The Price of Mercy

[Xarkly 12618]

The Price of Mercy

 

Spoiler

 

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From his throne, King Sigismund III stared down at the Orenian prisoners.

 

The throneroom of the Nikirala Palace was silent, but not for lack of people; fur-clad courtiers and woolen-garbed commoners alike packed the wings behind the bannered pillars that flanked the path to the throne, and the red-yellow flames of the braziers and torches flickering in their sconces gleamed against the plate and mail of Haeseni Knights and soldiers by the doorways. The crowd was silent but for a few snatches of whispers, and a tight tension hung in the air like a smog. All those eyes watched the Orenian captives with expressions that ranged from contempt to pity.

 

Sigismund wondered which expression he wore.

 

The captives - a man and two women - were Orenian nobles of a House Sigismund vaguely recognized - de Rosius - and they had been plucked from the southern roads by Haeseni raiders and delivered to Karosgrad like sacrificial lambs. They're retaliation, a cold voice in his head reminded him. They are justice. Justice for Erwin and Sigmar.

 

Even thinking those names made his jaw clench. Those were the names that had started it all. When Sig's dear friend, Ser Erwin, and his own nephew, Sigmar, had travelled to Sedan to sell grain some months back, they had fallen prey to an Orenian patrol that promptly delivered them to the gallows in New Providence. Ever since, Haeseni soldiers had prowled the roads to the south, seeking unsuspecting Orenians to mete out justice to. Whether it was the Duke of Cathalon or Josephine Tuvyic, many had died since.

 

An eye for an eye. That's all this war has become. The voice in Sig's head sounded shaky, now. A loved one for a loved one. That was what the silent, eager eyes waited for; they waited for Sigismund to pronounce the sentence, and to take the lives of the three before him. As retaliation.

 

Those waiting eyes did not know who the three captives actually were, but Sig had come to. Kristofer, with his matted fair hair and the hollow look of defeat on his downcast eyes; his wife Chloé, her slender cheeks streaked with silvery tears; and Elara, clinging rigidly to her older sister's arm. When his soldiers had first delivered them to him, while Josephine Tuvyic's pyre still blazed in the square, Sig could not help but take pity on their bound hands, their faces pale from the cold, and their clothes streaked with dirt.

 

They serve the anathema! They deserve death! A voice in his head had cried out, but Sig knew it was not his own voice, but rather what he knew everyone else would say. The voice had done nothing to stop Sigismund as he had the captives shepherded to the dining room, cleaned up, and served a fresh beef broth to ward off the late-winter cold. The voice had done nothing to stop him as he learned their names, learned that they were family. The voice had done nothing to stop him as he listened to Chloé plead for their lives, and beg him that none would be executed.

 

What are you delaying for, fool? He scolded himself as his jaw quivered. The entire throneroom - the entire city - was watching and waiting for him to pass judgment, and to give the order for their heads to roll. As revenge. For Erwin. For Sigmar!

 

And yet, that voice did nothing to drive him either as he stared down at the captives. The quivering of his jaw increased.

 

For ... Sigmar. I have to. Sigmar had been Sigismund's own nephew, and the son of his late elder sister -- the one person Sig had loved more than anyone else. In a way, Sigmar's presence felt like a piece of his sister still remained even after her death, but that was not the only reason guilt consumed Sigismund over Sigmar's death; when Sigmar's own father had died, Sig had promised to be there for him, to guide him, to help him. It had been just a few weeks ago that the pair of them had stood at the shores of Reinmar, watching the light of the setting sun fracture across the water, and they had promised they would both survive the war in Oren so that Sigmar would find a good wife.

 

And now he's gone. Killed, not in honourable battle, but like a criminal on the gallows ... because of a war he fought on my orders.

 

Sig felt ... empty, and for a moment, he imaged he shared the hollow look that Kristofer wore as he awaited his death sentence. The eager eyes of the court lit up as Sigismund's hand brushed back his red cloak, and reached for the sword sheathed at his waist. Is this what you would have wanted, Erwin? Is it, Sigmar? Sigismund's hand clenched around the hilt of the sheathed blade. He was angry, and he did want revenge.

 

And yet, as he looked down at the three Orenian nobles ... he knew.

 

He knew killing them would bring him no joy. It would bring no justice. It would bring Almaris no closer to peace, no closer to justice.

 

Their deaths would just be that -- another death, and their deaths would lead to more deaths in retaliation and revenge. How much longer? He found himself asking, and the voice in his head had turned frail. His eyes stared down at the captives, but he was not really looking at anything. How much longer will we have to do this? Kristofer's devoid gaze had not left the carpet beneath him as he waited for his death. How many more heads must we take? Those silvery tears rolled down Chloé's cheek. How many lives and families, sundered?

 

That had never been in his tuition growing up. He had never been taught how to exact justice in the chaos the world had become. He doubted anyone knew how, if there even was a way. Slowly, he closed his eyes as his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the hollow feeling was gone. He had known all along.

 

"Vy may leave Karosgrad," he declared, his voice shattering the silence. "If vy denounce the anathema, vy may leave with vyr lives." Like a broken dam, noise flooded the hall once more; Chloé let out a cry of sheer relief, while surprised murmurs rippled out among the courtiers. None, it seemed, had expected mercy.

 

As Kristofer and Chloé in turn professed they condemned the actions of their Emperor and Empress, Sig hardly listened; it took all his concentration to keep his eyes on them, so that he did not have to see the accusation in any of the eyes of the courtiers who hurt, who thirsted for revenge for the Haensemen who had died in Oren. The din of chatter swelled within the throneroom as the de Rosius' expressed their gratitude, with Chloé even going so far as to offer her sister's hand in marriage after the war as a sign of peace.

 

Sig heard the words, but he did not really comprehend, for his mind was elsewhere. It was only now that he could see most of the court smiled - in approval, no less - and many looked relieved that there would be no execution. Why did I do that? he asked himself as the talk below continued. Because it was ... the right thing to do? He stared down at the callused hand that had gripped his sword. Or because I was too craven to do it? Too much of a coward to cut down a family like that?

 

Slowly, he closed the fist. It did not matter -- he was already haunted with questions like that, haunted by the consequences of his actions over these last years. What was one more to add to the list?

 

He turned where he stood, his red cloak swirling after him, and began to march off the dais with his jaw still clenched. He did not know if his act of mercy would achieve anything, if it had taught anything about the bloodshed of this war, or if the de Rosius would just take up arms against him as soon as he returned home. Most of all, he did not know if that act of mercy had shamed the memory of Erwin and Sigmar, or if that shame was the price of mercy.

 

Erwin ... Sigmar ... forgive me.

 

As he left the dais, the Haeseni warcry rose up within the hall, and haunted his every step back to his chambers.

 

"KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM!"

 

 

 

[1_Language_1 1671]

7 minutes ago, Xarkly said:

Chloé even going so far as to offer her sister's hand in marriage after the war as a sign of peace.

        

 

         Grigoryi var Ruthern choked on his soup, banging the table a few times before he lifted his head as the borscht cleared his throat. He heard down the vines that his wretched family was trying to marry him off to Chloé's sister  "Ea am niet marrying an Orenian, Ea don't care what she looks like." The Ruthern Black Sheep scuffed his boots into the stone floor of Urguan, returning to his work. "Ea'd rather be forced to marry a bearded dwarven lady and later find out it's a guy."

 

 

[Sarmadonn 652]

Angus Baruch rocked back and forth as he sat in the throne room, awaiting the fate of the Orenians he had helped capture. After hearing of their fate, he slowly smiled. He turned, rushing out of the palace at full speed. He put on his Orenian Wig, preparing to capture more unsuspecting enemies.

[sarahbarah 5015]

As Marie guided the toddlers back to their now-freed de Rosius mother, the Duchess quietly thanked Sigismund underneath her breath, for she could hardly stand the sight of death any longer.

 

Meanwhile, Petra Emma smiled down at Sigismund from the Seven Skies, still exuding pride for her brother and her Kingdom in the afterlife.

[Lomiei 1488]

Ser Erwin Bishop sat in the 7-skies with a quiet expression upon his face. As he watched over the events of that court session, a tear would minimally well in his eye; not for his own death, nor that of his squire, but for the pain he knew his koeng to be feeling. 

After a long inhale and a peaceful sigh, Erwin sent down a message, although no one would hear it: "You did well, my king." the spirit of the dead knight leaned back in it's chair, throwing his head back in a laugh. "Thats 3 less orenians that get sent up here to bother me!"

[__Stal27 262]

Eugen Barclay, the boy that had recently returned home would have accompanied the retinue that had embarked on such an assignment, helping to bring home the Orenian's, he would have simply watched as the events took place in front of him, though reserving his own thoughts, he would finally murmur, "War is bloody and soulless... but what was done here today was right.. Ich hope there is more mercy to be shown." Deep down the boy knew that more battles were to come and the loss of those dear to him would be apparent. The boy would glance out to the peaceful lake as he reminisced of his childhood, born into the war, knowing that he would partake in many more fights to come. He simply gripped his pommel as he stated, "Blue and Green Ich Dress. "KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM!"

Edited February 18, 2022 by Armod

[Gambit 964]

"An eye for a eye and a leg for a leg." Winchester stated, before wrapping his mail coif around his head, before setting off on his quintillionth raid in Dwed territory

Edited February 18, 2022 by Gambit

[L0rdLawyer 2271]

Hu-din blinks, "Wub da zkah!"

[seannie 6856]

"Those we spare now will be the cause of lives taken in the upcoming battles - they will offer us no quarter, no matter how grand our magnanimity." Max comments with furrowed brows knitted together in apparent frustration at the matter whilst in the midst of those gathering within the Nikiralan hall. He concludes his thoughts with a sigh, crossing the Hussariyan over his chest, expression softening, "Perhaps I must balance the scales of clemency and ruthlessness for the sake of my soul, less I allow myself to be consumed by either one."

[rukio 8910]

It had been decades since Aobh had visited Haense. Memories of her youth, those few formative years as Yung Merc had weighed heavily on her since the war had began. While she had fought with the last coalition in their rampage against Helena, it was all a blur. The final Scyfling siege, however, still lingered at the forefront of her mind. 

 

Revenge. That had been her motive for joining Haense's war. Revenge for the boy she had grown up with, the boy she had loved, the boy who had taken his last breath with her forehead pressed against his as she pleaded with him to live. She had been naive, believing the horrified faces of scyflings as they died would fill that void she had experienced with Sam's death. That killing those who led to his death would somehow make his death mean more, that she would be able to return to who she had been before his death.

 

It hadn't. It never would. Instead, her nights had been forever plagued by the horrors that accompany killing another sentient being. Of Scyflings falling to their death into flames, of people she had loved taking their last breaths on battlements, pierced through and pinned to the walls by javelins. 

 

As she lingered on these thoughts in her waking world, she found herself signing the Lorraine, muttering a soft prayer for both sides of the conflict. "Do what is right, be it hard or easy going." She'd murmur thereafter, recalling her mother's favorite Fatherist quote. 

[ThanksChris 589]

A series of thoughts drifted through the mind of the young Matyas Baruch as he stood in the throne room, awaiting the Koeng's justice upon the prisoners they had taken earlier in the day. The boy's legs were still sore from the day's ride, his arms from the hours he and the other pages had spent at dawn laying out the armour and provisions for the men of the Order.

 

Matyas saw for a moment the grinning face of Sigmar Mondblume looking down over him as a rambunctious young boy. He could recall the man was among the first to suggest Matyas seek a career in the order. He thought too of the funeral pyre before which he had only recently stood, watching as that very same man was carried cinder by cinder to the Seven Skies. Finally and inescapably came visions of the execution he had witnessed in Urguan, the puddles of blood that had since plagued his dreams, the sickening smell of iron... he could not help but wonder whether the deaths of Ser Sigmar and Ser Erwin had been a similarly gruesome affair.

 

Matyas had thought to witness vengeance might exorcise these thoughts finally from his waking and sleeping mind, but seeing the women of de Rosius driven to tears at the inevitable fate of Kristofer he knew it would only deepen the imprint of what he had seen, carve new scars into his psyche. An unavoidable consequence of the path he had chosen, he thought to himself.. he would have to steel himself to this sooner or later. Still, he could not help but smile with relief as the Koeng's pardon was bestowed. Matyas would have to steel himself to the violence, the blood, the justice and injustice. But in the mercy of his Koeng the boy could find comfort: the day need not be today.

[Mark2282 305]

Little Tony Helane goes quiet as he receives word of what transpired in the Haensetti throneroom. "Sigismund the merciful! Perhaps Oren should reconsider their tendency to execute captives without considering other alternatives. Haense seems to at least understand the value of human life."

[CopOwl 1668]

Dame Lynette Mendez hears of the events that transpired in the throneroom and the tired knight smiles weakly. "The king lives atop the social ladder." She remarks, "A man of higher status accepts no duel invites from a lesser being. Thus, the honourable thing was to let them go..."

[EmiliainWonderland 1526]

Chloe de Rosius remembers this differently, but is glad she remained alive in the end, tending to her twin girls after their flower ceremonies. 

[Tav 1372]

(ooc) 

Spoiler