An Angel Called Eternity

Faetales and Forgotten Stories - The Oak Has Fallen: The Black Seedling

Blacktree Hall, Western Owkrestos, Klironomea.

The Seventh Day of the Sixth Moon, 830 AD.

Aertax stood by the bedside of his father. So, this was it then. The man was finally dead.

Good riddance. There was no place for such a snivelling fool at the head of one of the many Blackoak houses, let alone at the head of the very dynasty itself. There was no need for men like father.

Men like father were the sort of people that the dull-eyed and dull-witted called 'good'. The sort of men people created love ballads about. What did witless romantics know of ruling a lordly house? Of ruling half a kingdom? Very little, he would wager. Very little indeed.

Father had always had a mind for fancies. In the throes of his illness, even as he lay dying, he wouldn't stop trying to get to the damned Black Oak sapling in the courtyard. He'd needed to be drugged to his ears to stop trying to fight his way past the physician and the guards at the door to get to the bloody tree that had been his family's strangest source of obsession for so long. He had died no different from grandfather in that regard.

Well, there was no sense in staring at the man's corpse any longer. The Black Grave wasn't known to linger on corpses, not outside of peasant superstitions at least, but Aertax had no wish to remain next to it nonetheless. Besides, he had work to do. A great deal of work.

It would have to start with the matter of this 'regency council' that had been hastily put together for him. There was no chance he was willing to share his rule with a cabal of power-hungry, spineless bureaucrats. The first order of business would be showing them the door before their jobs had even begun, and then he'd see to surrounding himself with councillors of loyalty and merit, not of lordly-wannabes.

He would have a great many men and women of talent to pick from as well; house Blackoak and its appendages were vast indeed, almost rivalling the truly huge houses of eastern Klironomea in the number of living members they boasted, so it was hardly like he was going to struggle to find good talent amongst them. He needed that good talent by his side as well, for although he knew his own capabilities well he also knew that many would not take kindly to being ruled over by a boy of twelve years. He would need people who had seen more winters than he had to mollify the fears and anger of those around him when he started making sure that only the worthy took their place at his side.

He strode out of the chamber where father had been laid, and immediately set himself to move towards the council chamber where he knew that the assembled hangers-on of fathers reign were waiting to play at being lords.

Well, he hated to inform them of this but there was no vacancy for such a position. Not while he, Aertax Blackoak of Blacktree Hall, was still alive.

He motioned for Ser Tyros, a cousin of his who had served as a mentor and friend for a great many years to fall in at his side. Tyros was older than him by some considerable margin, around twenty years older, and was skilled both as a soldier and a steward. He seemed to be a good man to keep close when a bunch of artists and musicians masquerading as nobility needed to be told, in no uncertain terms, that whilst his father may have been weak enough to want their services he had no such desires for their continued presence in his halls. They could remain if they wished, but not as councillors. Not as advisors. They would be told that they would stick to their talents, or they could leave and find employment elsewhere. He would not stand for fools in his council chambers.

"It's time, then?"

He nodded at Tyros.
"It is time. Show them out, cousin."

The man nodded back once and, all but slamming the door open with far more force than was really necessary, signalled the guards outside the door into the council chambers.