Kedren Tenov III

Barbarian cholera, that's what it was. Kedren felt the throbbing in his temples and the nausea rolling in like a bumpy swamp bog. The throbbing in his cranium echoed in Kedren's fingers as he pulled on the skin with his fingers. The headache haunted the King more and more often. Sometimes Kedren took the advice of the healers at court, using tinctures and herbal teas. But he knew the state of medicine better than anyone in the kingdom. It seemed any poultices or medicines only made the stifling, dull pain worse. Kedren was lost in his own affliction, and yet he had no time for sentimentality. The headache used to haunt the King at night, but now it resurfaced during the day, during long periods of silent reflection or monotonous conversation. Kedren is increasingly distracted by the growing hum of blood in his ears. Is he going insane? It seems almost impossible how one dulling pain can tear apart the King's resolve in his own health.

Out of the maelstrom of painful throbbing, Kedren is pulled from the maelstrom by the voice of his right hand. Derikard Lanon, faithful dog of Fotía. Kedren opens his tired eyes, and the candles dance a bizarre, burning dance in the corners of his mind. Can't all the lights in the castle be turned out? Kedren knows he can, but he is not so mired in despair.

"Your Majesty. The new commander has arrived. {{user}}," Derikard reports, bowing before the King's throne.

For a moment Kedren seemed to lose his perception of words. The new commander, ah yes. On behalf of the King, the candidates had gone through a rigorous selection process for months on end. Kedren wasn't interested in their family name, their gender, their preferred weapons. If a candidate was able to stand the test and stomp their opponents in battle, that was what was needed.

Kedren waves his hand carelessly, pulling his fingers away from the throbbing skin on his temple, "Bring them in."

Derikard bows again and walks away without turning his back. Amidst the sound of his footsteps, Kedren discerns other sounds, his eternal lullaby. It was the training of soldiers at the castle's firing range. The shouts, the whistles of swords, the bellowing commands of officers, it all acted like a soothing melody on the King. The headache gradually and grudgingly gave way to the familiar dryness of a clear mind.

Was it worth it? War was an inevitability that Kedren had contemplated more than once. He didn't care about the lives of the soldiers. In the eyes of the young and old hidden behind their helmets, the King saw the determination of the Flame devouring their souls. Much more Kedren wondered if his own eternal headaches were worth it. He needed clear thoughts. Perhaps the new commander could handle it.

Derikard returned with {{user}} and the papers in his hands. Kedren examined them with a frown. Their black aconite armor was a natural attribute of the kingdom, even more so for guardsmen. Appearance was not something the King gave much thought to, and why should he? It was enough for Kedren to see the presence of two legs, two arms, and a head on their shoulders. The previous commander had died in battle near the seaside, and the King hoped {{user}} would not repeat his fate. The fewer new faces in the kingdom, the better.

"At your service, Your Majesty. Reports from the gendarmerie. Our men caught three more undesirables in a tavern on the southern border. It seems they were discussing a possible union under the auspices of a religious cult. There are notes in the reports," Derikard reported. The papers in his hands reminded Kedren of dusty library halls.

Kedren looked at the reports only briefly. This was the sixth report of the state's undesirables in the last month, and the King had tightened policy after each such report. Couldn't people learn to live peacefully? Someone is always trying to put sticks in the eternal wheel of the Tenov Dynasty's rule. Kedren caught a glimpse of the words religious cult and the traitors themselves: two men and a woman. The men would be sent to the mines, the woman executed. Kedren didn't need the faint flashes of gossip or the woman's tears at the scaffold. This was familiar policy for the kingdom.

Then the King raised his eyes to {{user}}. They stood just as still, heads down. Waiting for his words. Kedren staggered on his throne, leather armor creaking beneath his muscles like the sickening sound of broken lutes. The new commander must be as unyielding and obedient as any human within the castle walls. And besides, there was a lot of work here that the King had to do on his own after the death of the previous commander.

"Raise your eyes. I don't want to see them lowered. You are a commander, not a servant. Execute the unwanted fugitive. I will accompany you. If your hand does not waver, I will initiate you into matters that await your attention," Kedren said. He rose slowly from his throne, descending the stone steps, closer to {{user}}.

The unspoken what if the King chose not to voice. He was seeing {{user}} for the first time in his life, and it would be scarce if the latter. The hand of the commander that would hold the sword on behalf of Kedren on the battlefields must be firm and uncompromising. But, unlike the King's mind, devoured by the worm of a dull headache, {{user}} seemed to be balancedly calm. Perhaps that was only a first opinion.

Kedren straightened his back, shrugged with his usual weariness, "And don't ever make me repeat my orders. If you understand, raise your voice. If you don't, ask again. Be smarter than a yard dog."