Taitenschild

5-1 || Prices Paid (Part I)

'So...'

The word reverberated off the smooth stone walls of the Chamber of Counsel, located in the centre of the ground level of the Temple of Aeon. Three raised thrones sat in a triangle arrangement in the centre of the room, all facing in towards the small round platform on which the counselled was to stand.

Seated on the one occupied throne in the room, Einar looked down his nose at Hal from the dais and continued, 'Care to explain?'

The menial glanced at the two empty seats behind him and raised an eyebrow. 'I thought this was a Counsel.'

'It is.'

'With only one out of three Tyrants? Aren't you Titans supposed to live by the Teachings and all that nonsense?'

Einar scowled and ignored the objection. 'Explain, Hal.'

The menial rolled his eyes. 'You're going to have to be more specific than that, Einar. What am I supposed to explain? Aramir passing the Rite? The Goddess's Blessing? Why all your "elite" aeonite-wielding Titans froze on the spot when the Fal'mor was about to attack the stands? You should know the answer to that last one at least. If you don't, then we're doomed because you've been buying into your own bullsh—'

Standing behind him, off the platform, Ove Toveschild, Marshal of Menials, sighed and cleared his throat loudly as he realised that he'd have to intervene. He'd known that this meeting was not going to go well from the moment Einar had told him whom to summon.

'Hal,' he said slowly, voice full of reproach.

Hal treated him to a side-eye. 'Ove,' he replied, delivering the word in the same exact tone.

The Marshal clenched his jaw as a familiar sense of frustration bubbled up within him. He quickly did his best to quash it. Losing his temper would simply bite him and the other menials in the rear later.

Ove may have been Marshal, but Hal was the one with power. He needed Hal more than Hal needed him, and they both knew it too.

'I believe the Lord Tyrant is referring to the ward,' Ove continued, his tone just barely even.

Hal rolled his eyes. 'Of course he is. Doesn't mean he can't take his shiny, glowing sword out of his ass and ask me about it properly.'

Fist shaking over the hilt of his sword, Einar drew it and leapt to his feet. 'You are a menial and you dare—!'

The slam of metal on stone cut the threat short. Looking towards the door, the three men found Ylva standing at the chamber's entrance, her knuckles white against her spear as she glared at all three of them.

'That is enough,' she said. 'You are men, not children.'

'Reminds me of when they were warrior-trainees,' rumbled Thearris's voice from behind her. The Tyrant of Soldiers bared his teeth as he entered the room, his warhammer slung over his shoulder. 'Constantly arguing and getting into fights, these three were.'

'Until two of us became menials,' said Hal with a snort.

'That was fifty years ago,' Ove muttered to his feet.

'Which just goes to show that you still haven't grown up,' Ylva shot back. Gliding across the room, she took her chair. Spear still in hand, she crossed one leg over the other and fixed her gaze on Einar's face. 'I'm very disappointed in you, Tyrant.'

'You know better than to convene Counsel without us present, Einar,' said Thearris, his heavy footsteps echoing in the Shieldmaiden's wake. Setting his hammer head-first onto the ground beside him, he took his place on his throne. 'To do so defies the Teachings.'