by Jeff Wilson
As if returning from some other place, and wishing in the deepest part of his soul that he had not come back to a world in which his brother was gone, Aisen became aware of where he was and what he had done. It seemed like he had lost a long extended moment, during which he had been absent; both insensible to and unaffected by the passage of time. If there had been such a moment, there was no indication that it had lasted for more than a brief instant. Beonen, still impaled on Aisen’s sword, was only now falling to the ground, and Temet was still struggling to unbar the doors.
Careful not to look at the body of his brother, who had collapsed backwards, Aisen remained where he was, resting on the ground against the pillar. The Sigil Sword was no longer producing the unusual light, but Aisen continued to tightly grip the cold metal of its hilt. He could not dismiss the idea that the instrument was somehow alive in his hand.
Unable to focus his mind, Aisen felt drawn in several directions at once under the confused influence of competing flows of darkness, all of which were drawing energy from an even more powerful underlying current. He felt it so strongly that he imagined he must yield to these forces and become something immense, if he did not wish to be pulled apart. And yet it seemed to Aisen as if he were also still incredibly small, and strangely incapable of any sort of emotion. The course, upon which the world was moving, had been altered. More than anything else, Aisen was certain of that one fact, for he could feel it all shifting, seeking stability, and trying to settle into a newfound semblance of balance.
Strength returned to his body, and Aisen used it to stand, slowly maneuvering his tired frame until he was back up on his feet. He felt strange, and he was worried over maintaining his balance, but the faint unsteadiness he was experiencing was not felt by his body or in his mind. It existed on a deeper level, far beneath the surface.
Beside the doors, Temet continued to fail in his attempts to lift the heavy beam out of the supports. As Aisen watched these struggles, he saw how important Temet would be in the days to come. The young man was the only living witness to what had taken place here, and the story he shared, would profoundly impact not only Aisen, but everyone in Nar Edor, and perhaps go much further than even that. Temet turned to look at Aisen for just a moment then, as if he had felt the pressure from of the heavy scrutiny he was under. The terrible sight of Aisen, standing straight and bearing the bloody marks of battle, inspired a fear that gifted Temet with the strength that he had been lacking. In a desperate panic he managed to lift the beam free. The heavy length of solid timber made a series of soft sonorous echoes as it rebounded several times on the floor.
Pushing the fallen beam clear, Temet yanked the doors open. A crowd, having heard the sounds of fighting, had gathered at the entrance. Temet rushed forward, knocking people out of his way, begging them to let him through. It was the last Aisen would ever see of Temet. Once the way was clear, Temet, a not unimportant son of House Afnere, began to run. Fear had taken him, and it would not release its hold until he was out of the chapel, well clear of Alsegate, and if possible beyond the borders of the entire port city.
So remarkable was the terrible fear that had overcome Temet, that the eyes of the men and women assembled together in the chapel were drawn towards him when he had first opened the doors, and they had all then continued to watch him as he ran. It was only after he had gone that they turned back to look upon the scene from which Temet had run.
Bodies lay in spreading pools of blood, positioned as if with intended disaccord around the sarcophagus in the center of the room. The walls of the chamber, as well as its several pillars, had also all been decorated in sprays of red, and Aisen stood in the midst, the craftsman whose proficiency had so transformed this hallowed space. Covered now by the medium in which he had worked, the light from the torches in the back of the room danced atop Aisen’s shoulders, making his armor appear fluid, and its color made red from the blood of his enemies.
Aisen saw the fear in their eyes. Nar Edor had known more than forty years of internal peace, and a scene like this one, which elsewhere and in other times could ever be found on an active battlefield, had become distant and remote to them until this moment. Some of the fear, was of the ordinary kind, and those affected by it slowly backed away. But a greater part of the crowd remained where they were, concerned not so much over their immediate safety, as they were made weak under the comprehension that this was the man to whom they owed oaths of loyalty, and to whose power they were all unavoidably subject.
They would obey him, out of fear and respect, but these people would never love him. They owed him no such devotion, for in turn he had no feelings in his heart for the people of this city, who had been unable to accept him as one of their own. And their fears were not misplaced. They were a distorted reflection of Aisen’s own deep apprehensions. His impending rule would bring about conflict, suffering, and war, all in consequence of the events that had just taken place. Looking into the crowd, Aisen imagined that he saw the lives that would soon be cut short. Many of these people it seemed, had no futures, and those that did, were about to be swept up under by the currents of violence and upheaval that would overtake all of Nar Edor.
Under their intense stares, to which he found himself the sole and singular focus, Aisen also turned his attentions inwards towards himself. He perceived his nature, the source and object of their fear, more deeply than they could have known. What he saw of himself caused Aisen to recoil against a fate that he could not accept. But no matter how he tried, he could not see his way clear of it.
To survive, even a short while, Aisen would have to leave behind the man which he believed himself to be. The choices, which he would face, would be like those he had been forced to make today; He would kill his enemies and consolidate his strength, or he would die. The losses he would experience, and the suffering he would endure, would fill his heart with hatred, and make him an enemy of better men. He knew this with an unavoidably surety, and saw with such clarity the poisoned shapes that were forming about him, that Aisen could not dismiss these premonitions as the troubled musings of his tired mind. These changes, in one form or another, were going to happen if he was allowed to follow his grandfather in the rule of House Edorin.
Whether he lived or not in the days that would come, and Aisen did not want to die, he could no longer remain the same person he had been before today. Together with the grandfather and the brother he had just lost, Aisen mourned also his own death. He believed that he was sobbing openly, but no sound of protest escaped from Aisen’s lips, and no pain made its way to the determined expression on his face. He felt something break deep inside, and though he did not understand what it was, Aisen knew that he had been irretrievably changed.
With a calm confidence that betrayed none of the anguish which he felt, Aisen began to step forward, travelling straight down the center of the chapel. Those that had not already done so, backed away as he approached. Everyone kept well clear, receding into the arched aisles that ran along the walls. The metallic sounds made by the plating of Aisen’s armor, sections of which were heavily damaged and hanging loose, were clearly heard above the muffled noises of shifting fabric and back treading footsteps across the stone floor, produced as people anxiously moved out of his way.
Aisen felt as though he were in a trance, sustained only by external forces, which gave him for the moment, the barest presence of mind and just enough strength to leave this place. But that is not what others saw. They saw the grim visage of a force against which there could be no opposition, a man who looked past them all, and a power that would dominate everything in its path.
Already, some made plans to offer support, and seek out Aisen’s favor. Others, most especially those few with some knowledge of the plot, which had just now failed in an extraordinary way at displacing Aisen in favor of his younger brother, knew that they were in danger. Fearing discovery, they thought only of how they might escape. If they could get safely beyond the bo
rders of Edorin lands, they could go to the capital and seek protection from King Eivendr. No one else would be strong enough to stand against this bloody Rendish terror of a prince, who would surely seek retribution for what they had done.
After Aisen exited, disappearing beyond the covered terrace through which he first entered, the crowd of mourners began to relax, noticing only then how they had all collectively held their breathing in check. One of them began to speak, other voices followed, and then a frightful tumble of continuous sounds rose up through them. In attempting to determine what had happened and what it all meant, a few men, possessed of enough resilience in such things, began to survey the scenes of death and violence at the end of the building. During these inspections, were made the first mentions of the words Blood Prince in connection to Aisen. Whether this title had been made in reference to his mixed parentage, or to the aftermath left in the wake of the violent combat in which he demonstrated so much skill, would later become a subject of debate, but in truth it did not matter which, for both were clearly appropriate.
As is the
