So, after what seemed like an eternity without my PC, I'm back! It had to get a new optical drive sigh… but that's all in the past now. Here's the next-to-last chapter of Albel's flashback. These were harder to write than usual…
Disclaimer: Albel is not mine. I'd like to say that's because he's Fayt's, but sadly, he doesn't belong to me, either.
Chapter 14
When Count Woltar approached the silent, still grounds that Greeton's camp had overtaken, he wrinkled his brow in unbridled confusion. He already smelled the smoldering iron stench of blood on the wind.
"What happened?" he demanded from his soldiers, who could not answer: they knew as little as he did. Having ridden hard for hours on end, their concentration and energy were as frayed as the endurance of their mounts.
But they sighted a solitary blood-streaked figure, standing in statuesque petrification in the center of the massacre. The fallen scattered the clearing like bruised rose petals.
"I happened," Albel said quietly, a weary smirk lighting up his lips.
"You happened," Count Woltar repeated from his position high upon his saddle. But Albel's figure triggered a vague sensation of fright. Woltar had seen war, of course. And he had seen blood. But to see the blood of so many others soaking the skin of just one young boy made him ill at ease.
And since it was Albel, soft-spoken and traumatized, that unease unwound itself a far ways before it was finally checked.
Albel took the Greetonese sword and thrust it into the ground. "A useless thing, now," he murmured nonsensically.
Woltar stared at him in silent contemplation.
"Albel Nox. You've disappeared from Airyglyph's plans, and yet here you are."
He had to pause before he could continue.
"You have just murdered scores of mostly unarmed Greetonese soldiers. You have a decision to make: choose your own self, and what you have done will go down as a crime. Choose to return to Airyglyph, and you have single-handedly brought to Airyglyph a victory."
Albel chuckled. "Is that how it always follows?"
Woltar frowned. "History is written by the victors, however they choose. That's no secret."
Albel regarded the field. "To Airyglyph," he decided.
"Then come with me. We need to do something about that arm."
It was no secret that Count Woltar adored the tools of warfare, and collected and studied them with near fanatical curiosity. But laid out on display as his collection was, even Albel's increasing numbness could not help but take notice.
"I thought it would be appropriate to use your father's study to contain my collection. I hope you find it a worthy tribute to his strength," Woltar said to Albel as they walked the old Nox mansion's halls.
Albel made a wordless sound of polite consent. The surging elation he had felt on the battlefield was quickly slipping away, leaving the shy and self-conscious Albel behind. He still reeked of blood; no amount of washing could eliminate that curse until that night, when he could devote more time to cleansing himself of the stain.
"Airyglyph produces such beautiful and varied instruments," Count Woltar mused. "You'll find my favorites are by far the oversized weapons. Something about their unrestricted power," Woltar continued.
"What a pity that Airyglyph's military has organized itself so that wielding such weaponry is impossible. No soldier can bear a claymore, large-bladed halberd, long bow, sickle, or full axe while riding on the back of a beast. If someone were to create a third branch of the military, it would make this old man proud… and perhaps willing to share his expertise."
"Just get to the point, old man," Albel sighed. In an instant, it seemed, he was struck with exhaustion. He had no idea what Woltar was intending to do; he only wanted somewhere to bathe, somewhere to rest.
Woltar chuckled. "In time, Albel, in time. Now, where did I put that…"
He kneeled and shuffled around in a collection of small chests. "Oh, here it is," he muttered as he worked a nondescript case loose from the rest, about the length of a standard sword, wide as an arrow, deep as a dagger. "I wonder if it will fit."
"Go on, boy, open it," Woltar said, beaming with a quiet sense of pride in his own findings.
Albel kneeled on the floor and struggled to open the rusted clasps with just one hand. When he opened it, he stared. It was a long gauntlet, running as long as his tricep and ending in razor-edged claws.
"You'll never have to go through the danger of fighting with just one hand again, boy," Woltar said. "Touch it— can you feel the Aquarian runology coursing through it?"
Albel ran his right hand over the glittering steel. "I…"
He could not speak. With silent difficulty, he rolled up his sleeve and gradually worked his lifeless arm into the metal. His scars disappeared into a perfect sheen of silver.
Woltar crossed the room and picked up a wooden staff. "Don't worry, it's worth nothing. Try it," he said as he held it out parallel to the floor, at arm's length.
Wary, Albel closed his fingers around the pole. He cut through it like air. But more importantly, he had expressed the desire for his fingers to move again, and they obeyed him.
"Woltar," Albel said breathlessly.
"You're welcome," Woltar returned as he set aside the two pieces. "You'd best take it off now, though. You'll need to gradually let your body get used to it. Tomorrow, wear it for an hour. The next day, three. Increase your time with the gauntlet so that by next week, if need be, you can wear it for a full day. By the end of the month, you should be able to wear it tirelessly. Airyglyph needs you, Albel, but it needs you well-equipped."
Albel laughed at that. "What about my brothers," he said as he hesitantly took off the gauntlet. He almost did not want to; he had just been reunited with his left arm. For a precious instant, he had been complete again.
Woltar just scanned his collection. "I'll see what I can do," he simply said.
It was a day later, and Albel had just removed his gauntlet.
The spiderwebbed stone floor abrasive against his back, Albel braced Jason against his arm. But Albel's newly strengthening muscles, sore from his mad victory, could only succumb to Jason's insistent weight.
Jason's left arm pinned down Albel's resistance; his right drilled into the sensitive gully of skin between shoulder blade and collar. Albel laid defenseless this way, Jason straddled Albel's waist to keep him even more under his control.
"Why would that senile old man give you command? My father is the Captain of the Dragon Brigade now! Why would it go to you?!" Jason demanded.
"Get off me," Albel told him. He breathed in sharply, choking on the musty air. Jason had practically ambushed him in what was obviously an abandoned storage room on the first floor. Useless but curious antiques littered the walls and floors.
At Albel's protest, Jason smirked and feigned sorrow. "What? Albel, did I hear you say something? You don't want me? Is that really true?"
"I didn't say that," Albel murmured. He felt drained, and struggling against Jason only sapped him more. Even though it was now washed away, he could still feel the blood soaking his skin. But a memory not that much more distant alluded to the warmth of Jason's embrace.
"No," Jason said slowly, his voice slick. "Where's the Albel," he continued, "that killed all those Greetonese? Where's the Albel… that poses a threat to me? I don't want you. I want him."
Albel breathed in the musty air. "What are you saying," he wanted to know. "Jason, don't," he began. Jason fumbled at Albel's collar, dragging apart the clasp.
"You broke so easy, Albel. It wasn't even fun. Now I know why—you're so much stronger than you show," Jason said heatedly as he grabbed for the skin Albel would never let him fully see.
"I want to see your scars again, Albel. Does hiding them make you strong? I want them laid bare for me to take in, so you'll have nothing left."
Albel could still feel when Jason had held him tight against his chest, whispering quiet into his ear when he did not even feel the strength to stand. "Jason, if this is about the command, it's just…"
"No," Jason insisted. "It's not about that. It's about everything," he said with finality as he considered the mottled skin that wove itself over Albel's bare chest. He coldly traced the skin, following a ridge to above Albel's heart.
"Your heart races so fast," Jason smirked as he worked the tunic loose from Albel's shoulders. "And look at that. Maybe if this arm weren't so burned, you could fight me better, huh?"
Albel wrenched his eyes shut for a moment, sickness clawing at his insides. "Jason," he whispered as the young man's hands skimmed his belt.
"What? You want me to stop so bad, why don't you fight me? You can't do it, can you…"
Jason moved quickly, hands deftly working over Albel's hips. He gripped roughly, nearly leaving a chain of blue bruises where his hands had invaded.
Albel tried to struggle. But mostly he pleaded. "Jason, don't," he begged.
And then they both froze. Through the door left ever so little ajar, they could hear someone calling Albel's name. That voice was searching for him.
Jason paused, his hand heavy on Albel's thigh. "What to do, Albel," he whispered with a snicker. "Your brother Sieg is looking for you. Do we hope he passes this room by? Does he stumble upon us like this, or do I let you go? What's it going to be, Albel?"
Albel took in a deep breath to steady his protesting heartbeat. "Get off of me, Jason," he insisted.
And in that moment Jason slammed him hard against the floor. "The next time I see you," he whispered like a violent lover in Albel's ear, "I want to see all of you. I'll let you take that however you want."
With a batting eyelid of consideration, Jason ground his lips hard against Albel's for a crushing second before he pulled away quicker than Albel could react.
Albel curled up against the wall as he heard Jason converse casually with Sieg outside. No, he hadn't seen Albel. Perhaps he was outside, or with Helgrave? No? Well, best of luck. I'll tell him you were looking if I see him before you do.
Embarrassment and fury welled up inside him as he belted his slacks and fitted his shirt around his torso. And then the last thing he had wanted at that moment happened: the door opened once more, spearing a shaft of murky light over the sheltered antiques and worthless treasures until it struck him.
"Albel?" Sieg said in surprise. "But Jason just… Albel, why are you sitting there like that?"
Sieg took a single moment to stand there and think, before he deftly crossed the room and kneeled at Albel's side.
"Albel, you need to tell me what he just did to you. Now."
"I'd rather not," Albel said distantly in a voice that was hardly his.
Sieg rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever. I know what's going on between you two. I may not say much but I'm not stupid. But he hurt you just now, Albel. The clasp on your shirt's undone. You didn't want it, did you. Did you, Albel?"
"No," Albel whispered. He hugged his lifeless left arm close to his body. How stronger he had felt with that metal gauntlet to make it move again…
"Why didn't you fight back, Albel," Sieg sighed in frustration. "Why didn't you just fight back?"
"Does Helgrave know?"
"Does Helgrave know what—oh. No, he's oblivious as ever. What's it matter, Albel?"
"It won't happen again," Albel promised.