Title: The Marauder's Choice
Character(s): James. P + Remus. L
Summary: The year 1492. The Marauders need to choose - Loyalty and Friendship? Or Safety in numbers? Will Englands most know criminals succeed to rid the world of the gnarled minds who are causing the dark atmosphere in the british empire? Will they ever be able to go back to normal?
Notes: Okay... well please don't kill me, I know this was originally Werewolves&Co's idea, but I've been given full permission to adopt it.. I've started by going back over her writing to improve anything. I know I'm probably a terrible writer compared to her, but... tough luck. Reviews are appriciated, and Take Care!
Prologue
The executioners name was Robert Yaxley.
Because he was one of the king's guards, by nature he was all things bad: Uncouth, Impatient, dishonest, malevolent and full of hate. Sorrow was an unusual emotion for Robert Yaxley. Yet it seemed Anxiety was even rarer. However due to the fact that Yaxley was human, anxiety was sometimes inescapable, and insufferable.
As whispers and taunts of the other guards in the town buzzed in the far right corner of the jail courtyard, his lips pressed together into a tight line. The expression felt out of place on a face more accustomed to smirks and scowls.
Michael Carrow, his apprentice, saw the grimace and patted his shoulder,
"They're just curious Yaxley, let them curb their interests." He said quietly, his voice sounding uncertain,
"An execution Mr. Carrow is hardly an interesting or challenging procedure to carry it out. Any soul on the street could perform it in an emergency had they the right tools and the sanity to not break down. There's nothing these brutes of guards could learn by observing today's execution than at any other execution. I'm not a doctor Michael – I don't know what there is for them to gain. I'm basically doing their job on a stage." Yaxley was surprised to hear the sharp edge marring his usually calm and emotionless voice.
"They've never seen a marauder before." Michael said, his eyes darkening at the thought of the infuriating miscreants.
Yaxley raised one eyebrow, "Are they blind to each other's faces in the streets? Do they not fight them daily?"
"You know what I mean Sir – his execution. Finally we may prove to the whole of England what has become of these Marauders. We have let citizens hope that they will succeed, and now we get to destroy those who remain traitorous to us."
Yaxley looked into the cell where a teenage boy, probably only seventeen, was unconscious, sprawled face down on the cold stone floor, sleeping soundlessly. Glee swelled in his heart as he remembered the condition his mutilated, broken body had been in when the guards had brought him to the jail cell that the marauder was now occupying. Such pain he had endured… the copious amount of blood that he had been bleeding out…
And yet there was more to come. Of course he would have more than enough pain in the few following hours, Yaxley would be sure of that.
"He's the same as any criminal." Yaxley murmured to Michael, "They all do terrible things, and when he's woken up he will be disposed of in the same painful way we deal with everyone else. These guards are imbeciles; they think because they've caught one Marauder, they do not need to return to their posts."
"It's just exciting for them, that's all."
"The boy we kill today deserves less respect than he is being given. If they are to gawk at the boy's sleeping form, they should be near him causing him pain Carrow. Not talking between themselves and looking over at him from in a corner. Our prisoner is in quite the predicament, he knows that he's going to die, and so he doesn't spread even one ounce of a word about his precious organization or his team of maniacs so to speak. He deserves the pain and the torture." By this, Yaxley meant that the prisoner should be tortured to gain information. Yaxley heard the sharp edge return to his voice.
Michael patted him again, "It will be fine Sir, he'll beg us to let him tell his secrets, the guards need information and –"
At the word 'Guards', Yaxley gave Michael a look that could only be described as a glare. Michael blinked in shock, never before had he seen his mentor angry at him, it was something he hoped he could avert in the future.
"I'm sorry." Yaxley apologized at once, his voice sighing before locking his jaw, "I didn't mean to take my irritation out on you – I have the boy for that."
His eyes moved back to the sleeping prisoner. He could barely make out the boy, due to the fact that the only light was that of burning torches that were being held by the copious amount of guards and Michael – after all they could not expect there to be light at five A.M in the morning in late February.
The fires around Yaxley were a steady, dull orange color, indication that they had been lit several hours ago. One of the torches that had been abandoned on the floor was smoldering rather than burning.
"This Marauder was specially picked for the assignment," Michael said awkwardly. "He must be exceptional among their organization – braver than most. Of course his actions speak for this theory. I think that it might even be possible Sir that he volunteered to do the job."
"Who among such an organization Mr. Carrow, would not volunteer if asked to do something for their idea of the greater good? But, is that really the case her? Is the greater good really serviced by this? Or are they trying to corrupt the whole of England and our British empire? The question, my apprentice, is not his willingness, but what the final outcome of their plan is. What are they aiming for? The sooner we know, the sooner we can disband these… terrorists."
The guards were discussing the Marauder as well. Yaxley could hear the whispers clearly; their voices were rising now, getting louder and more rowdy with their excitement.
"He killed six guards before we caught him."
"I was informed of seven."
"I hear he's an actual one of the Marauders. Can you believe that?"
"Is that even possible?"
"He's too young isn't he? Surely not!"
"He is! I swear it, but which of the four is he?"
"I don't believe it! He isn't a Marauder!"
"He is! Started when he was fifteen! Apparently he was in the business for years before though."
"Really – only fifteen?"
"Quiet! Please!" Yaxley interrupted, his voice low and in a hiss as he looked at the guards with disdain "If you cannot observe professionally and quietly, then I will feel no remorse to remove you from the premises. If this traitor to the king isn't fully awake, the proper way may I add, during his execution, he will not fully feel the pain! Were you all born without intellect?"
Abashed, the six guards fell silent and edged away from one another.
"Let's get on with this Michael."
Everything was prepared. The appropriate rope and knot was dangling down from the post used for executions when hanging was involved. The Marauder's dark hair had been cut short, exposing his slender neck. Everything had been thought through extremely well. Deep in his sleep, the prisoner breathed slowly in and out. His sun-browned skin had barely an untouched mark from his…accident.
"Wake him Michael."
The brown-haired man was already waiting by the cell, listening for his order, his hand resting on the look with a brass key in his right hand. Gingerly, he placed the key in the keyhole and twisted it to the left. Then he placed the flaming torch in one of the hoists on the damp wall.
With the cell door now open, Yaxley took a few steps into the prison, Michael entering slowly behind him. Yaxley concentrated on the unconscious body, as if he expected it to jump up and attack him at any second, before he took his silver rimmed dagger from one of the hoists in his belt. Moving the prisoners left arm away from his body Yaxley bent down. Like he was an artist, he etched the dagger through the skin at the base of the prisoners left palm with small, precise movements, as he made his way carefully down the wrist to where the elbow was located. Careful not to damage any veins or arteries, Yaxley was finished within fifteen minutes, the traitor might die before the show began had the executioner gone wrong – and he knew that the country couldn't afford him to make a mistake.
"The crowd is ready Sir." Michael informed him, his expression solemn and slightly uncaring.
"So am I Michael, wake him."
Yaxley felt Michael at his elbow and knew without looking that his apprentice was admiring his handiwork on the Marauder's arm.
"It's so that when he's dead, they'll know who killed him."
Yaxley stood up and walked out of the cell, giving the guards in the corner a look that quickly sent them scattering off to their posts.
He turned then, and walked over to the rope gripping it, before looking at the crown with one of his evil grins. One girl stood out, a girl with blonde hair that was brighter than the reflective silver instrument that had been abandoned on the floor of the prisoner's cell. Like a living ribbon, she twisted and stretched, happy to be free from a night of sleep. Her thin, feathery dress fell softly like her pale hair. Though most girls were beautiful, this one seemed particularly graceful to Robert Yaxley, and he couldn't help but watch her curiously with several seconds.
"Here sir," He heard Michael whisper, as he pushed the Marauder up to the spot to Yaxley's left. The whole city was silent – no one made a sound – as Yaxley placed the rope over the traitors head, tightening it until it hung around the neck with slight ease, but not enough to slip off his neck.
As Robert Yaxley leaned down and whispered in the boy's ear, he wished that the traitor would impede the execution by giving him anything, a reaction – a betrayal to his own people. The scum of the earth – the organization. Anything that would make bringing the Marauder's down easier,
"There's no one to help you now. There's no one to help you, Sirius Black."