Amongst the bleakness of the grey fields and the ceaseless cloud cover, there was always one small light in the distance, hovering high above the horizon. It came in the form of a tiny fire, atop a monster of a tower, part of what looked like a ruined castle from long ago. The stones were broken and many had fallen, but this mattered not to its sole inhabitant.
This was where Aiden spent his life, or what was left of it at the least. He lived alone, broken from the rest of his family, only interacting with others when forced to. He knew of the new laws – his kind were unholy and hunted, but as a vital part of one side he could defend himself. He remembered when it wasn't like this – hundreds of years ago. He was beginning to feel old.
Aiden missed the old days, when he had been free to practice his art and had to answer to very few people. Now he was the only one alive who still remembered that time of joy and freedom, although the credibility of his own life constantly plagued him. There were many times he felt more dead than anything else, a sort of haunted relic of a past he fought in secret for. No one was supposed to live this long, and he had long since defied the laws of whatever god held power over his fate.
His parents had tried to change him, and for awhile, he had thought he was on their side. When the new religion of glorious promises and unconditional love for all things that did not sin swept was finally legalized, they had wept with joy. They didn't know that for years he had studied in secret, partially because he did not wish to be shunned by the other boys his age, but mostly because the beliefs of old appealed to him more. He had gone with his parents to the secret meetings of the followers of this newly popular savior, but had felt himself a hypocrite for doing so. His true worship happened at the temples of Apollo, Mars, Minerva – deities he felt he could actually know and understand, and the only beings he ever truly allowed himself to bow down before. And one by one, he had watched their temples burn, and others like him flee. The persecution had switched sides, and he ran as well.
Many long years of his life were spent traveling and lying until he came to places he was accepted. Aiden ran from the Romans, for they were not the Romans he had known. They had changed, and so had he. He had become bitter, angry at the world for this rigid lack of flexibility. As he matured, he found that he held grudges he could never dispel against his parents' generation. When he could finally look back on his life without fear he recalled everything – the disgusted looks he had received for speaking of his beloved paganism, the taunts for his life led in loneliness, and the accusing glares he continued to receive for his interest in what others said was witchcraft and hatred of the One God. He had kept himself locked in the cellar of his parents' house when they weren't looking, with his books on Plato and the extensive writings he had received in the underground market from exotic and far-away lands. He learned their languages quickly, and was ready to leave Rome by the time his practices were officially punishable by death.
Aiden's travels had taken him across Arabian lands, and the ways there were strange. He found that he fit in better in deserts covered in isolation though, than amongst the ever pious missionaries in the West. There were schools there for his only passion, and though he would never have been allowed to actually attend, denouncing the Muslim faith as much as the Christian, he was fascinated to simply watch the students in their new phases of learning. He knew most of what they preached, but had never known all of the cultural background behind it. As scholars and students alike grew used to seeing him and his fascination with their activities, he became an unofficial apprentice. Although they never grew accustomed to his cold and distant personality, they saw great potential in him as a student.
This was when his true learning began. He was taught which elements could be combined to create true meaning and exactly what their reactions meant. He spent years brewing substances together, more of a scientist than an artist. He learned to search for a better understanding of nature through transformations of its most base parts, and to reach for the highest goal of transformation of the human soul to its most enlightened state. His teachers sent him to Egypt, then still called Aegyptus, to perfect his mastery of alchemy.
The practice had existed in Egypt far longer than anywhere else, and Aiden poured over the ancient writings and prophecies he was given. He felt as if the past came alive through everything he read, and despised this new Rome even more for trying to let go of what had always been there. He wanted to fight back against the Christian invaders of his old home, and through his resentment and almost hatred he turned more powerful in his 'witchcraft' every day. And so it was in Egypt that he found his answer. He now knew how to fight, and that was simply to stay alive and continue his learning long enough to pass it along to as many others as he could. Yes, he would be a teacher. He despised most other people in general, but if that was what would be needed of him someday, he would do it. But this someday he thought of he understood to be a long way off, so he constructed for himself a way to survive until then. He had achieved what many other followers of alchemy had not – eternal life.
An eternal life that was to be filled with lonely despair and detachment, with an underlying fear of death that would push him onwards.
This was what led him to his tower in the middle of nowhere, where his only contact was the occasional messenger he would send away, burdened with long instructions to be taken to students he refused to meet in person. Aidan did not interact well with any other people, choosing instead to live inside the recesses of his own mind. He knew there were others of similar beliefs around him, since he now lived amongst the sparse and hated Saxons, but he associated himself with no one. He changed his name and entire persona to fit in when he had to, but those times were rare.
He knew when the new laws were started, and he could have predicted that Christians would spread their reaches until they found him even here, but he was not prepared to give in to them. He reacted with little surprise when a soldier from Gaul burst through his door and led him away.
Nicolas felt, not for the first time, that he was disobeying the laws that were so precious to him. Since the crowning of the new emperor, religion had been a forced practice for him. Before, he could merely pretend to practice it, knowing only deep within himself that he held none of its teachings to be true, but now he actually had to listen to the bishops who spouted Latin phrases of forgiveness and devotion to no other god. Now he had to pray, or at least look like it, and mutter chants about saints he cared nothing for. Nicolas' gods were never holy, but powers that reigned here on Earth alone. He prayed for order amidst the chaos he saw in society, for justice to those he knew deserved it, and that all of this would be done through the ones in power. He had to hope they would use their power for the betterment of the whole.
With all of this in mind however, he still obeyed the laws of his king-turned-emperor without question. To disobey authority was a far greater crime to him than to lie to oneself. So he put on a front of humble piety to this One God that had suddenly become so popular, and led the way in his lord's fight to make way for a new world order.
Having been raised in Gaul, in a small settlement that was crime-ridden and disgusting in all manners to him, Nicolas had to escape. As Christianity was spreading, Nicolas became a part of it, seeing that all the important leaders were doing so as well. He could tell that his king would eventually rule more than just the Germans and Gauls he had control of, and the fact that he was now named an emperor was of little surprise. What did surprise Nicolas however was that the Saxons had revolted so strongly. He despised rebellions, and saw them all simply as a way to uproot the fundamental elements of society. He did not understand why people could not accept new laws given to them for what he knew to be their own good.
This was what brought him to the North, after having achieved status as a soldier and upholder of the law. He preferred to work alone, and was often forgotten by the fighters and missionaries doing similar jobs in larger numbers. So he hunted down the Saxons, giving them the small choice that they had of baptism or death. And he knew that the tower he now stood looking up at housed a man who would not be taken without trouble. No one could live in such a desolate wasteland without a reason.
He was proven correct. As Nicolas charged inside in the name of Emperor Charlemagne and the Lord, the heathen merely growled at him from above his cauldron. There was little dialogue exchanged. Nicolas simply put a sword to the man's throat and led him away. He would be kept in the dungeons for a few days before either baptized in the name of God or beheaded – it was his choice.
On the horse ride back to the small settlement he was stationed at, Nicolas enquired of the man his name. "Aiden", was the terse answer.
"A Christian name. But you are no man of God, Sir. What exactly were you doing up there?" he asked with a disgusted scowl.
"Nothing you would care to know or understand," Aiden muttered, glaring into the distance.
Nicolas said nothing to this and merely nodded. "You will have one day to decide. You may either be baptized into the ways of the one true God, or die like the rest of the heathens in this repulsive land."
Aiden turned to look at him at this remark, for once letting actual anger show through. "I am no heathen, Sir. I deny your god with pride. The gods I followed were just as true."
Snarling, Nicolas pulled Aiden off his horse at the settlement. He bound his captive's hands with rope, before leading him down to the dungeons. He found, against his better judgment, that he was slightly envious of this man's sheer ability to defy. He had never had that. Nicolas had always had the compulsion to follow orders, and make no personal decisions. He felt a curiosity that he tried desperately to repress about Aiden, and what he was working on in that tower so tirelessly. He stared at the man he was pulling along painfully. Aiden was dressed entirely in plain black robes, to match the raven hair that obscured most of his features. He guessed that appearance no longer mattered to someone so alone.
Aiden, too, watched the man who was gripping his arm so tightly. He was disgusted by this supreme display of obedience and power. But he could not help the jealousy he felt rising within him towards this absolute ability to devote himself so strongly to others that his captor had. In his solitary tower, Aiden had begun to realize he was fighting mostly for himself, as he had cut himself off from the rest of the world. He was jealous of the will to stand up for himself and the ability to even talk to others that he saw in this powerful man. For once in his life, Aiden did not feel so alone, even if his only companion would be the deliverer of his death.
Nicolas through Aiden roughly into a dank room hidden away in the darkness, with bars blocking any escape. He still felt there was something he had to know however, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not destroy this display of emotion, and he hated himself for it. "What were you doing in that tower?" he growled, more angrily than he had meant to.
Aiden stared back up at him from inside the cell in slight surprise. "If you really want to know, Milord," he added with overbearing sarcasm, "I was following the teachings of those who know more about life than you, or your lord, or your god ever will. Alchemy has its purposes, but it seems that our Arab neighbors understand it much better than anyone here."
Alchemy…it was a word Nicolas had heard, and if he recalled correctly, it was Egyptian. The practice had thankfully not come here yet. This man was not only a traitor to his supposed religion, but to his country as well. But he could not hold himself back from another question. "And what exactly are those purposes?" he sneered.
"The betterment of the self, a truer understanding of nature, eternal life apart from any god, and the elevation of the human soul," Aiden recited, almost condescendingly.
"And have you achieved any of this?"
Aiden sighed. He was absentmindedly fingering the vial he carried around his robes, reminding him of a possible way of escape. He was growing nervous after such a prolonged interaction with this man. "I have achieved the first three. The betterment of myself came naturally, simply through learning all I could. And what I learned brought about a truer understanding of nature and the purpose of all its elements. Eternal life I now have, in a manner of speaking. It is the enlightenment of my own soul that I have not yet accomplished."
Nicolas could not mask the surprise he felt. So he hid it in anger, calling a guard down as he was about to leave to more important duties. He recited a statement that had been automatically drilled into him, mainly just for an excuse to hear more of what this man had to say. "Eternal life is impossible in this world. It may only be achieved if you have repented of all of your sins and turned to the Lord."
"Eternal life is not impossible. I have lived for much longer than you, and can assure you that I know much more. No, do not fear, tomorrow I shall die at the hands of your Emperor. What I have achieved only protects me from natural deaths. I can do nothing when someone else has decided I no longer deserve to live. I even created an end for myself, in case I was ever the person to make that decision," he said with an almost defeated sigh, showing Nicolas the vile he held.
Nicolas studied it through the bars. It looked like some sort of poison. Just for good measure, he confiscated it from Aiden, and said nothing else as he turned on his heel swiftly to leave. He had never acted like this before. He could barely remember holding anything that even resembled a civil conversation with someone who had broken the law. But Aiden intrigued him to the point of insanity. The man had found an escape from the confines of this ordered society that Nicolas had always obeyed so strictly. He punished himself almost more than he punished others, though he had only ever realized this subconsciously. He never allowed himself any enjoyments, preferring to live quite alone and apart. He had been able to suppress any wild desires he felt to run away from all of this, simply by reminding himself that the law was always right, and that it was his place to serve it.
That night as Nicolas tried to sleep in the small quarters he had been provided in this temporary settlement, he found himself plagued with unwanted and what he considered unclean thoughts. He attempted prayer once again, but found that his lies only made it worse. He was restless, and found himself standing in the dungeons, not caring what laws he was breaking by associating with prisoners.
"Why do you make this choice?" he fairly yelled at the man almost asleep on the dirty floor.
Aiden startled back to consciousness at the irate voice, opening his eyes to see what was clearly a crazed soldier. He maintained the cool, calm front he usually had. "Because the other is far worse. I cannot lie to myself."
"Why is this so important that you die? You…you have something to live for…your goal…" Nicolas was sputtering, and no longer cared if he made a fool of himself.
"There is nothing remaining here for me now. Even if there were a way I could escape, there is nowhere I would choose to go. I know no one, Sir Nicolas, and I tire of this life. Spare your own life and do not do anything stupid regarding me now," he said softly, having heard one of the guards speak the other man's name.
Nicolas simply nodded. He had pushed away the creeping thought to force Aiden to flee, thereby destroying everything he had ever followed, but he knew it would benefit neither of them. He had already mocked himself in his own heart, having even thought the thought. His face was resigned as he looked up to the small window to see dawn breaking. "Good luck to you Sir, in whatever death brings. The guards will come for you soon."
Nicolas was sickened and shocked by himself. As he was leaving to return to a high watch point to oversee the execution, he thought on how he had never said such things to a convict before. Never before had he allowed one so below him in every way, someone who had so defied his precious laws, to affect him so strongly. He had never meant to feel those emotions – jealousy, wonder, empathy, sadness.
And as he stood there, watching Aiden being led to the guillotine, he wanted to scream. That would not be his way though, to show such passion in front of so many people. So he simply waited as Aiden kneeled, and caught his eye when the convict condemned man looked up. The two men did not break their stare during the reading of the crimes and the prayers, and Nicolas held tightly to the vial of poison. Aiden silently refused for his last time to grace them with any last words, and gave the first smile Nicolas had seen on him, although it was slight. As the blade fell, Nicolas looked away and downed the contents of the tiny vial, awaiting whatever judgment would befall him without fear.