Chapter 2: Disconcerting Bedfellows
Your Grace," implored the sallow-faced, gaunt man wringing his hands in front of the royal seat. "surely you'll agree that—"
"I'll agree," came the High King Torygg's peremptory reply, "that you have wasted enough of my time as it is." Then, as the man seemed to deflate of all spirit, the King assumed a somewhat softer look, saying, "You've made your point," in a level voice, "and it will be duly considered—of that, you'll have my word."
The sickly-looking man recovered a bit at that. "Thank you, your Highness," he said. He made his awkward obeisance, then promptly retrograded, not daring to turn his back until he'd reached the stairs leading down.
Castorius snorted quietly to himself. Quite the freak-show this had proved to be.
He'd stood there for over an hour by then, at the sidelines of the High King's throne room, listening to a petition after a supplication after a briefing of military stratagem, vacillating between amusement and utter tedium. He'd expected a private hearing with the crowned head himself, not to partake in this absurd routine of his regnant responsibilities. Who would have thought the life of a king would prove to be so boring?
Well, Castorius would have, to think on it.
All the same, no words had been wasted on the prospect of war, nor on any battle or the earlier disturbance. The Stormcloaks had been mentioned once—in the context of 'geopolitical impregnability', whatever in gods' names that might have meant—but the topic of an immediate threat of a civil war was acutely conspicuous by its absence.
Suspicion was slowly stirring within him.
The expressions stood mostly placid on the faces of the attendants around the central space, where one supplicant after another stated their business and received Torygg's usually curt reply. Captain Aldis stood basically expressionless opposite of Castorius, his the job of the herald who ushered the supplicants and, if necessary, encouraged them to depart once their business had been judged as dealt with. This left Falk Firebeard, the High King's steward, free to stand by him, to whisper his advice into the regent's ear, and doubtless to brief in the necessary detail of the given person presenting their case.
The King's wife Elisif had her seat next to her husband, but Castorius did his best not to look upon her. This took a considerable amount of effort.
Two soldiers stood on each side of Castorius like a pair of automatons—good dogs to a man, of that there was little doubt. Was this the impression that he had given in service? This machine-like unmalleability? Were their any individual thoughts behind those stony faces and expressionless eyes?
He did not want to think about that either, so decided to just try and ignore them.
The room itself could have been larger, he thought, as it was scarcely the size of a living room in the house of any given caste-noble. The High King's throne stood on a squat dais currently bathed in the light of the forenoon sun, which managed to give the man a nearly otherworldly impression. Castorius also had to admit that Torygg was quite an imposing sight in his own right, wearing his crown and his purple and turquoise royal garb. His proud, bearded face made him appear at least a good decade, if not two, older that his relatively young age, and the impression was further enhanced by the stout figure that his firm posture underlined. This was a man whose presence commanded respect, and was no doubt looking at a long and successful reign.
Even if he was just a puppet.
Castorius looked towards the staircase to his left, at the line of supplicants. Was this to go on much longer? To his despair, the other of the two sets of arching stairs was still populated by plebs waiting their turn, the other set being reserved for those retreating. Above them loomed a large dome, and through the stained-glass windows lining it, the space was flooded with columns of sunlight—like scraps of mercy from a celestial paradise they would never attain.
Why was Castorius even there? He'd not been added to the line of people waiting for their turn, so at least it did seem like his business was not lumped together with the rest of the High King's routines. It was almost as if they had specifically wanted him present at this monotony. To show him what sort of power the regent wielded, perhaps? Did they really think this would impress him? Or maybe they had changed their minds about the beheading, and were now looking to bore him to death instead?
The whole court of Solitude appeared to be present. Even Sybille Stentor, the infamous court wizard, had deigned to participate—though she'd normally tend to spend the bulk of daylight in bed. For an important figure in the court, her schedule gravitated towards a peculiarly nocturnal nature. Though, underneath her dark-blue cowled robes, it was not always possible to tell for sure whether or not she was truly awake. She stood completely still, with not the tiniest of fidgets, just like an erect corpse. This image was strengthened by what skin her garb allowed a view of, namely her hands and a part of her face. They were very pale.
As if by a sixth sense, she noticed Castorius' eyes on her, and turned to meet his gaze. Her smile's power to unsettle was coterminous with its complete lack of warmth. Castorius promptly looked elsewhere. He suppressed the shiver that meeting the woman's eyes tended to give him. He could not say exactly what, but there was something unnatural about them. A certain malignant burning in them, contrasting with the otherwise icy mien.
As if in search for warmth and comfort, his eyes were then drawn to Elisif. The beautiful, young Queen was outwardly as stern as ever, trying to make herself at once regal and, to her best ability, unnoticeable. On the first account, Castorius judged, she did very well, her very young age and lack of experience considered. But how could she ever hope to not attract the attention of everyone in the room with her delicate, radiant presence? It was obvious she was the mammoth in the room everybody wanted to stare at, and yet nobody dared to. She was the reason, if there ever was any, that the King should be envied. Not that he had power over the province, such as it was, but that he had her.
As had Castorius. After a fashion, leastwise.
All care cast aside, he drank the sight of her: her silky pale complexion; the copper hair coming down in waves on her slender shoulders; those full lips, pursed as they were in an intimation of propriety, and Castorius could not help a smile at the thought of the surprisingly bawdy tongue they hid behind them.
All of a sudden, her eyes turned to meet his, and a vexed frown creased her smooth, coroneted brow. Her blue eyes flashed with irritation and the nostrils of her straight-edged nose flared, then she sharply averted her gaze.
Such a petulant show of disdain further damped Castorius' mood. He had, in his mind, been a perfect gentleman, so from where was this bleak wind now blowing? With growing displeasure, he searched the woman's face for a clue. She did not turn to look again.
To his dismay, however, Castorius noticed then that the King himself was glaring straight at him, and by the anger darkening his aspect, Castorius had no doubt in his mind the King had caught him eyeing his somewhat too young, and undeniably all-too-beautiful, wife. Castorius tried for a quick smile, friendly as to be obsequious, then quickly looked away, letting his eye wander all across the room, surveying in turn each person present in hopes of giving out an impression it was what he'd been doing all along.
He also took care to wipe the smile off his face while at it.
Castorius felt a cool sweat starting to gather upon his brow. He was treading very dangerous ground, he knew. Had the King any inkling of what had gone down between his wife and Castorius, he'd doubtless have him flayed—several times over, if if his knowledge of the details of the transgression went even a trifle beyond an inkling.
And yet, despite the eminent peril hanging above of his head, Castorius had a hard time keeping a smile from pulling at his lips at the memory of those fleeting nights of clandestine ecstasy. Despite himself, he stole another glance at the queen—her poised exterior of unassuming innocence that he knew for a facade, but that so perfectly hid the untamed beast he knew to lie within.
He felt a pang, then, that he at first took for guilt, but that on closer examination revealed itself as pity. The High King probably had no idea of the true person behind Elisif's mask, and thus had no way of being able to give her what she really longed for. The High King was undeniably a kind man, and no doubt in his way even worshiped his wife, but did not strike Castorius as a man of the arts, and that was indubitably the precise thing Elisif would have needed.
Maybe Castorius should be the High King.
Yes, that would be a position befitting him.
Well, it would be without all the actual work that actually went into it. In fact, the mere thought of it made him wary. Just looking at what the man had to deal with was more than enough to quell any and all desire for his post. No wonder if the High King had no energy left to properly satisfy his wife. Maybe Castorius could offer to do it for him, if for just a meager income. And perhaps a minor title that came with no real importance or responsibility.
Not that he could, Elisif's undeniably rare sort of beauty notwithstanding, possibly limit his amorous endeavors to just one woman. But perhaps it could be established that—
The soldier on his right shoved him hard in the shoulder. "Answer the King when he speaks to you, insolent dog!" he barked.
Who's the dog here? Castorius thought. He feigned a smile, however, and bowed down his head. "Your Highness?" He wondered if he should kneel, but did not do so.
Torygg did not seem to mind. He waved at Castorius. "Come forth, why don't you," he said impatiently.
Castorius stepped in front of the High King, giving the man a quizzical look. Perhaps pretending at innocence would be the prudent approach to take.
"You stand accused of high treason, soldier," the High King said.
Castorius raised an eyebrow, a gesture completely unpremeditated. "Yes, I believe I was to be executed upon the selfsame accusation. A ceremony unfortunately, um, cut short."
Torygg, would not be goaded. "So, you deny it?" The expression on his face was a shrewd one.
Castorius, at a loss as what to reply, kept his silence for a heartbeat or two. "I do not," he said. He thought there might have been a collective gasp in the room, but could not tell for the sound of rushing blood in his ears. What he was doing still felt idiotic, but he had his reasons.
"I see," the High King said. He gave Falk Firebeard a quick look. The man shrugged. Torygg turned back to Castorius. "Well, it matters not."
"No?" asked Castorius, taken aback.
Torygg shook his crowned head. "No. For if it did, you'd be standing here a head shorter."
Castorius was a bit surprised by the tepid murmur of laughter sounding from behind him. He turned to look, and found the crowd at the top of the stairs listening intently.
The High King frowned. "Get rid of these people," he said, waving a hand. "We don't need an audience."
At once, Captain Aldis gave a curt bow and went on to steer the people off. Even after being explained that the proceedings would continue after a recess, there were some separate grumbles from several individuals, griping about losing their positions in the queue.
As the rabble had been heralded out, the King looked around him. "Everyone else, take a break," he said, and continued "except for Falk", even though the man had not so much as budged. Elisif gave her husband an inquisitive look. He placed his hand on her slender thigh, smiled, and gave an affirmative nod.
As Elisif sailed past Castorius, she was careful not to acknowledge him in any way.
"Your Grace," said Captain Aldis with a questioning intonation, standing at rigid attention.
"You and your men are dismissed," Torygg replied.
Aldis frowned, giving Castorius a quick glance." Are you sure?"
"I should hope so—I am the High King," Torygg reminded. Aldis gave a brief nod, then collected his cronies, and retreated.
"Sybille, dear," The King said softly, "you stay."
Of course, Castorius thought. The outlandish woman had hardly made a move, obviously anticipating this.
'Dear'?
After a moment, it was just Castorius alone with the King and the King's most trusted. He felt oddly naked in front of their scrutiny. It did not help that he was forced to squint for all the sunlight on them. It felt an awful lot like being interrogated by some lower-level gods.
"So," Torygg started. "Guilty as charged, then?"
Castorius made no reply.
The High King let out a joyless laugh. "You can stop pretending now," he said. "I know the truth."
Castorius still said nothing, though his heart did pick up pace.
"Yes, do you think it a coincidence you still boast a head atop your shoulders?"
"Well, your Grace," Castorius said, his mouth dry. "I must admit I was wondering about that."
"'Wondering', he says," the King laughed, addressing his servants, "You hear that?"
Firebeard remained impassive; Sybille leered her eerie sneer.
Torygg re-assumed his seriousness. "I know what you've been up to," he said. "I know you're no traitor, but you've made some disconcerting bedfellows."
The ominous tinge in the Sovereign's voice was impossible to miss. Castorius could practically already feel his skin being pared. He knows! he thought with panic, and felt his physique tense up.
A malignant smile appeared on Torygg's face, as he could no doubt read correctly into Castorius' body language. "Are you surprised I should know?" he asked. He shook his head. "You're not smart enough for a traitor, Castorius."
Oddly enough, Castorius found room in his frightened heart for a feeling of offense. "I'm not?" he said, voice cracking.
"No, You are not," Torygg confirmed. "A whoring, self-serving, petty crook is what you are. I know men like you like I know the backs of my hands. You reek of it!" The vehement contempt in his words made Castorius flinch a little, though he suspected there had been a sprinkle of deliberate exaggeration audible in the High King's voice.
Torygg leaned back, then, and smiled a great deal more sympathetically. "And that is why I need you."
Castorius couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. Huh?
"Huh?" he said.
Torygg laughed, delighted. "Oh, you should see yourself right now!" he howled. "What did you think I would do, flay you?"
"Well, as matter of fact—"
"Silence!" Torygg commanded, startling Castorius. He leaned forwards. "I know all about your petty dealing with the Stormcloaks. I knew all along."
"You did?" So this was not about Elisif at all? He didn't know! Castorius might have been relieved, but in truth he still didn't feel anywhere near safety, and over all had a discomfiting foreboding about all of this.
"Yes," replied the King. "And I do not care."
Castorius frowned. "Then why—"
"Do not question me!" the King snapped. "As far as anybody is concerned, you're still a guilty man. And as such, I can order any punishment upon you I see fit."
Now, Castorius was not a man of law, but he was fairly sure that was not correct. There existed a clearly defined punishment for each crime committed. Best he let that be for now, however. He begun to wonder more and more where this was going, curiosity slowly taking a choke-hold on his fear.
The King nodded, satisfied. "Good, you decide to listen. Very prudent of you."
Castor chose to maintain that impression, and said nothing.
"What I need," Torygg went on, "is a man of few scruples." He pointed a finger at Castorius. "That would be you."
Yes, thank you for clearing that up, your Obviousness, Castorius thought. He simply nodded, despite feeling a slight inclination to argue with the High King's ruthless judgment of his character.
"For you also have a history of selling out to the Stormcloaks."
"I wasn't—"
The High King silenced him with a lifted finger. "And you've personally dealt with Ulfric himself."
Torygg had him there. Ulfric had actually been quite pleasant to do business with. Not at all the tormented, war-mongering lunatic he was made out to be. But then few famous people ever lived up to their reputation.
Not that Castorius had any doubt about the man's ability for violent acts if they was needed to promote his cause.
"Are you listening?" Torygg asked, frowning.
Castorius hastened to nod. "Yes, your Highness, I'm listening."
"Good," the King said. "So you listen, and you listen good, and I'll tell you precisely what I need you for."
And so he did. It was not exactly what Castorius would have expected.
It was probably worse.