The Tale of Fidelis Filius

[YoungColonial27]

The Tale of Fidelis Filius

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Freya boggled in disbelief, the man's soul had enraptured her so deeply. She'd come for him as soon as she could. Ottar, understanding of his ladies fickle heart, had helped her sneak out into the Daedalus labyrinth after she'd spotted the soul while relaxing in Babylon tower.

It was a wondrous thing, but it hardly compared to this.

"I refuse." The mans words were utterly certain. Without the merest taint of doubt. Relentlessly pure, and blinding in it's brilliance.

He'd shaken off her charm. It was brilliant.

Ottar growled. "You would deny my lady?"

"Calm down Ottar, he means nothing by it, I'm sure." Freya waved him down, and immediately Ottar settled. Yet, she was surprised. The man before them hadn't even flinched at the hostility of the Cities strongest.

Why?

She looked at the man questioningly.

He didn't say a word.

Frustrated, she spoke. "Will you at least tell me why? I'm curious."

"I serve only one God."

He served a god? Perhaps Hestia, she should still be in that ruined Church Hephaestus told me about.

"Which god do you speak of?"

His answer was forceful, unhesitating.

"The one true God, the Father of all, who sent us his one and only son, Jesus Christ, blessed be his name."

The Father of all? That sounds like Odin? But still. How sad, no God can have a child. He's been fooled.

Freya shook her head. "I apologise child, but you've been deceived."

The man, his martial stance and tones muscle only somewhat hidden by his cloak betraying his humble appearance. A gentle face framed in brown hair and a long beard. Height of only 5 feet, and clothes only seen upon a beggar.

He raised an eyebrow. "Deceived you say? I would not trust the words of a false idol. The lord hath commanded there be none before him. Yet, you have been courteous, and you show virtue. For a women of such beauty to hide her appearance, I praise your humility. I will listen of thee."

He recognised her beauty! She almost blushed in embarrassment! Still...

Humility? That's... a strange thing to praise of a Deus. Men liked women that flaunted their appearance surely?

She shook off her confusion and spoke. "We gods can't have children like you mortals. Surely you already know this? This god of yours must have tricked you. I understand it might be hard to accept, but I want to tell you the truth..." She expected his rejection.

People of steadfast beliefs were rarely convinced so simply...

Instead of the anger and vitriol she feared, he simply...

Laughed.

He laughed, a deep bellyaching sound, one too deep for his short stature.

Then he spoke.

"My God did not bed a woman no. Such is an amusing thought indeed. I thank you for that. No. Our Lord sent the Holy Spirit within the Virgin Mary, and then she gave birth to the Prodigal Son, Jesus Christ our King."

He smiled at her, the tension that he'd been hiding, or attempting to, now dissipating away along with Freya's worry.

She frowned. "That makes even less sense, what's a Holy Spirit? How can a Spirits element be Arcanum? Besides, Spirits can't have kids either..."

Ottar, seemingly having made a deduction, suddenly sat down on the ground, seeming to have confidence his charge was never in danger.

The man, in turn, also frowned. "The Holy Spirit isn't some Gnome of the Earth or Sylph of the Air. The Holy Spirit is God. It is within us all. It's power splendid, and unending. As for Arcanum, I'm not sure I understand, is that what you people call Divinity? Actually, now that I think of it, why would you think gods are unable to have children? I know you false idols are different from those that have been sanctified by the Church, but still, do not the tales of the Greeks and Romans speak of the many Demigods, the sons of Zeus, Poseidon and Hades?"

The mans slowly growing questions morphed into a tidal wave of a rant as he started to become more unsettled until he reached a state of utterly flabbergasted bamboozlement.

Freya tilted her head cutely. Her face utterly blank.

"What?"

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[YoungColonial27]

Plotbunny says thank you for freeing him from the lazy author and the easily offended.

He will now paint his ideal world.

None can stop him.

Enjoy!

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It was mind boggling.

William couldn't understand it.

A strange city, people with the features of animals.

Not simple skin with fur like a beast. He'd met one such Wolf Man in his time across the seas, and it was bizarre, but he was still man.

No, he saw people with furred tails and ears, ears like a dog or cat.

It was... Strangely appealing in some indescribably manner. As if God had combined his wife and cat.

He had to pray for God's aid for a moment, Isabel was no jealous women, but he was no traitor.

What truly scared him though, was those with the features of Fae.

He was a man of God, how could he not give his name when asked? How could he not give thanks to all.

A knife eared women across the street looked at him...

And smiled.

He turned and fled, begging in his heart for Christ to save him.

He reached a strange group of streets, as perplexing as they were mad.

Stairs went up to nowhere, and tunnels went through houses.

He searched for an exit.

He found none.

Within the hour he was back where he had started.

He was troubled. He'd been having... Quite the 'busy' night with Isabel before his lord sent him here.

Well, considering how ravenous she'd been after night had fallen a second time, he had begged Christ to save him. He would not be ungrateful.

So, he found a puddle to drink from. Surprisingly it smelled fine, this land was very clean. He thanked God.

He drank from the puddle, relieved himself, said his daily prayers for the days last hour after not sleeping for 3 days straight, and then finally went to sleep on a bench conveniently left outside a house.

A his eyelids slowly dropped shut, he watched God's painting upon the sky, as clouds became men fighting beasts and animals making merry.

He slept.

He slept.

He dreamed.

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He cried.

William Marshal cried deeply.

His father had betrayed the rightful King of England.

John Marshal had fallen for the wiles of the beautiful and charming Empress Matilda, the wife of the Holy Roman Emperor.

She was the daughter of King Henry, a rightful heir yes, but his father had sworn loyalty to the first born son of King Henry I.

He had betrayed his oath.

But a man must love his family, so he had done his duties. Cleaned himself, studied hard, and trained until he bled.

Yet it was all for nought.

He had failed his father.

Before him stood his jailor.

A man in robes with his head adorned by a Crown.

His icy blue eyes were cold, stared deep into his soul.

A knight approached.

"My lord! I have sent the message."

The Kings curly dark blonde hair swung as his head spun to stare at his Servant.

"You have done well Martin, I trust they did not dishonour you to spite me?"

The warrior clad in steel removed his helm as he kneeled upon the soft grass.

"Nay your majesty, I am hindered by not even a simple scratch. They have honour, you need not doubt them."

The Lord's robes spun, golden decorations lining the edges were encrusted with shining shines.

Emeralds, rubies and even sapphire.

William could not help but stare even as fear gripped his heart like a vice.

Horror overtook him as Stephen of Blois spun his head once more, laying rest upon the method of his execution. The weapon that could see his demise.

A trebuchet stood many yards tall. Black wood as evil and striking as the night of the woods owned by the wolves lurking in the corner of his vision.

If Stephen did not kill him, perhaps he'd send him to the forest so that those wolves might hunt him instead.

He shivered.

The King spoke no, declared:
"Then, before this day ends, Newbury Castle shalt be mine!"

The Kings Guards, all lined up with Flags shouted in unison - "Long Live The King."

Martins face fell even as he weakly praised with them.

The King did not fail to notice his somber.

"Martin! We are upon our day of victory, are you not overcome with joy."

Silence beheld them for moments.

Finally, Martin found his tongue.

"I... am sorry, milord. I cannot celebrate, for my heart is held in turmoil. We are rightful rulers, you are the Kings true Heir, but even so... Why are we reduced to threatening the life of a mere child?"

"I beg you, your majesty, why must we kill a child of not even 6 years of age, to achieve our victory?"

Stephen's hard face, so stern it might have been chiselled out of stone, judged his knight with cold eyes that promised punishment for his disloyalty.

Then, inexplicably, as if God himself had descended and carved into his creation once more... The man's face became softer, softer and... tired.

Stephen's shoulders fell, and the man's age suddenly showed.

All of his 60 years could be seen clear as day.

Then his face came out, and William only felt more shocked to hear the withered and weak voice, even as it pronounced his inescapable death.

"If we don't not kill this one child, then every man within that castle will die. Many women and children too, if we are forced to lay siege. Our men will join them. I cannot do it."

Martin spoke once more, fervour in his voice.

"Then I beg you oh lord. Have faith in God. He will surely deliver us. He will save us, I know this to be true! Please..."

The Knights voice slowly became weak, and his fellow Knights turned their eyes away in shame.

Stephen spoke slowly.

"I.. I... I ca..nno..t. I.. am.. sorry.. my son... I have... not the faith."

Martins face fell in hopelessness, and as he returned to his knees he fell silent in praying, clutching his cross upon his neck in desperation.

The Kings countenance retained to it's statuesque visage.

They waited, and slowly William started to wonder.

Wouldn't it be better if he died?

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The messenger arrived.

Their face was dark.

When Stephen gave permission to speak, they shook their head.

Instead, they pointed at Newbury Castle.

Upon the Castle bailey stood only one man.

John Marshal.

His father.

He boomed, the sound somehow reaching them over three hundred yards away.

The sound was as mighty as any great warriors. It inspired fear in foe and courage in comrade.

"Coward King Stephen of Blois! I ignore your pathetic threats! Go ahead and kill my son! I will not surrender, for know this!"

"I still have the hammer and the anvil with which to forge still more and better sons!"

Williams heart shattered like poorly made glass.

Tears streamed down the child's face as he sobbed.

Stephen approached and grabbed his face his raising it to look at him.

He looked him in the eye, his cold face seeming as if an angel about to damn him to hell.

The world froze.

Memories swam in his minds eye. His father telling him he loved him. His mother telling him he was the perfect son. His tutor telling him he had talent for everything, that God had blessed him greatly.

Was it all a lie?

It was, wasn't it.

So he was to die.

Then with a cry, Martin screamed. He grabbed his kings robes as he collapsed to his knees.

"I beg you more liege, spare this child's life. Please, cast this evil from your heart. Even if it kills me I will take that castle by my lonesome if you buy ask. So please!"

Silence fell.

The Kings Knights were wireless, filled with trepidation as their eyes fell to the floor.

Everyone of them felt only shame, you could see it in their hearts. Read of it likest a book plainly.

Then, without ceremony the King spoke.

"Martin, calm yourself. Even if you had begged me to kill this child, I would not have the strength."

"My lord!"

Martins voice cracked.

William only cried all the harder.

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William woke with tears on his cheeks.

He smiled as he thanked God.

He loved that dream with all his heart. It was his favourite dream, the dream of the day when his God saved him.

Yet, when he opened his eyes...

He was not greeted by the sky, but instead a beautiful face framed by wonderful silver hair.

What was happening?

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