#ariwriting

The battle had been hard fought and as Arild stood back and took in the carnage of the field, he had to catch his own breath out of dismay and repulsion. The once gloriously green and lush fields along the Aelcomay and Eurylithe border were drenched in blood and the bodies of man and beast. The bodies were mangled and filthy and the air smelled foul with the stench of death and ripe decay – metal and sulfur.

 Here and there pockets of fire still blazed. Sad and limp banners hung - broken like twigs in the heat of battle.

 In the distance The Vale rose up to the clouds – its towering trees looking down on them with disgust.

 Ari’s face was covered in soot and spatterings of darkened blood. They seeped into his pores and made him want to rip his skin from his bones and throw it away among the limp forms all around him.

 His hands were stained crimson as well under the hilt of his sword. Its blade was smeared with the blood of northerners. He turned away from the scene feeling complete disgust with himself and all others involved in this carnage. How could this go on?

 His shoulders were sagged and as he turned away, his hazel-blue gaze settled on Espen who was reveling in the glory of battle and drenched in the blood of the enemy. He wore the blood like a badge of honor and basked in the carnage of the fight. Ari found himself wondering if he himself looked so blood soaked and the thought sickened him.

 It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight or even that he was weak in the stomach. It had more to do with what this war stood for. There were no rights here on the field – only wrongs. Killing Ingridr’s men was wrong. Harming innocents that had no quarrel with him was wrong. But he did it out of loyalty and duty, he supposed…

 Loyalty and duty…

 He thought to his own family – his brothers had already died for this conflict, his sisters had lost husbands to it. His father and mother suffered daily with the thoughts and memories of lost sons and daughters. He knew they worried ceaselessly for him as well. And it wasn’t even during battles – it was at all times. Parain Dor had turned into a nest of vipers just waiting to strike their next target.

 How long before it was him? How far could loyalty and duty stretch?

 He was good-natured enough with a moral compass that stayed true. He could not last in such an environment – not for long, anyway.

 Ari was jolted back to reality as a cry went up, a sick cry of victory. He turned back toward Espen as the men began to gather around him. Most looked as disoriented and aghast as Ari felt. They were craving a leader to justify this – to tell them it was all right.

 “The victory is ours!” Espen was announcing loudly over the groans of the mangled and dying on the battlefield. “find any stragglers and bring them forward!” But Espen already had a small collection of proud but defeated men knelt before him with bowed heads.

 Ari moved stiff legged toward the Bloody Prince. His joints ached from the battle and movement was cumbersome. Although he was a commander in his own right, he still answered to Prince Espen who acted as the King’s eyes and ears on the battlefield. Ari couldn’t help but wonder if King Eskel actually realized what his brother was like on the field.

 Ari’s troop of men slowly gathered behind him and trailed along. Some were cheerful but most were simply exhausted from the long and hot day on the field. Many were limping or sporting vicious gashes and other wounds. Ari couldn’t help but notice some were missing and it made his heart sink still further. How dearly bought had this victory been?

 He reached Espen at about the same time Egil did. Prince Egil looked as pale as Ari felt. His slate blue eyes met Ari’s and they exchanged a quick glance that was full of meaning. They were both feeling ill at what they had accomplished this day – they were horrified with themselves, really. This had been a gruesome battle like never before.

 Egil quickly stepped forward to his brother. Both Egil and Espen were taller than Ari by at least four inches. Then again, that apparently ran in their family – at least nowadays. The elf blood was strong in these children of Aels and then their half brother, Eskel, was something else entirely. Arild had never seen another person so uniquely tall in his entire life. And then there was Eskel’s daughter, Ingridr…

 Ari was jolted from that train of thought as Egil was speaking up, “We should release them to Queen Astridr…” his words were urgent as he spoke to his older brother, “… with a warning…?”

 Espen’s gaze was sharp and switched over to Egil. It held a certain malice that Ari had always found terrible and unpredictable. The man was like, what Ari’s father would say, a Humphindorph on the prowl for naughty children to punish. The only difference was, Espen was very much real and not a fairy story and he was on the prowl for anything that might bleed for his blade.

 “Don’t worry, Little Brother,” he purred, “of course I will release these men to the Queen…” A sneer spread across Espen’s face as he turned back to the burly northerners. “You.” Arild became aware that Espen’s gaze had flicked toward him and he was being summoned… in a sense.

 Ari stepped forward and stood beside Egil who still looked as though he may be ill at any moment. Ari himself had recovered from the battle to some extent and color was returning to his face as exhaustion waxed and waned. He was naturally good humored even when faced with terrible carnage and he had to keep up a good face for his men.

 “Yes, Bloo… Prince Espen?” Ari quickly corrected himself and bit back a smirk at his own awkwardness. He was on edge and that was his natural go-to buffer.

 “Cut off these men’s cocks and shove them down their throats. Make them choke on their own manhood then take their heads north to our beloved and dear Queen.” Espen voice was laden with cruelty and self-satisfied, sick joy. “Let her see what the south thinks of her best men!”

 Arild stood silent as he recognized a few of the men from his excursions into Ingridr’s camp. There was Old Engle, and Tommn, and poor Glenn. He didn’t meet their intense, hate-fill gazes. This war was fueled on senseless hate and it made him want to scream.

 Instead, he held an emotionless grace.

 On the other hand, Egil’s face went pale as a ghost. Several of the southern men cheered but most looked simply exhausted from the battle.

 “We haven’t got all day, Velson!” Espen shouted again as he yanked one of the northern men to their feet. The man was shorter than Espen but far stockier. In his other hand, Espen still held his own blade. In a swift move, he dropped the man’s trousers and cleft his manhood from the rest of his person. Even the men who had cheered before fell silent as the northerner’s groans of agony broke through the already eerie battlefield sounds.

 “You can’t do this!” Egil stepped forward and exclaimed in desperation as the poor man had fallen to his knees before Espen. They were nearly face to face now – Espen just a few inches taller than his younger brother. There was a deep hatred that bubbled up between them and Espen’s jaw worked as it clenched in his fury.

 “See to it.” He pointed to Ari before shoving the bleeding penis into Egil’s hands and clenching his brother’s fists around it tightly. “or it’ll be your head I send to your mother, Velson!”

 He stormed off with a small group of men who trailed along behind.

 Ari was left standing beside Egil and looking a little lost. Of course, Espen would guess his stance on the war. He would know that whereas Arild was competent and strong, witty and bright, he opposed this constant fighting between neighbors. This was a test – Espen would try to break him.

 Ari and Egil looked to one another as if silently communicating before Ari turned to his men.

 Espen was out of earshot now and no doubt celebrating their victory with drink and women.

 “There are ten men here now!” He announced to his own good men who had gathered about. “round up all of the still breathing northerners and take them to Ivarr’s camp. Deposit their living and wounded to him.”

 One of his men opened their mouths to speak but Ari continued over the man, “for each live northerner you send to Ivarr’s camp, find a dead man on the field. Cut off the man’s cock and put it in his mouth just as Lord Espen ordered! Sever the heads and ready them for me. I shall take it to Queen Astridr just as commanded… a gift of good will to the North!” he spoke this last bit sarcastically, obviously boldly mocking and twisting the Bloody Prince’s orders. Enough men had been killed, there would be no more.

 His own loyal men cheered and quickly they rounded up northerners and began secretly and hurriedly carting them across the enemy lines just far enough for the men to make their own way safely to the northern camps.

 Egil helped lift up the poor older man Espen had brutalized. With the help of other northerners even that man crossed the border.

 There totaled thirty-three men that were safely reunited with their comrades in the north. And thirty-three cock-filled heads that were taken from the field of dead bodies and delivered to Ari. In truth, the heads were of northern men and southern men alike. Even with his wit and mercy, Ari knew the Queen would not be best pleased and facing her would still be risky. It was a grim thought to match the grim pile of heads, but as he began his journey to the northern gates, he could rest easier knowing he had made the best out of a terrible situation.