The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Six

The visions began to fade away, as the great black seas that surrounded Astriel began to melt away around her and the bright beams of sunlight fell from the skies around her and rested against her sweat drenched cheeks. She awoke with a gasp, clenching at her stomach and shivering with a burning coldness. She quickly reached into the darkened room and fumbled for a bottle, brought it to her lips and drank the putrid smelling medicine in a large forcefully gulp. She struggled to keep the liquid down, tangy and staining her tongue a deep bronze color, as she fought back several heaving breathes. She let her arms fall to her side, long thick rivers of sweat branching across her forehead, and controlled her breathing slowly. She let her eyes adjust to the dull morning light, the few beams of sunlight dancing across her bed and across her face offered little other than annoyance to her. She looked to her left, an empty chair sat beside the bed.
A moment or two passed, until through the darkness Astriel's ears tuned themselves to the quiet settled breathing of a unseen visitor. She looked down the bed and towards the fireplace, but her weariness and the lack of light prevented her from seeing anything other than a vague indefinable outline hunching over the dying embers and stirring a pot.
She quietly moved her hands, feeling around for her daggers. They weren't there. She tried not to panic, tried to remember her training. But her training had never engaged with this scenario, and therefore she resorted to an abrasive action of smashing the bottle against the bedside table and pointing it towards the visitor.
'Take another step bastard and I'll cut your throat.' She said, summoning as much strength as she could. It wasn't all that much, she struggled to lift herself upright and had to use her arm to prop herself to a suitable angle. The stranger turned from the pot quickly, obviously surprised. It was a slender figure, and Astriel could now make out the outline of a fine fitting dress and coronet atop it's head.
'My Lai?' The Archer enquired, slowly lowering the bottle.
'Yes Astriel. Please, put down the weapon.' Said the Queen, taking a few cautious steps forward, her hands out in front of her.
Astriel let the bottle fall, and sighed a deep relief.
'I thought you were-' She began.
'An assassin?' Interjected the Queen with a wry smile as she took the empty seat beside the bed. 'I'm flattered you think of me as so ferocious.'
Astriel laughed, though it was dampened with coughs and splutters.
'In your youth perhaps. Though I still think you'd give any knight or mercanary a run for his money.' She said, again coughing. The Queen placed a hand on the girl's head, took a moment and nodded to herself.
'What?' said Astriel confused.
The Queen got up, moved back over the fireplace and began to stir at the pot that sat in the embers. 'I've spoken with the Maester, they believe you are suffering with a fever. We must calm it, before it takes full hold of you.'
Astriel felt her heavy chest and winced. She watched as the Queen further stirred the pot, before removing it from the embers and bringing it closer to the bed.
'It smells foul. What is it?' Asked Astriel.
'Meldew leaf and spices. It will help, I promise.' Said the Queen in as comforting a voice as she could muster. She took the stirrer, held the pot close to Astriel and fed her the softly bubbling concoction.

Brodon stood atop a large wooden platform which overlooked the inner courtyard of the castle. Below him stood several knights, each holding a large spear towards the disgraced Lord Greynire who was stood defiantly in ragged garbs. The air was cool, the sun was beginning to rise in the West but the courtyard was still dull and filled with shadows. There was a rhythmic wind coming from the South, and the Royal banners fluttered and whipped as they caught the tides against them. As the lifeless body of James Condor was slowly lowered to the ground the King watched the three condemned men closely. He had chosen against a public execution, instead he gave the men a last shred of dignity. The executioner stripped Padstone Relmy, the man shivered in the morning air, he frantically looked around as he was led up the crude wooden steps towards the trapdoor. He was chained around his ankles and wrists, but his collar was removed relieving the harsh bruising underneath. Brodon stared at the man, and the man met his stare with a vengeful stare. The man spat at his feet and barred his teeth to the King. Behind him Arch Chancellor Velgar stood, he gave the man a moment to look around him. He saw no friendly faces, even his family had rejected the invitation, and had sworn an allegiance to the Crown and renounced any involvement in the plot against the Archers.
'I ask you this, Padstone Relmy, speak now or forever hold yourself until you meet with the Gods.' Velgar announced.
Silence.
The King nodded to Velgar, and Velgar gave the word to the executioner. The rope was placed around the man's neck, tightened and then adjusted a final time. A moment went by, and the King watched as the man began to quiver in fear. The door was released, and a faint gurgling echoed around the place. The man's legs kicked wildly for a minute or so, before once again silence resumed. Lenren walked a few steps forward, resting his arms against the barrier and leaning forward to see down into the yard below. He watched as the body was lifted and the rope removed.
'I hope to the Gods that days like this are at an end.' Brodon murmured to him.
'I hope so too, my King.' Lenren replied. He turned, and met with Ramon's disapproving gaze. Lenren knew all to well about the rumours that had began to circulate as well as the thoughts of his own friend. There was a number of people who believed that the King would only find himself in this position more and more as the years went by. Peace and prosperity could only reign so long, and if the usage of the Archers was to continue, then more and more rebels would voice an opinion. It was the way of things, and it would be so until the end of days. The King gave another nod, and Greynire was stripped and led up the stairway just as his three conspirators had been.
'I ask you this, Elson Greynire, speak now or forever hold yourself until you meet with the Gods.' Said Velgar. There was a moment of silence as Greynire surveyed around the courtyard, he found his wife and gave a sad smile before raising his head to the King.
'Brodon, you say you rule with peace. You say that your people are cared for and loved by the Crown. How wrong you are. My sons are dead, as are many more from across this great Kingdom. When the day comes, and the castle gates are being clawed at by the people you once ruled over, I want you to think of this day. I want you to think back to this moment, and I want you to beg to the Gods that they take you swiftly. Down with the King.' Greynire shouted, his eyes tearing and his skin red with rage. Brodon cleared his throat, but simply nodded in reply. Soon after, he watched as the kicking of the legs slowed and the body hung, and Lord Greynire swung slightly in the morning breeze.