Ameon I

Running, fear and terror, he was running from something, he wasn't sure what, but he just knew he had to run away from it, he ran into a crowd, hoping to escape the ghastly demon, it wasn't fooled by his seemingly cunning trick. It cut through the crowd with a blade, as it slashed and sweeped its steel sword, a trail of crimson mist followed.

As the man looked behind him, he saw the demon, it was red, transparent and ghastly. For every single step the man took, the spirit seemed to take five, his heart raced inside his chest, for every great bound he took, he simply prolonged the inevitable end. He ran nonetheless, until he tripped on a stray stone and slammed his face into the dirt, snapping his leg like a twig.

Dammit, is this the end for me? The man thought in horror to himself, it was all he could do to sit there on his mangled leg, staring at the demonic apparition closing in on him, he saw the great demon raise his sword, and bring it down and then . . .

He woke up, and tried to regain his composure, after his eyes adjusted to the pitch black, he saw a welcome sight after the horrific start to his day.

Gregory Dolton, his arcanum instructor, stood over him, with a look of concern on his face.

"You mumble in your sleep." Gregory said as he poured himself a glass of water.

"Mhm," Ameon grumbled while holding his face in his hands.

"In your waking too, it would seem." Gregory said with a shining smile.

"I had a nightmare, in it, I died. Killed by a ghastly figure of some kind."

"Really? They feel like they're getting more and more intense."

"There's always the option of quitting the arts in pursuit of something a little less controversial, cooking, perhaps?" Gregory said with a smile.

"Ha! I'm sure the King in the North would love that!" Ameon exclaimed while standing to his feet.

"That he would, sir," Gregory said softly.

"Stop with the damned titles and pleasantries, Dolton. I'm Ameon, to you." Ameon commanded

"As you wish, sir." He said chuckling.

"My memory seems to be failing me, Dolton. What do I have scheduled for today?"

"Your lord father seems to have cleared your schedule quite substantially, Ameon. All you have planned is to practice more on the 'arts', as it were, and then attend the meeting of all the royals in the grand hall," Gregory said.

"Oh, but Gregory, I wish I could ignore all these high royal meetings, they're all so bland, it's less a meeting of politicians rather then a bunch of old men screaming at each other for an hour and accomplishing nothing in the meantime."

"Sounds like a gathering of politicians to me." Gregory said with a smile, this remark made both of them laugh heartily.

"I feel we should get started on our lessons," Ameon said.

Gregory agreed, over the following hour, they practiced basic spells, much to Ameon's objections. "Must we repeat the basics perpetually? I'll never become a master sorcerer if I never learn more," he would say. "Mastery of the basics is the key to the advanced ones, the form for a fireball is practically identical to a magic light."

"Either way, the room will be lit up," Ameon said shrugging.

"Concentrate!" Gregory commanded him.

Ameon would take the position for a magelight, his dominant arm extended, which was his right, spreading his fingers as far apart as he could, and focusing as much as his mind would allow, after much time of nothing happening, and even more of Ameon's anger due to it, he finally felt something, a magical orb that illuminated the room around him formed, it felt, and looked, like nothing he'd ever seen before.

"How's it feel? To brandish light so easily?" Gregory asked proudly.

"Easily? I'd hate to attempt the more advanced spells," Ameon said as the magic light slowly dissipated from his hand, after a brief silence as the two admired the beauty of it.

"And to think the North wishes to outlaw it," Ameon said with an air of sadness about it.

"Indeed," Gregory said, "it's a damned crime, nonetheless, I shan't keep you any longer then needed, nor do I wish to anger you before the politics begin," Gregory said with a kind smile.

Ameon nodded, and left for his classes, much to his father's distaste, Ameon felt that it did one of royal birth much good to see the struggles that the common folk face, as it might grant him a unique perspective once he was inevitably crowned king. An unfortunate by-product was that this opened him up to ridicule by his peers, some purely for humours sake, others, out of malice. I can take it, Ameon thought to himself. Far better he be the one to take the anger of the common folk rather than one who might take offense at such intonation being directed towards royalty.

Ameon found that there were very few within the classroom that he could call "a true friend," there were those who would endlessly grandstand with him, agreeing with everything he said, his father had warned him of this, that there would be those who'd seek to become close with him only for personal gain. Occupational hazard I suppose, Ameon pondered.

"Mr Conrin!" The teacher shrieked, louder than a dragon's roar - yet twice as terrifying.

"Y-yes ma'am?" Ameon responded, feigning a sense of courage, a rather dreadful sense at that.

"I've called your name thrice, now." The teacher stated. The other students began snickering and whispering amongst themselves, which the teacher quickly ended by calling upon them to silence themselves.

"Y-yes, apologies ma'am, what was the question?" Ameon asked, not bothering to appear brave at this point.

"What is at the center of all magic?" The teacher asked.

Suddenly, the students all began talking amongst themselves, even though it was impossible to decipher what exactly they were all saying, given just how many were talking, Ameon knew what it was in reference to. Ameon was always well gifted when it comes to magic, and even more so when it came to the knowledge of it.

Ameon stood up confidently.

"Everything. Although if you wish me to be particularly specific, nature." He said, hoping to convey confidence rather than smugness.

The teacher nodded, indicating he'd answered correctly, and motioned for him to sit down.

After the lesson concluded, he left the classroom to attend to the courtly duties he had for the day. All the while his heart seemed to be thumping far harder and faster then it had any right to, thump thump thump it would go, as he dressed in his courtly attire, the feeling of dread only grew larger and larger, he decided to wear a dark black tunic, along with a scarf made with the skin of a silver fox that the kingsguard caught while on the hunt with the King, Ameon's father.

As he slipped on the scarf, Ameon grinned as he remembered the ruckus that his sister Priscilla had made of it, she despised hunting animals, admittedly, even he himself had felt guilt wearing it, he could tell that the Kingsguard, Nathaniel, felt sorrow for bringing such anger towards his sister. The knight apologized profusely, but to no avail, "What's done is done!" She had said angrily, "I suppose there's no point in shedding tears for a deed already irreversibly done," she'd said that day, but Ameon knew that to be an attempt to end the enmity.

In spite of this, he hung the silver fox scarf around his neck, unsure of whether that memory was from stalling or just nostalgia, nonetheless, he continued dressing, he put on dark trousers to go with his usual dark apparel, this colour choice is something that his kingly father had objected to many a time, saying it's not befitting of a prince, Ameon sensed, however, that his father had learned to pick his battles.

Ameon also picked dark leather gloves and boots to finish his attire, thump thump his chest went, he marched on regardless, he found the outfit to be satisfactory for a meeting that demanded a certain level of formality.

As he marched out of his personal quarters and into the throne room, where all the major players in the political game stood, all of them stood, except for his royal father, of course. Ameon's kingly father, Wiscard Conrin sat upon his golden throne, overlooking the throne, his balding head shining in the light, Ameon himself had found the very idea of a throne itself rather self indulgent, that it only served to further their measure of arrogant self importance, although he dare not voice it aloud, considering every King in the four realms had one. Almost as if reading Ameon's thoughts exactly as he thought them, Wiscard stood up from his throne and came down to greet him.

"Greetings, Ameon," his royal father said with a smile, a seemingly feigned one, but a smile nonetheless.

"And to you too, father," Ameon said, while clasping his father's hand in his own.

"The meeting is about to begin, I trust that you'll behave this time?" He said with authority.

"Don't I always?" Ameon said with a smile much more feigned then his fathers.

"If you did, I wouldn't be asking," the King in the East within him seemed to be speaking rather then his father.

"Name one time," Ameon said with a grin.

"The time that you spilled wine over the royal advisor to the King in the North-"

"What can I say?" Ameon said interrupting his father, "I'm a clumsy man, 'tis hardly a crime."

"Before promptly striking him across the face," his father said grimly. "Which, my dear Ameon, is a crime, one that you're very lucky I was able to pardon you from, an act of kindness I don't care to reciprocate," he said grimly.

Ameon smirked, and began to mingle with the other royal guests.

Much to his dismay, he caught Fayendrias Llyond marching towards him, Fayendrias was not a man of significant stature, although his presence more then compensated for it, what he didn't lack, however, was hair, his hair was brown as oak and dark as night, his hazel hair gleamed in the lighting of the Bloody Keep, this is what Ameon's father named the keep they stood in, named after the slaughter that took place inside it, wherein a large skirmish of bandits attempted to take the Keep, by the end, the floors of the great Keep danced with the blood of the outlaws.

Here is where the hunted became the hunters, Ameon thought to himself grimly.

Fayendrias himself was also easily the youngest of the four kings, and in turn, also the one whose rule had been the shortest. The king who'd governed the North previously was not a man at all, but an Elf, Jayne Kandas was their name, Ameon wasn't born yet when Fayendrias first came to rule, but he'd learned in the history books that the new King in the North won his kingdom by slaughtering every Elf who dared defend themselves, the ones that dared survive fled to the forests of Armeria, thus they were now named "the Elves of Armeria."

"Prince Ameon!" Fayendrias greeted him kindly, although Ameon knew better, "How go your studies?"

"Rather well," Ameon said vaguely, Ameon, despite avoiding politics for the most part, was no base fool, he knew that Fayendrias ruled it illegal to practice magic in the North, he'd elected to not tell him more then he'd needed to know, something Gregory wholly agreed with.

"That's good to hear," Fayendrias said with a feigned smile, a well feigned one at that, "may I inquire as to how advanced your abilities have become?"

Dammit, how does he know I practice magic? Ameon thought while he cursed silently to himself, Is this just a test of his, or does he have spies?

"I can summon an orb that illuminates a room," he said, making a play of pride, although he knew he was advanced enough that he could summon a firebolt, something that Gregory didn't want to practice indoors, however.

"So your magical abilities can provide to the four realms what an easily lit torch could do just as well, if not better, you mean to say?" Fayendrias's words struck hard, harder than any blade could, but Ameon knew that this was all part of the game, of course.

"A magical light is far more elegant than that of a torch, though, you must admit." Ameon remarked, playing the fool.

"True." Fayendrias said with a snicker. "As much as I've enjoyed this stimulating conversation, I fear I must mingle with the other guests, farewell."

"Farewell." Ameon said, glad to be rid of the King in the North.

As soon as Fayendrias left, Henric and Jason Cortiet, the King and the Prince of the South respectively, began to talk to Ameon, despite his pure hatred of the South's neutrality when it came to politics, in particular the legalization of magic, he couldn't help but feel friendly towards the two, Jason himself had a short blonde head of hair, although that's more then could be said for his father, Henric. The King of the South had no hair to speak of, even less than Ameon's father, he did have a friendly face and an even friendlier demeanour, something that, while not welcome in politics, was welcome to Ameon.

"Greetings, Ameon," Jason said warmly. "It's good to see you again, how fares my brother, Robert?"

Ah, yes. Robert, Ameon's father happily took him in as his ward, for reasons of state of course. He'd told Ameon of how it would not only increase their standing with the South, which had been degrading at the time, something that his father blamed him for. And if the South should ever choose to become hostile for any reason, they can use Robert as a hostage in order to coerce them into declaring peace. Ameon saw this as ruthless, yet at the same time, he knew it was a necessary and cunning move.

"He does quite well, he keeps mostly to his personal quarters, occasionally coming out when the servants are late with their food or other such things," Ameon said with a hearty chuckle, "But I feel that the other Advisors, Kings and other such political types will do more talks of politics then we know what to do with, so let's leave it to them, yes? How have you fared?" Ameon asked both Jason and Henric.

"We've fared quite well, I thank you deeply for your asking." Henric said with a polite smile, despite being a King, he was courteous beyond measure, whether that was an aid or otherwise depended entirely on who you asked, Ameon himself found it rather endearing. "I presume that Robert won't be making an appearance tonight?" Henric asked.

"I think not, this is a political event." Ameon said with a sincere smile and chuckle. "Besides, the King in the North is here, so all magic practitioners aren't welcome in his eyes."

"And yet you're here." Jason said sarcastically.

"It's a damn good thing Llyond didn't organize the events, then." Ameon said.

"True enough." Henric said. "That's enough for now, now we should…" He said taking a pause.

"Are you all right, sir?" Ameon asked in concern.

"Yes, it's just, Garret isn't here." He said, seemingly confused.

He was right, Garret Roland, the King in the West was nowhere to be seen, I'd heard talk among servants and beggars that King Garret was bedridden with a mysterious illness, although I didn't know that the notion had an ounce of credibility to it… He thought to himself, just as he'd figured things out, however, Ameon, along with every other figure of great importance, was summoned by Ameon's father to talk in a group.

"Some of you may have noted King Garret's ominous lack of an appearance," Wiscard said. "My Kingsguard has just received a raven carrying a letter that holds a dire message within it, King Garret is bedridden with a mysterious illness, he's had the finest physicians in the land attempt a diagnosis to no avail, his prognosis, however, has been given."

Wiscard took a pause, the hall was completely silent, all that he could hear was the sounds of breaths that seemed to wait on the very news.

"King Garret is going to die, one of the physicians wrote. Thus, we must make the preparations both for a burial, and for the coronation of his eldest son, Eries."

"It seems that even magic has its limits," Fayendrias said under his breath while glancing at Ameon, although he hadn't said it so quiet as for the remark to go unnoticed entirely, but rather ignored.

This does not bode well for magic users, Ameon thought to himself, Eries is well known as someone who despises magic, if King Garret does die, and Eries is made King, then the North won't be the only place that illegalizes the use of magic. Although, knowing Eries, he'll likely torture those who practice it rather then execute them like our dear King in the North.

Although none would dare share that sentiment out loud, it was clear that's where everyone's minds went, Ameon deeply wished that Mathian was the heir to the throne rather than Eries, Mathian was the younger of the two sons of Garret, and Mathian was the much more kingly of the two, preferring diplomacy rather then warfare, he was a true believer that the quill and paper could do more damage then any single army could ever hope to achieve.

The question of what would happen to those who practiced magic and who dwelled in the West should fare, presuming that Eries was to illegalize magic as they'd all suspected.

"That's assuming he makes it law, and that's assuming a lot." Jason said with hope.

"You're right, Jason, when has anyone made magic a capitol offense?" Ameon said while glaring at Fayendrias.

"Enough!" Wiscard screamed. "Fighting amongst ourselves is getting us nowhere, and it's getting us there fast!"

What was that about behaving myself, dear father?

"Well, what do you propose, my dear king?" Fayendrias asked. "We can scarcely forego tradition and allow Mathian to rise as King, Eries is the rightful heir, and we all know it, regardless of where our political ambitions lie."

He's got us between a rock and a hard place, well played King in the North, well played, Ameon thought to himself.

"The only thing it seems that we can do is send a raven that will ask for further word of King Garret's condition." Wiscard said.

"And then, my dear king?" Fayendrias said with a sly smile

Hope he stays alive for my, as well as all other magic practitioners, sakes. Ameon thought angrily.

"Proceed accordingly." Wiscard said, seemingly dumbfounded with the very basis of the question.

After taking a pause so long that you could taste it, Wiscard broke the silence. "I suppose that concludes the meeting, you all may stay the night, or however long it takes to prepare your things, safe travels." Wiscard said.

And even safer travels to Garret, Ameon reflected.

After all the guests left the throne room, Ameon looked around the Bloody Keep, it never quite looked the same when nearly entirely vacant.

"If Garret does die and Eries is crowned king, what shall I do?" Ameon asked his father.

"What do you mean? If he outlaws magic, it shan't affect us here." Wiscard said.

"Perhaps not, but you know as well as I do that Eries is mad, and you believe a mad king would respect the borders of his kingdom?"

"Mad or naught, he'd still be king."

"And if he doesn't respect the borders?"

"Then he'd be expecting bloody war, Ameon." He said, walking away, until finally turning to face his son one last time. "And if it's a war he wants, it's a war he shall get."