Oracles of Ice

Oracles of Ice 8

8

Aethelfrith stood surround by Warrick men. Anya and Mek had joined him at the city gate after an announcement that Graham would come to visit. Though he'd scolded his own brother for the move during their most recent visit, he'd sent word to Graham that he'd like to bring his family, hoping he would travel with his own wife. Aethelfrith wanted to apologize to his sister-in-law face to face, and not via the hands of a runner.

The guards shuffled into place around him when the sound of hooves from the north echoed through the trees. The clatter of armor preceded the sight of Graham and his guards flying the Eldonian colors and it neither pleased nor deterred Aethelfrith. He had endured many such meetings at the behest of his brother. This one would be no different. Graham would attempt to persuade him to relinquish his throne, appoint a true Warrick leader, and return home to Dena.

"We should go with him this time." Anya placed a hand on Aethelfrith's forearm and leaned against his shoulder.

He knew his wife had not fully approved of his mission to set the Warrick people free from their tyrant leader, but he knew in his heart it had been the right thing to do. At times he felt as if he should choose from amongst the people a king fitting for the Warricks, but they had repeatedly dismissed the idea. His jaw tightened when Anya slid her hand into his. He knew she would not be happy with his answer, but he had to follow his heart.

"When a leader emerges, Anya. Any sooner and they will be susceptible to another animal ascending the throne and ruling them with an iron fist."

"Aethel, your son needs his family."
"My son has his family. I am his family. You are his family, Anya."

Anya withdrew from him. He felt her hand pull away, and the warmth where she had been near him chilled. Aethelfrith hated that the situation put division between them, but he hoped it would only be a short time until she came to her senses. He watched her step away, clinging to Mek, and then he fixed his eyes on the horizon and the approaching party.

"Announcing King Graham Gothon of Eldon," a young man on a horse belted out. He removed his hat and pointed to Aethelfrith's brother mounted on his own steed.

Graham nodded at the group of onlookers and dismounted before handing his reigns to a guard near him. Aethelfrith watched as he walked over to Sibilla, his wife, and helped her down from her horse, her large rotund abdomen announcing her body prepared for birth. She straightened her skirt and clasped her hands around Graham's before turning to face Aethelfrith and Anya. He could see the puffiness around her eyes, evidence of the heavy mourning she was enduring. His heart clenched as she approached him and lightly kissed his cheeks before backing away. The act, though diplomatic and meant as an honorific, was colder than normal. Her icy gaze threw daggers into his heart.

"I have come to beg you to return to Eldon with us, brother. We mourn as a family the loss of Varol. We..." Graham's words pierced his heart and they swirled together as sorrow washed over him. He felt Anya's nearness behind him once more as Graham continued to speak, though he wasn't listening. He didn't have words for his brother, only tears, which sluiced down his cheeks into his wiry beard. He knew this would be the last time Graham entertained the thought of him returning home. It was likely Graham had come only to bring him back to Eldon where he would be hanged or put in stocks. Aethelfrith was about to speak for himself when one of his guards stepped in.

"We have chosen Aethelfrith as our king." Malcom, one of the Warrick king's guard, stepped out from the group of soldiers guarding the gate and the entourage. "He did not choose this path on his own. It was chosen for him by the gods. He has delivered our people from the hand of the tyrant who once enslaved us."