Jump to content

DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

Recommended Posts

Posted

The morning was one of many possibilities as far as Aran was concerned. The plans had been laid, the scene had been set and all the actors had arrived to play their parts. In fact, he was rather proud of how things had turned out. Well, except for the fact that Rosheen had flounced off on him. But then that always happened on occasion and Rosheen had not been happy with how things were turning out. Nevermind that she had made all the right choices. She'd kept the Aes Sedai on track and ensured they stuck the plan even as it evolved, that she had given him the latitude needed to get things done, that he had taken advantage of the opportunities that had presented themselves. She'd done everything right but was still unhappy.

 

Women.

 

But that didn't bear thinking on for the moment. What mattered was the play. They had returned to his personal tent and at the table every 'council member' had taken their place. They had tried to bring their guards but Lachlan had met them outside and ordered them to come in without their entourage. Powerless to cause trouble with the camp watching, they had been left with no choice but to enter alone. Not that they hadn't realised something might go wrong when they saw the Tower Guards turned bandits lining the inside of the tent, but then they had been committed by that point. All of them had their parts to play and they played them well as they took their seats.

 

With them seated, each guard including himself had moved forward to take a position behind the 'council members'. They knew without a doubt now that they were at the mercy of the man they had made a bandit king, a man who they had kept under their thumb until the day before when their figurehead had gone rogue on them. Their role was to suffer the fate of those who forgot the most basic rule that a Murandian lived by. Trust no one but yourself, and yourself not too much. They had thought their man was dominated, that he was controlled, they had put too much trust in that and their hand had been played, now they were to be trumped.

 

For Aran, this wasn't a moment that he was going to enjoy overly. There was a certain satisfaction to be had in how it had been orchestrated, how every player was following the part assigned to them. Maybe if he was the sort to overly moralise in an attempt to justify himself, he would have said that the deathmark over these men's heads had been well earned and that by killing them they were saving many lives. Truth be told, Aran wasn't sure, they were going to kill the leaders and those that were left after they took Lachlan with them would fight for new leaders or they would wander and cause trouble. The reason for their deaths was to simply ensure that no real pursuit could be mounted once they left with their objective.

 

They weren't here to single handedly save the Murandians from the banditry that was spawned by their disunity. No, they were here for the man of the hour who would play the most important role of all, Lachlan. It was he who would say and do what was necessary, Aran and a few others would carry out his commands. Not the Aes Sedai, and Aran had saved some others from the trouble as well such as Cairma. It was one thing to kill in defence or melee, but executions were not something he would expect of them. Some were hard enough for it, like Daemon who would do what was necessary. He would be amongst those who joined Aran in escorting the men outside and execute them for treason. The bloody business would be done quickly and effectively, leaving Lachlan the sole leader of the camp.

 

All it required now was for Lachlan to say the word.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

Posted

Lachlan was scared. Scared of the active mantle he had suddenly taken upon himself in a revolution that had previously only used him as a figure head. Scared of the acts of murder he was about to authorise. Treason or execution, the difference came down to semantics, and a thin veil of rationalisation to spare guilt. Most of all he feared that he would feel nothing of the blood that would stain his hands. He believed in his cause, but who was he to consign the deaths of others? He was the Bandit King.

 

His face was pale, and the circles beneath his eyes spoke of restless nights, but he was resolved. He felt somewhat dizzy, and his hands were hard against the table. It had the quality of a dream, but he knew this moment to have the cord of reality. What would he say to these people who had raised him from nothing and asked only blind obedience to their cause? Were his actions any less selfish than theirs? He desired freedom, they desired wealth, equally as willing to sacrifice life.

 

He felt very small surrounded by all these people. He had hoped Aran would take this decision out of his hands. Aran had been adament that the rolewas his alone. Lachlan inspected his own hands, inspected the table, sighed; sipped a goblet of wine. Anything to put off the inevitable. No where to run, no where to hide, and no way to further stall his obligation. His voice was shakey, his tone strangled, and his eyes shifting nervously as he spoke:

 

"I . . . have reached a . . . decision. A decision concerning the role I am to play in . . . my revolution." Deep breath. "It is clear that to you I am a puppet, and in the end there will be nothing for me but to sit on a throne and wave to the crowd. That is not . . . not what I wish to happen. That is not what will happen." Bolder now. "I . . . am reclaiming my own future. Your scheming . . . your scheming is at an end. You . . . you . . . you are to be sentenced to execution for treason!" Lachlan was trembling now, his hands knotted together. He hoped no one would notice his tears.

 

His eyes were closed, but he heard the intakes of breath, the sudden outbursts of disbelieve and rage. He heard, too, the scraping of chairs, the singular sound of swords half-drawn from their sheaths. He opened his eyes long enough to nod once at Aran before doing his best not to meet the eyes of the condemned, or take notice of their pleas. Professionally, resisters were subdued--brutally in cases--and the others were roughly pulled to their feet.

 

They were led out of the tent and into the camp. After taking several moments to collect himself, and make sure his legs would obey, Lachlan the Bandit King followed to preside over his judgement.

 

 

OOC: You're next, Daemon.

  • 1 month later...
Guest Arie Ronshor
Posted

*bumps for Daemon*

  • 3 months later...
Posted

Shifting in his saddle, Aran nodded as he was given the signal from Rosheen to take point.  Touching his heels to his mount, it didn't take long to clear the main body of their group even as Cairma rode in from her scouting stint.  While they'd made some distance from the bandit camp, they were going to be careful nevertheless as it would be poor form after all the effort they'd been through to simply fall prey to a band of outlaws operating on their own for a bit of coin and profit.

 

It had been simple though after they'd executed Lachlan's 'advisors' under his orders.  Aran had been sorry for what had happened, not for those scheming bastards they'd put to the sword, but rather for Lachlan who had given the order.  It was what made everything so tragic, out of everyone who had been involved in the chain of events, for good or for ill, the only one out of all of them who had been an innocent was the one they now had secured and silent as they made their way back to Tar Valon.  But, what had happened was necessary, otherwise they would have had to fight and Aran found it an easy choice to make between those he travelled with and those that Lachlan had called his servants.

 

It had been so easy at that point, those that remained were loyal to Lachlan and Aran's 'company' had gone straight to the top of the pecking order.  That night they had simply helped themselves to Lachlan's tent, the Aes Sedai had shielded and subdued him, and then they'd stolen him away in the darkness.  Taking all the horses, the bandits were left with nothing to mount a pursuit on and after they'd found their own mounts they'd let the horses from the bandit camp free.  Order had been reasserted as Rosheen had retaken control of the mission, for which Aran was glad because of what had happened earlier.  They still hadn't spoken about it since their confrontation, but Aran suspected either they would later or it would become water under the bridge.  It wasn't the first time that they'd trodden on each other's toes and disagreed over their actions.

 

It was half an hour until Aran sighted the main highway that they had been searching for.  The path that would lead them back to the Tower and to getting Lachlan gentled.  It was what made Aran's treachery easier to bear, and he had to admit that he wanted a balm to help the twinge that he felt.  It was for his own good, alone and with the power, Lachlan would rot away and descend into madness.  At least this way he was given a chance of survival, no matter how much it would hurt him to have the power removed from him.  Aran doubted that Lachlan would ever forgive him, but then he didn't do this for forgiveness.

 

He did it because, despite the guilt he felt, it was the right thing to do.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

 

OOC: Thats it, Crimson is sealed and finished officially. :)

×
×
  • Create New...