(Fan/Act) Lionhart [T]

This is another original piece I'm starting (actually a combination of two I've already begun, but that's beside the point). I'm trying to get a few ideas out the door before I pick the one or two I stick to over the next few months. So far, Dawn of Evil's Bane is one of them, and I hope this will be one, too. Let me know how you like it so far.

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Lionhart


Chapter One - Twenty Minus One Makes Twenty

Seraph Acheron was a very unique young man, and he knew it. He had a talent for handling people, especially those who would make themselves his enemies through treachery, seduction, or blatant hostility. His smooth speech could sway even the most thick-witted fools, who happened, in fact, to be his favorite contestants. The only arguments he ever backed down from were arguments of fact, in which his will alone could not triumph; his opinions were firm and resolute and deeply embedded, like an ancient oak rooted in the compact soil of an even ancienter wood. If he failed to enlighten the opposition, and they maintained their aggression, he always had his sword to speak for him, and it was sharper than his tongue.

To those friendly to him, there could be no companion more sincere, no intimate more gentle, no defender more vigilant. He could be trusted with anything, he was the people’s confidant, a vault for their secrets and a repository for their fears. The advice he gave was always beneficial in just the right way, even if the recipient did not see it at the time. But, most wonderfully of all, he was reliable. A comrade to Seraph Acheron was one who would never go forgotten.

But above all these things was his virtue. He was unfailingly fair, and unceasingly honest. No deceit came about by his hand. Any act that degraded the integrity of a person was unacceptable to him; he would have no part in them. But he always forgave those who faltered in their doings, and always trusted that someday they would learn to choose right. Some dared to call him perfect, which was no surprise, as his reputation seemed unblemished. He adamantly refused such a label, saying that those without fault have no want for swords.

What he was was Seraph Acheron. His name meant angel of justice, and it fit him perfectly. He was more than that—he was a double-edged sword, so moral and yet so terrible. He was the voice of reason, and his words either drove people to deep conviction or to bitter violence. He was the heart that beat with the life-force of daring love. Sometimes, he imagined that that was his singular purpose, that he was love made flesh to rain compassion upon all peoples.

He was all of these things, in every way imaginable. And yet, deep down, he was none of these. He was simply a man, with a heart and a soul and strengths and weaknesses and loves and fears just as every other man. He could laugh, he could cry, he could smile and frown, he had humor and wit and charm, he had rage and disappointment and despair. He was as common a man as could be, and he knew it. He longed so intensely that this could be his only truth.

Much of his childhood was occupied by happy memories. His mother and father had raised him and his two brothers and two sisters in a small mountain village called Anmisel. They lived a very close-knit, family-oriented lifestyle, and were prominent members of the community. The bonds of kin were very important to the mountain folk, and those values had been the major element of Seraph’s growth from boyhood to manhood. Each day had its own set of family rituals and traditions, each meal its own proper etiquette, each feast-day its own incumbent devotions. The order of his household had helped him learn to order his own dwelling-place, his mind. Without the discipline his parents had taught him, he would not be half the man he was.

His family made their living by bottling water from the springs and selling it to the peoples in the north, in the Galthan Reaches, the sterile valleys. Needless to say, there were no natural reservoirs in the Reaches. Seraph had always been remarkably interested in the lands close to the mountains, especially during his early years, and he remembered clearly one occasion when he asked his father about the Reaches. His father had been pumping well water into one of the receptacles they used to transport the water, and so, inquisitive as usual, he set out to secure his father’s attention and asked, “Why don’t the people in the Reaches have water of their own? Why do they always have to buy it from us?”

His father chuckled at the inquiry. Seraph had learned by then to tell whether his father knew the answer to a question by the way he reacted to it. This one would not go unanswered. “A worthy question from a worthy little mind. Follow me, Sera, and I will show you something, and then you will have your answer.”

Sera. That’s what everyone used to call him, and what some still called him when they spoke of him idly. He didn’t mind that it was a girl’s name. He hadn’t even been aware of the fact when he was little. Anything to remove the burden of his true name. Of his identity.

He had followed his father all the way to the peak of Mount Eleiern, to a crag overlooking the Tables, great shelves stacked stair-stepping down the side of the mountain, each roofed with a spring of pure Anmiseldan drinking water. The two of them had been up here many times, to make sure the Table springs were not dwindling. They were certainly not dwindling that day.

“You see the Tables, Sera?” he began, and then stopped, realizing his mistake. “A foolish thing to ask, I suppose. I should know better than anyone that you have been here more times than you can probably count. The Tables are a natural wonder, a gift from the earth to the mountain-dwellers. They are a plentiful source of water, even in winter when other basins have frozen, but they are never more magnificent than in the springtime, when the warmth of the new season is upon us, and the waters are free of the chill once more.

“In the spring, the Tables are so full of water that it spills over the sides, cascading down the mountain, leaving behind a dazzling rainbow, the union of the light and the spilling water. Then the Tables take on a new name: the Fountains of Light. What was a wonder before is another wonder entirely under the life-giving rays of the new spring sun.”

Sera had been rather impatient in his budding years, and was frustrated that he seemed no closer to the answer to his question than when he started. “I understand everything you say, Father, but what does this have to do with the people in Galthan?”

“Don’t try to beat the egg before you’ve cracked its shell,” his father had advised. The man seemed to have a metaphor for everything. Sera hated metaphors, but had learned the necessity for them.

“Galthan is a barren land. No rains ever come there, so nothing can grow and flourish, and the people there have no water to drink. It is a dead land.”

“What?” he had said. “Why would anyone want to live in such a horrible place?” He couldn’t imagine life without trees, or grasses, or lakes and ponds and streams. They were essentials to him.

“Sera, not all places in this world can be full of flowers and bubbling brooks. But every place on earth is rich in its own way. We are fortunate to have the Tables, and the mountains, and the pine forests that encompass them. The Tables bring us pure spring water that is loved by everyone, even those who live in other lands, such as the Reaches. The mountains grant us peace and quiet and refuge, a luxury most peoples will never know. The pines house all sorts of life unique to our region, and so they are storehouses of living things to hunt and eat and live in harmony with. The Reaches may not have these things, but they do have something that we don’t, and that is gold.

“Oh the Galthan gold mines are a spectacular sight! I shall have to show them to you someday. The Galthans trade most of the precious metals we use to make coins for the things they do not have, such as water and certain eatables. In a way, they have more to gain by living there than they would somewhere else. They have enough gold to satisfy not only the people they trade with, but also to fill their own pockets. Prosperity can often spring from the least likely of sources.”

Thinking back on that day always reminded him of how little he’d changed as he’d grown, and of how much growing he had yet to do. He had always sought the truth behind everything he saw—that was something that would never go away—he had always been a good friend to those who needed one, and a hand to strike those who stood to oppress others.

Now that he stood before the High Council, no, stood against the Council, all of his qualities seemed astonishingly apparent to him, and the insignificance of them even more so. His reputation was nothing in this room—he was but a twig under the heel of the Twenty. Well, they were nineteen now, but that was of no consequence. There could be no contest between their judgment and his. None had ever challenged the Rule of the Council and succeeded; his chances were as slim as those of anyone else before him. He had gotten his wish. In the Chamber, he was only a man.

But he was still Seraph Acheron. Or, at the very least, he was Sera.

“Seraph Acheron of Anmisel,” echoed the thunderous voice of Elisud Salif, the Supreme Magister of Kaltima. It sent shivers up his spine to hear the most powerful man in on the continent call him by name. Few of his status could dream of being bestowed such an honor. The sweat formed in beads on his forehead. “Present yourself.”

He rose from his seat, took two small steps forward and bowed to the Council Magisters, as was the Chamber custom, then introduced himself. “Hail, Magisters! I am Seraph Acheron from the mountain village of Anmisel. I bring forth a petition on behalf of my people. Shall it be heard?”

The second-in-command, Magister Torun, rose to bear the response. “For such a petition to be received by the Council is no small matter. A number of rules of procedure must be followed. Are you prepared to submit to them?”

Now for the part that Sera hated. Procedure. What was the use of it if it hindered progress? The Council was the right hand of Kaltima, and, as such, was compelled to observe the laws of the land. In the years since the number of seats on the Council was first increased to twenty, the administration of Kaltima had become a ponderous travesty governed by frivolous circumvention. Though for all intents and purposes the Council was more powerful than the government it served, Kaltima’s Officers could still effectively check its authority by impeding its power to act.

No matter. The Council would do what was necessary despite the absurd provisions placed upon it by the Officers, so would he.

“I am prepared,” Sera declared. “Let it begin.”

(more of Chapter One pending)

This is very nice, I like your main character, very strong personality you've given him. Even if he's not completely sure he can pull it off. I also like how the title is explained within the context of the (half) chapter. I'll be looking forward to reading more when you finish it.

I'm sort of in a jam right now, as I'm supposed to be writing this majorly political and procedure-oriented scene, which I not only do not like to do, but I can't think of how exactly to do it. Forgive me for taking so long with the rest of Chapter One, all.

I'm merging this with another story I'm writing. Hopefully I'll settle on a good beginning sooner or later.