The Silver General
More in the same 'verse as The Latest Intel and Sahara's Stranger
I can't actually blame amatsubu for this one, as it's been floating around in the back of my head for months. But she is responsible for the return of my muse, so I'll blame her anyway. ;)
The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle, barely enough to merit the name yet still more than enough to make traveling miserable. Most of the city's residents had retreated indoors to drier climes, save for a bare handful of those who had somewhere to be, and those with nowhere to go.
One of the latter had taken refuge in an inset doorway off the main street, not quite deep enough to keep him dry but better than nothing at all. Dressed all in black and curled up in such a way as to keep the worst of the weather off him it would have been easy to miss him at a glance save for the fall of his pale, silvery hair. It stood out in stark contrast to his dusky skin and darker attire, and was stranger still when one took into consideration that not a single other person going about had hair so pale.
No one knew better than he that he did not belong, and yet at the same time, there was nowhere else for him to go. He was a child of two worlds, two peoples who wanted nothing to do with one another, and so the accident of his birth had come as an unpleasant surprise to both of them. His parents had been so young, innocent, that they had never fully understood just what it was that they had done even when they died; he at the hands of her furious family, she of a broken heart when her child was still small.
Cast out, left to die, the forbidden child had learned to survive in a world which hated his very existence. It wasn't easy, never easy, but he lived, and that was enough.
The soft splash of footsteps on the cobblestones caught his ear and he tensed, fingers moving subtly to the weapon he wore at his waist. The footsteps came closer, then stopped, and there was a long moment in which there was no sound save for the quiet patter of raindrops before the owner of the footsteps spoke.
"Surely there are more comfortable places to be, on a day like this."
For a moment, there was no response, then the silver-haired young man lifted his head to meet the stranger's eyes. Like he himself, the stranger was dressed all in black, though of a finer cut and weave than his own, with a heavy cloak overtop to keep out the rain. The hood was up, casting much of the man's face into shadow, but there was enough light to be able to meet the man's eyes, and he felt his breath catch.
Long had he wandered the world, seen its cities and its peoples, moving on when the locals made it clear that his presence was no longer welcome, and yet everywhere he went he stood out. Different. Outlander. There was no one else in the world who looked as he did.
But this man... this man had eyes like his.
The silver eyes, so very like his own, widened, and the man let out a soft breath. "It is true."
He frowned, still on guard, hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. "What is true?"
The stranger smiled. "I've been hearing rumors of a halfblood in the city, but I thought it nothing more than the ramblings of men too far gone in drink. I'm quite pleased to see that I was mistaken."
At that, his brow furrowed. No one was ever pleased to see him. The best he ever got were those who wanted something from him, and even then they frequently made their distaste known. What did this man hope to gain by claiming otherwise? If it was a job he wanted done, he had only to ask, like any other.
When the moments passed and he still did not respond, the stranger cocked his head curiously. "Why are you out here, in this miserable weather? Can you not afford a room?"
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "There are no rooms available for one such as I. If there is a job you wish me to do, our dealings will have to be conducted beneath the open sky, for there is not an inn within a thousand paces which will let me inside."
Something about the stranger stilled, and there was a coldness that had nothing to do with the falling rain. A moment passed, and he quietly murmured, "I see." Yet the strange feeling did not last long, and soon enough the stranger's smile returned. "Well, I have a spare room available, if you would like to get out of the rain."
A hand was held out to him, and he eyed it warily. No one was ever kind to him, not his family, and certainly not random strangers. But this man's eyes were like his own, something he had never seen before, and there was nothing in his manner which spoke of falsehood. The idea of being warm and dry was almost overpowering, and he knew full well that he was more than capable of defending himself should it come to that.
After a long hesitation, the halfblood swordsman reached out to take the hand offered him, and he rose to his feet. The stranger smiled at him, pleased by something, and reached up with his free hand to brush water out of his face. "There now." He turned, back toward whence he'd come, then hesitated, looking back. "You know, I haven't even asked your name."
He shrugged. "I have none. Those with whom I have had dealings call me Shadow."
The stranger frowned, then reached out to capture a lock of silvery-white hair, running it through his fingers. "Not, I think, the best choice. Mm." His thumb moved up and down, lightly stroking the damp strands. "I think I shall call you Silver. That's much more fitting."
He tried the shape of it, finding it acceptable, and gave another slight shrug. "If it pleases you."
The stranger frowned and shook his head. "Not me, the question is, does it please you?"
That was an odd question. No one ever asked what he thought, what he wanted. He tried the name out again, with more care this time, under the stranger's watchful silvery gaze. Silver, like his hair, like the eyes they shared.
"Yes," He said shortly. "I will be Silver."
The stranger smiled again and led him away, out of the dark alley in which he'd taken refuge. The rain was beginning to let up a little, and there were a few more people on the streets than there had been before, but most were still safe inside where it was dry. Still, the part of the city they passed through was far from favorable, and there were always a few unsavory sorts looking for an easy mark. Silver kept a hand on his sword, just in case, though he doubted anyone would be so foolish as to try. Not anymore.
"All right," the stranger demanded, stopping short after some time. "That's the third ruffian I've seen come out to eye us, only to turn tail and run. I know it's not me they're fleeing, so just what did you do to them?"
Silver glanced at his traveling companion, then shrugged. "They always think I am an easy mark. I taught them otherwise."
The stranger's gaze flicked to the sword at his hip, then back up to meet Silver's eyes. "Seasoned soldiers with no small measure of skill still tread carefully through this part of town. I think there is more to this story than you are telling."
He started walking again, and Silver walked with him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of another would-be pickpocket making a retreat, and he made a quiet noise. "I may have gotten carried away."
"Oh?" his companion asked, without breaking stride.
Silver grimaced. "I was tired, and hungry, and just wanted to be left alone. When my hand was forced, I made certain I would never again be disturbed."
They walked in silence for several minutes before the stranger asked softly, "How many?"
"Twelve, if you do not count those who turned tail and ran when the first blood was spilt."
"Mm." His companion glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "There's not a scratch on you, that I can see."
Silver shrugged. "Twas not my blood that spilled."
One fine brow rose. "You defeated twelve men without a single mark to show for it."
Silver gestured behind them at the cowering riffraff. "There is your mark."
"Hmm."
From then on, they journeyed in silence, traversing the streets without hindrance. Still, Silver's tension rose the further they went and the buildings rose grander and more opulent with every turn, and at last he could bear it no longer.
"This part of the city..."
His companion patted his arm. "Do not be concerned. We will not be troubled here."
Silver shook his head. "I am not so certain of that." In his experience, the nobility tended to take even greater offense to his presence than the scum.
They stopped, the stranger turning to face him with an intensity in his eyes. "I promise you, Silver, that no one will make you leave until you yourself are ready to do so."
A moment passed, then another, and though Silver remained doubtful he saw no point in pressing the issue further. Time would tell which of them was correct in this. He took a step forward, and his odd stranger fell into step beside him, taking up the lead once more. This was a part of the city that Silver was completely unfamiliar with, and so when they finally stopped before a tall stone wall he was more than a little bit lost.
"Where-"
"Here," his companion said, pressing two fingers to a particular point on the rough stone, and causing a section of the wall before them to swing inward.
Silver gave a start. "What in the Light..."
His companion laughed. "There are times when I prefer not to announce when I am going in and out, and so, I have to be a bit sneaky about it. Come."
They passed through a garden which seemed mostly derelict, the bushes half overtaking the path, and through two small iron gates before emerging in what appeared to be a private courtyard.
Silver looked askance at his companion. "Where are we? Who are you?"
The stranger laughed, lifting a finger to the side of his lips. "You can call me Secret, if you like. As for where we are, well..." He unlocked and opened a door leading inside, waiting until Silver had passed through before following and locking it behind them. "This is the Shadow Palace."
Silver stopped dead. The finery surrounding them certainly seemed to corroborate the claim, but if that was so... "I can't be here."
"Nonsense." Secret scoffed. "I invited you, and so you are perfectly welcome to be here until I say otherwise."
Silver shook his head. "You cannot make such decisions here!"
"Of course I can," Secret replied cheerfully. "It's my palace."
The world tilted. Silver stared at the all too smug man standing before him. "... what?"
Secret grinned. "Well, I could hardly have told you who I was back there, could I? You'd never have agreed to come with me. And I need you."
For the first time in his life, a wave of dizziness swept over Silver. He pressed a hand to his head. "You.. what could you possibly want with me?"
Secret turned and began walking down the hallway, gesturing for Silver to follow. "About a year ago, I had to execute a number of my staff, among them the General of my armies." He glanced over his shoulder, smiling when he saw that Silver had, despite his misgivings, rejoined him. "I don't suppose I could interest you in the job?"
Although he managed not to stumble, it was a near thing. "You don't even know me!"
"I know that the entire west end is terrified of you. I know that you've been an assassin for hire for the majority of your adult life, one who has single-handedly toppled at least two regimes. I know that your mother was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Light, and your father, to judge from your distinctive eyes, was most likely from the family of the Marquis Shadowfell, though I will have to investigate a bit further on that one. I know you were willing to follow a complete stranger across town for nothing more than a warm place to sleep. And I know that even now, after I have revealed to you who I am, you are still keeping one hand on your sword and placing yourself between myself and possible harm. Am I wrong?"
Stunned, Silver shook his head, not trusting his voice for anything more than that. Secret, nay, the Prince of Darkness smirked and patted his arm.
"Don't worry, even those who have lived here all their lives don't know what to make of me. So you're in perfectly good company, Lord General."
Silver shook his head again, though there were so many conflicting emotions swirling within him that it was impossible to say what the gesture actually meant. "You've never even seen me fight. How can you be so certain that I will be able to be this General of yours?"
Although it seemed impossible, Secret's smirk got even wider. "Why do you think we are on our way to the training grounds? I am going to enjoy watching you make fools of those lazy louts."
Feeling more confused than ever before in his life, Silver still felt a faint smile curving his lips. Whatever else Secret intended for him, the man genuinely seemed to want him there, and that was a feeling that he would do almost anything to keep. If that included being the General of the Shadow Armies under the command of the strangest person he had ever met, well then, so be it.
I can't actually blame amatsubu for this one, as it's been floating around in the back of my head for months. But she is responsible for the return of my muse, so I'll blame her anyway. ;)
The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle, barely enough to merit the name yet still more than enough to make traveling miserable. Most of the city's residents had retreated indoors to drier climes, save for a bare handful of those who had somewhere to be, and those with nowhere to go.
One of the latter had taken refuge in an inset doorway off the main street, not quite deep enough to keep him dry but better than nothing at all. Dressed all in black and curled up in such a way as to keep the worst of the weather off him it would have been easy to miss him at a glance save for the fall of his pale, silvery hair. It stood out in stark contrast to his dusky skin and darker attire, and was stranger still when one took into consideration that not a single other person going about had hair so pale.
No one knew better than he that he did not belong, and yet at the same time, there was nowhere else for him to go. He was a child of two worlds, two peoples who wanted nothing to do with one another, and so the accident of his birth had come as an unpleasant surprise to both of them. His parents had been so young, innocent, that they had never fully understood just what it was that they had done even when they died; he at the hands of her furious family, she of a broken heart when her child was still small.
Cast out, left to die, the forbidden child had learned to survive in a world which hated his very existence. It wasn't easy, never easy, but he lived, and that was enough.
The soft splash of footsteps on the cobblestones caught his ear and he tensed, fingers moving subtly to the weapon he wore at his waist. The footsteps came closer, then stopped, and there was a long moment in which there was no sound save for the quiet patter of raindrops before the owner of the footsteps spoke.
"Surely there are more comfortable places to be, on a day like this."
For a moment, there was no response, then the silver-haired young man lifted his head to meet the stranger's eyes. Like he himself, the stranger was dressed all in black, though of a finer cut and weave than his own, with a heavy cloak overtop to keep out the rain. The hood was up, casting much of the man's face into shadow, but there was enough light to be able to meet the man's eyes, and he felt his breath catch.
Long had he wandered the world, seen its cities and its peoples, moving on when the locals made it clear that his presence was no longer welcome, and yet everywhere he went he stood out. Different. Outlander. There was no one else in the world who looked as he did.
But this man... this man had eyes like his.
The silver eyes, so very like his own, widened, and the man let out a soft breath. "It is true."
He frowned, still on guard, hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. "What is true?"
The stranger smiled. "I've been hearing rumors of a halfblood in the city, but I thought it nothing more than the ramblings of men too far gone in drink. I'm quite pleased to see that I was mistaken."
At that, his brow furrowed. No one was ever pleased to see him. The best he ever got were those who wanted something from him, and even then they frequently made their distaste known. What did this man hope to gain by claiming otherwise? If it was a job he wanted done, he had only to ask, like any other.
When the moments passed and he still did not respond, the stranger cocked his head curiously. "Why are you out here, in this miserable weather? Can you not afford a room?"
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "There are no rooms available for one such as I. If there is a job you wish me to do, our dealings will have to be conducted beneath the open sky, for there is not an inn within a thousand paces which will let me inside."
Something about the stranger stilled, and there was a coldness that had nothing to do with the falling rain. A moment passed, and he quietly murmured, "I see." Yet the strange feeling did not last long, and soon enough the stranger's smile returned. "Well, I have a spare room available, if you would like to get out of the rain."
A hand was held out to him, and he eyed it warily. No one was ever kind to him, not his family, and certainly not random strangers. But this man's eyes were like his own, something he had never seen before, and there was nothing in his manner which spoke of falsehood. The idea of being warm and dry was almost overpowering, and he knew full well that he was more than capable of defending himself should it come to that.
After a long hesitation, the halfblood swordsman reached out to take the hand offered him, and he rose to his feet. The stranger smiled at him, pleased by something, and reached up with his free hand to brush water out of his face. "There now." He turned, back toward whence he'd come, then hesitated, looking back. "You know, I haven't even asked your name."
He shrugged. "I have none. Those with whom I have had dealings call me Shadow."
The stranger frowned, then reached out to capture a lock of silvery-white hair, running it through his fingers. "Not, I think, the best choice. Mm." His thumb moved up and down, lightly stroking the damp strands. "I think I shall call you Silver. That's much more fitting."
He tried the shape of it, finding it acceptable, and gave another slight shrug. "If it pleases you."
The stranger frowned and shook his head. "Not me, the question is, does it please you?"
That was an odd question. No one ever asked what he thought, what he wanted. He tried the name out again, with more care this time, under the stranger's watchful silvery gaze. Silver, like his hair, like the eyes they shared.
"Yes," He said shortly. "I will be Silver."
The stranger smiled again and led him away, out of the dark alley in which he'd taken refuge. The rain was beginning to let up a little, and there were a few more people on the streets than there had been before, but most were still safe inside where it was dry. Still, the part of the city they passed through was far from favorable, and there were always a few unsavory sorts looking for an easy mark. Silver kept a hand on his sword, just in case, though he doubted anyone would be so foolish as to try. Not anymore.
"All right," the stranger demanded, stopping short after some time. "That's the third ruffian I've seen come out to eye us, only to turn tail and run. I know it's not me they're fleeing, so just what did you do to them?"
Silver glanced at his traveling companion, then shrugged. "They always think I am an easy mark. I taught them otherwise."
The stranger's gaze flicked to the sword at his hip, then back up to meet Silver's eyes. "Seasoned soldiers with no small measure of skill still tread carefully through this part of town. I think there is more to this story than you are telling."
He started walking again, and Silver walked with him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of another would-be pickpocket making a retreat, and he made a quiet noise. "I may have gotten carried away."
"Oh?" his companion asked, without breaking stride.
Silver grimaced. "I was tired, and hungry, and just wanted to be left alone. When my hand was forced, I made certain I would never again be disturbed."
They walked in silence for several minutes before the stranger asked softly, "How many?"
"Twelve, if you do not count those who turned tail and ran when the first blood was spilt."
"Mm." His companion glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "There's not a scratch on you, that I can see."
Silver shrugged. "Twas not my blood that spilled."
One fine brow rose. "You defeated twelve men without a single mark to show for it."
Silver gestured behind them at the cowering riffraff. "There is your mark."
"Hmm."
From then on, they journeyed in silence, traversing the streets without hindrance. Still, Silver's tension rose the further they went and the buildings rose grander and more opulent with every turn, and at last he could bear it no longer.
"This part of the city..."
His companion patted his arm. "Do not be concerned. We will not be troubled here."
Silver shook his head. "I am not so certain of that." In his experience, the nobility tended to take even greater offense to his presence than the scum.
They stopped, the stranger turning to face him with an intensity in his eyes. "I promise you, Silver, that no one will make you leave until you yourself are ready to do so."
A moment passed, then another, and though Silver remained doubtful he saw no point in pressing the issue further. Time would tell which of them was correct in this. He took a step forward, and his odd stranger fell into step beside him, taking up the lead once more. This was a part of the city that Silver was completely unfamiliar with, and so when they finally stopped before a tall stone wall he was more than a little bit lost.
"Where-"
"Here," his companion said, pressing two fingers to a particular point on the rough stone, and causing a section of the wall before them to swing inward.
Silver gave a start. "What in the Light..."
His companion laughed. "There are times when I prefer not to announce when I am going in and out, and so, I have to be a bit sneaky about it. Come."
They passed through a garden which seemed mostly derelict, the bushes half overtaking the path, and through two small iron gates before emerging in what appeared to be a private courtyard.
Silver looked askance at his companion. "Where are we? Who are you?"
The stranger laughed, lifting a finger to the side of his lips. "You can call me Secret, if you like. As for where we are, well..." He unlocked and opened a door leading inside, waiting until Silver had passed through before following and locking it behind them. "This is the Shadow Palace."
Silver stopped dead. The finery surrounding them certainly seemed to corroborate the claim, but if that was so... "I can't be here."
"Nonsense." Secret scoffed. "I invited you, and so you are perfectly welcome to be here until I say otherwise."
Silver shook his head. "You cannot make such decisions here!"
"Of course I can," Secret replied cheerfully. "It's my palace."
The world tilted. Silver stared at the all too smug man standing before him. "... what?"
Secret grinned. "Well, I could hardly have told you who I was back there, could I? You'd never have agreed to come with me. And I need you."
For the first time in his life, a wave of dizziness swept over Silver. He pressed a hand to his head. "You.. what could you possibly want with me?"
Secret turned and began walking down the hallway, gesturing for Silver to follow. "About a year ago, I had to execute a number of my staff, among them the General of my armies." He glanced over his shoulder, smiling when he saw that Silver had, despite his misgivings, rejoined him. "I don't suppose I could interest you in the job?"
Although he managed not to stumble, it was a near thing. "You don't even know me!"
"I know that the entire west end is terrified of you. I know that you've been an assassin for hire for the majority of your adult life, one who has single-handedly toppled at least two regimes. I know that your mother was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Light, and your father, to judge from your distinctive eyes, was most likely from the family of the Marquis Shadowfell, though I will have to investigate a bit further on that one. I know you were willing to follow a complete stranger across town for nothing more than a warm place to sleep. And I know that even now, after I have revealed to you who I am, you are still keeping one hand on your sword and placing yourself between myself and possible harm. Am I wrong?"
Stunned, Silver shook his head, not trusting his voice for anything more than that. Secret, nay, the Prince of Darkness smirked and patted his arm.
"Don't worry, even those who have lived here all their lives don't know what to make of me. So you're in perfectly good company, Lord General."
Silver shook his head again, though there were so many conflicting emotions swirling within him that it was impossible to say what the gesture actually meant. "You've never even seen me fight. How can you be so certain that I will be able to be this General of yours?"
Although it seemed impossible, Secret's smirk got even wider. "Why do you think we are on our way to the training grounds? I am going to enjoy watching you make fools of those lazy louts."
Feeling more confused than ever before in his life, Silver still felt a faint smile curving his lips. Whatever else Secret intended for him, the man genuinely seemed to want him there, and that was a feeling that he would do almost anything to keep. If that included being the General of the Shadow Armies under the command of the strangest person he had ever met, well then, so be it.