his wounds still bled. His front may look like an ordinary boy with nary a praiseworthy trait, but his back exposed a majestic beast. There's a Causacean saying describing such an individual: A lion amongst men.

Then something struck her. This was the first day of the eleventh month, the very same day where Garyth Parkins adopted Gael.

)0(

"I don’t like the sound of this," mutters Catterm Leen, his eyes narrowed, "Weisslynn has yet to come back from her current errand."

"Don’t worry, Catts. I’m sure she’s somewhere instead of missing somewhere."

"Gael Kodr, you retarded idiot. I really feel like punching you at times," grunts the redhead, "Do you even know your market value?"

"Erm… zero? You just called me a retarded idiot," grins Gael in a foolish manner, his attempt at dousing Catterm’s annoyance only adding fuel to the fire,

Catterm can only growl in frustration. On one hand, he wants to tell his best friend there is another girl interested in him. Yet, Karen Tenias has already bound him under an oath. That woman is a clever one, he has to give her that. Twice Gael had received a handsome sum. Once a year ago when every trainee at Mersey was given three months off, the other during that one month prior to every graduated recruit reporting to their respective divisions. The coins were nothing less than crowns, the currency used by the nobility. It gave Gael and those around him plenty of trouble, for no one knew the reason why. The authorities were alerted. In turn, they assured Garyth Parkins that the so-called "donation" was legal. Apparently, they hinted that Gael might have done something either too good to be true or outright stupid. Given Gael's ability to court trouble, Catterm believed in the latter. Lukas Brun disagreed, his conclusion leaning towards the former. In Lukas' own words, there were details making less sense than a donkey being a horse. Under the pretence of giving vital information, Karen Tenias revealed the truth. But not before…

"I can tell you who gave Gael that huge sum of money. However, the source desires all hearers to keep quiet before the beneficiary. Hence, either I bind you under the oath of silence or none shall be divulged."

"Karen Tenias… you flat-chested vixen…"

"Huh?"

"Huh what, moron?"

"I heard you muttering something about Karen and a fox… did she go hunting?"

"Yeah, she did go hunting alright. Went looking for a lion, got a useless cat instead. Happy?"

"But I thought she hates hunting?"

)0(

"Worthy of applause, young wolf."

"Shut up, old man."

"The ability to command four deums instead of merely one… what you need currently is proper training with a sword."

"Who said that? You or that queen bitch?"

"The former is already widely known. The latter… well, that would be me. Would you like some raspberries and honeyed tea to cool your fire first?"

"Eat shit, old man."

A hawk is seen soaring above the city, its shriek adding another layer of beauty. The buildings are of marble, white and with nary a blemish. Wisps of lights accentuate the current dawn, their presence illuminating the night once dusk arrives. There are no walls defending it, yet no foreign entity has ever entered its gates carved at the foot of a rocky mound upon where it is built. Twenty-six runes encircle the city of Airgetlám. Twenty-six alphabets, twenty-six symbols of power. Power surpassing even the finest army of any nation or people, the kind of power representing the long gone Age of Renown. Rising above houses and towers of ivory white is a citadel of silver, its position at the peak of the mound.

"Your Majesty, Dessail de Morte seeks an audience with you."

Before one of her handmaidens, Ineis von Stormhearth rises from her bath. Turning towards the exit, two other handmaidens robe her on the spot. Fastening a silken sash by herself, the beautiful brunette elf pushes open the doors. There before the queen of the Homm’Nua is her Sword, he whom all fear as the Executioner of Excellos. Dessail may have to carry a traitor’s brand for his entire lifetime, but there is no questioning the manner of his loyalty. Let alone the extent. No one knows how or where he learned his technique, but there is no doubting the terrifying balance struck between savage force and refined accuracy. This was why Ineis made him her Sword, whatever objection from both the Seelie and Unseelie rendered invalid. Aeravor once noted that the Unseelie were too disunited while the Seelie were too arrogant. Till this very day, she still finds it amusing that an outsider could see things like her. Paramours come and go, but the Vánagandr remains her only special one. This was why he was made her Shield instead of replacing Dessail.

Unlike his mistress clad in a robe of purple and finest silk, the Executioner of Excellos is wearing a corselet of elven steel with a longsword belted at the waist. Drachenwych is no runic weapon despite having a name, but it has claimed the lives of many wielding weapons superior to it. That was prior to Ineis convincing him to pursue another path, his bloody past as an avenger receiving a royal pardon. Nevertheless, Dessail remains a person of conflict, one who is born to fight. Excellos is a city housing the descendants of traitors, his rage slaughtering those defiling his lover both a legend and an excuse for fools to court their death. Not to mention as well the reason why he chose a path of self-exile, his choice resulting in the union of elven technique and Tamurian fury. Mayhap this was why he saw training Aeravor as something much more than orders meant to be obeyed.

"How goes the Vánagandr of steel?" asks Ineis as she takes a seat beside a birdcage, the widest view of her people's capital offered from the balcony, "Raspberries and honeyed tea for you?"

"Gesture appreciated, Your Majesty. I have no need for luxuries meant for others," replies the dark-haired elf whose youthful look belies his actual age.

"You don’t have to turn your back to me, Dessail. We’re not before the Sidhe."

As his liege’s prompting, Dessail de Morte turns around. Like all elves, he is hauntingly comely. Unlike his racial brethren, his eyes of emerald green display neither wariness nor trust. It is like a blank piece of paper, the eyes of someone never assuming the truth or a lie from anybody. And that includes the queen ruling over the Homm’Nua.

"Still alive and breathing," answers Dessail, a knee bent in respect, "However, it seems he is seeking somebody."

"Redcart," whispers the beautiful monarch, her storm grey eyes peering towards the afternoon sky, "Dealing with the rats of Redmarch can be a massive pain at times, I pity him for that. So did Aeravor find the boy?"

"Apparently no."

"Good. Send word to our brethren in the Kalaran Empire. Tell them to stay alert."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

Upon standing up, Dessail notices Ineis opening the cage. Refusing at first, the lone canary soon takes a leap of faith and hops onto an outstretched finger. As her hand extends towards the sky, the bird flies away with nary a hesitation. Freedom beckoned, freedom at last attained.

"There should be another one…"

"The other canary died," with those words, Ineis turns to face Dessail, "There can never be hope for one living with chains and forever alone. This one deserves freedom. No matter what destiny awaits."

"The bird or the wolf?"

Before Dessail’s question, there is only one answer.

"Both."

She still recalls clearly that day when Aeravor walked away. This was a person ruffling the feathers of both the Seelie and Unseelie, a lone wolf rebelling against a cruel hand dealt unto him since birth. It was a day of autumn, that season’s final month before winter made its one month stay. Since then, Aeravor has never turned back. It was the first day of the eleventh month, that very day where she freed an existence unwanted by his brethren from a prison cell.

)0(

Glossary:

Minor noble: I might have done the definition before, but I can't be bothered to check back. Minor nobles are nobles at the lowest echelon of nobility. There are three levels in the nobility caste. You have minor nobles, middle nobles, and greater nobles. Yeah, I know that's very uncreative.

False noble: Same as above in terms of doing the definition. A false noble refers to any child of nobility unrelated by bloody. In other words, a false noble is part of the nobility via adoption.

Airgetlám: The capital city of the Homm'Nua (i.e. the elves).

Age of Renown: The first age in the Crucible. Although mostly forgotten, the Age of Renown still remains as the golden age of civilisation.

Sword: In Westeros, G.R.R Martin has the Hand of the King. Most likely it's political. In the Crucible, I have the Sword. The Sword acts as the military commander of Airgetlám. At the same time, the Sword can be given absolute political in the event of any crisis. Once the crisis ends, however, that power will have to be removed due to the possibility of power abuse.

Shield: The Shield acts as the chief of royal guards protecting the elven monarchy. This power also extends to being the champion. In terms of politics, the Shield has the authority to name and shame. Unlike Xiaxue's modus operandi, the Shield's authority to name and shame also entails personal execution. As Ned had famously said...

Which means the bravest man in Singapore is the hangman of Changi.
My government outlawed execution by the sword since 1965 fyi.

Sidhe: The royal court of the Homm'Nua. Definitely, they are subjected to the Shield's authority to name and shame.

Seelie: One half of the Sidhe. They are in charge of aspects of the socio-political scene like diplomacy and domestic policies.

Unseelie: The other half of the Sidhe. They are in charge of necessary violence. By that, I mean areas like law enforcement and military.

Additional notes:

1. Airgetlám is the epithet of Nuada, the first king of the Tuatha Dé Danann. It's basically Irish mythology.

2. As for the Age of Renown, I pilfered it from Nasu.

3. Sidhe in Irish mythology refers to beings of non-human ethnicity like fairies and elves.

4. The Seelie in Irish mythology are the good fairies. Although the human standard of good differs greatly from that of a non-human ethnicity. Not to be confused with a human character in this work named Seelia.

5. The Unseelie in Irish mythology refers to the evil fairies. Again, please note what I've said about the Seelie.

6. Caledon the Bold is mentioned in the previous chapter. In fact, the tavern operated by Adine's dad is named after him. Also, Caledon is inspired by the Latin name for Scotland. Needless to say, the Scots are known to be daringly crazy. At least the stereotypical ones.

7. If Dessail's mention of Aeravor's insane ability to command four deums instead of one sounds familiar to you, it means you're most likely a fan of mine.

10. The part on "eat shit, old man" is taken from a particular scene which arguably made Sandor Clegane a household name of badassery.