[RAW Edit] Two as One, Ch 1&2

Title: Two As One
by, Black-Haired Girl


Chapter One:

Gunner stared at himself in the mirror’s reflection. The man who stood before him was himself, and yet so different that the image shocked him. He straightened the long, black coat’s buttoned sleeves and pulled the zipper open just slightly to reveal the gray shirt beneath. His left ear ached from having been pierced to make his appearance as his father more authentic. He fingered his reddened, sore earlobe lightly. The dark amber stone set within the earring caught the light and seemed to glow with the same red light his eyes were now emanating. His feet were heavy and his shoulders weary from wearing so much thick, heavy fabric. Being trained with the monks, he normally wore light cottons and wools, not the leather that his father preferred. Not only did he bear a heavy, long riding coat but also beneath the thick outerwear he wore a tightly fitting matching vest and pants, adorned with various replications of the family crest, studwork and zippers.

The costume stifled his true self. He found that the weight and constriction of it all caused him to stand at his straightest to bear the weight evenly. No wonder his father stood so tall and moved so slowly and precise?

Gunner narrowed his eyes at his own reflection and shook his head slowly, angry that he had consented to such a charade. How could he possibly act like the dark lord? The things his father had done in the years before had been despicable. In fact, his entire existence was born of wickedness and Gunner’s creation had been possible only by the dark lord’s dealings with the most sinister of beings.

He frowned and set his jaw as tightly as possible, studying how it altered his features in the mirror. He lifted his chin and looked down the bridge of his nose at himself. His eyes, half-hidden by his long messy gray bangs, seemed to darken. In this position he looked exactly like the crazed, dark lord. The sight gave him chills. With a sigh he slumped to a crooked stand and let his face relax. His eyes returned to their normal, serious yet compassionate expression.
This façade was going to be exhausting to hold up.

His thoughts were interrupted by a brief knock on the master chamber door.

“Sire, we are ready to depart.”

Gunner frowned and quickly pulled his black gloves on, making sure to be careful not to agitate the bandage that had been messily placed over the wound on his palm. Then he turned to the bed and looked down at the long broadsword that lay before him. His father’s sword was the final item to make his costume complete. All who knew the dark lord knew he would was never without his sword. His father had entrusted the legendary weapon to him reluctantly, knowing that the ruse could not be performed without it. Gunner left his hand gently touched the elaborately carved hilt, watching as the reflection of his gloved hand blazed across the glimmering silver blade. He began to recall the many times he had seen his father slay men with this very blade. The now clean, shimmering sword had many times been splattered with blood. It was the blade that unraveled the entire continent. It was the very blade that had slain the previous lord, and the weapon that put the current dark lord upon the throne.

Another tentative knock sounded upon the door. Gunner flinched at the sound. There was no avoiding what he must do. He lifted the sword to his face, gazed into his reflection upon its surface, and transformed. His eyes darkened and he grit his teeth, watching as his jaw tightened and his neck lengthened. Once he was satisfied he looked the part he sheathed the weapon, turned with a flourish of fabric and stomped up to the door. He opened it so abruptly that the man who hovered on the other side nearly jumped with fright.

Gunner pitied him, but fought his best not to show it. “The next time you rush your lord, I shall see that you pay the time with your hide,” Gunner said in a low snarl. The man lowered his head in fear and humiliation.

“Yes… yes, of course my lord,” the nameless servant stammered as he stepped out of his master’s way. Gunner strode forward with his most authoritative gait and stomped down the hallway towards the courtyard where his father’s guard and accompaniment awaited. The men, who had been discussing plans amongst themselves, all silenced as he approached. They watched him with curious yet worrisome expressions.

Gunner easily found his father’s horse amidst the crowd of travelers, held still by a young freckle-faced stable boy. The horse was black, much like everything else his father possessed. Its muscular flanks quivered as he approached. It snorted and studied him with its dark, red eyes. It seemed anxious and confused. Gunner snarled under his breath. Of course, the horse would know he was not its master; animals had a way with such things.

Every step Gunner took towards the animal seemed to frighten it. It half-reared and nearly took the young boy holding the reigns with it. Then it tossed its massive head in agitation and stomped a large, flocked hoof nervously.

Gunner knew he had to do something, or the animal was going to trample him before he could even mount it. He slowed his pace and pulled the glove from his unwounded hand. Then he stopped a few feet away from the beast and held his hand forth towards its nose. It studied him with widened eyes before hesitantly sniffing his outstretched hand. Gunner assumed that his scent must have been very similar to his father’s because soon the animal began to relax.

He quickly walked to the side of the beast and mounted it with some difficulty, his garb weighing him down considerably. Once seated upon his mount he turned to look at the party of men who would be accompanying him. They were all staring at him in mute bewilderment. Gunner froze, realizing at that very moment that their puzzlement must have stemmed from his gentle gestures towards the horse, something they would have never seen the real dark lord do. He would have to remedy this situation.

“Well? What are we waiting for?” He barked in his cruelest voice. The men all looked away from him and began digging their heels sharply against their horses’ sides, forcing the animals towards the capital’s gate.


Chapter Two:

The journey from the capital to the merchant city of Salv was relatively uneventful. Gunner kept mainly to himself, which was accepted by his accompanying party, who all avoided speaking to him or looking in his direction whenever possible. The four-day ride was rather lonely, as far as Gunner was concerned, what with the servants and guard avoiding basic interaction with him. Was this how the dark lord lived day to day? Did he not yearn for companionship? After all, that was the basis of Gunner’s company; the men served each other out of friendship and companionship. This group of men was different, all focused on pleasing the lord out of fear rather than respect. They tended to their duties with precision and silence. There was no merriment those four days. When they stopped to set up camp a guard would wordlessly tend to his horse while two others would start setting up their master’s tent. Only in the dark of the night, when they were sure that their master slept, did they whisper to one another around the campfire. The words they had exchanged in the darkness were of the usual fabric of men’s thoughts: women, food, and war stories.

It was a relief to finally see their destination nestled in a valley beside the sea. The city of Salv was one of the largest on the continent and the center of trade and merchant travel. Ships from every point of the globe came to port here, bringing with them riches of the Middle East and the Orient. The buildings here were tall and thin, packed together amidst a labyrinth of gravel and pounded dirty roads. Bright flags and pendants swayed from tops of buildings, letting all who passed become aware of the prosperity of the man who lived within the fine home they hung upon. Gunner had only been to this fine city once, when he was very young, and even now with his worldly knowledge and pessimistic mind he couldn’t deny the beauty and wonder of the city by the sea.

The party entered the city’s wide gates and picked their way through the crowded city streets to the legislative hall located near the center of the city. The hall was quite possibly the largest single structure that Gunner had ever seen, even bigger than his father’s legendary keep, Fort Obsidian. The hall was constructed of large, granite blocks that were held fast by thick, towering pillars. The entrance was a semi-circle door opened and closed by a series of levers and pulleys controlled by a group of doormen in matching white and gold uniforms. It looked more like a fort than a legislative center. As Gunner passed through the open doorway he spotted armed guards pacing across suspended catwalks high against the ceiling. A feeling of unease settled within his stomach. Were the guards there to protect those inside from the ruffians and protesters of the city or, perhaps, were they present to keep the radicals within these walls in order?

As their large procession passed through Gunner’s musings became fastened to the forefront of his mind, for the guards all clutched their weapons tighter as they approached. Gunner’s entrance received apprehensive looks from the nearby guards and passing patrons. It suddenly occurred to him that he would not be able to melt into the background of this convention. His father’s reputation as a wealthy, powerful and brutal ruler would force him to play a vital role in the Committee’s workings. It would be how his father would have participated, and to uphold the dark lord’s identity he would have to play the part.

The horses were led to an open courtyard within the structure. Well-groomed stable boys ran from hidden doorways out into the sunlit circle to take the mounts and packhorses away. Just when Gunner’s feet landed on the dusty ground he came face to face with a stout man with a triangular beard and round, red cheeks. The man approached Gunner quickly, bowed as low as his protruding stomach would allow, and anxiously gazed up at him with dark, beady eyes.

“Lord Starion, it is a pleasure to receive you. I hope you traveled well,” the chubby man blurted as formally as possible. Gunner saw that the man had begun to sweat profusely and that his hands quivered at the mention of his father’s name. Pity began to swell within his chest but he bit back his compassion and tightened his jaw, as he had practiced the entire trip, hoping to be as convincing as possible.

“We fared well,” he said slowly, in his coldest and most indifferent voice. “Though I feel I must rest before the opening proceedings-“

“Of… of course, Your Grace.” The man stammered quickly. He turned on his dusty, silk slippers and began hobbling as quickly as he could towards a large opening in the round courtyard wall. “I shall show you to your room. Be certain that it is one of the finest in our facilities. You do us a great honor to addend our counsel, Your Grace, and we hope to make your stay as comfortable as possible…”

Gunner nodded his head, set a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword to steady it against his hip, and followed the rotund man with wide, easy steps. He rolled his shoulders beneath the heavy drape of leather upon his shoulders, feeling the stiffness in his neck release slightly. He couldn’t wait to be alone. The first thing he planned to do was to strip off this ridiculous outfit and have a good stretch. The corner of his lips twitched at the thought. Maybe he would smile a little, too. After all, his mouth had been set in a permanent scowl the entire trip.
The interior of the fortress was stunning. Gunner had never seen anything like it in his travels. The corridors the man led him through were enormous, and seemed to stretch on forever. The walls, floors and ceilings were made of shimmering, white marble. Torches on the walls glowed with bright white light, making the marble surfaced shift and glow. Every twenty feet a door interrupted the magnificence of the glossy, white walls. Each door was unique in design. Some had angels carved delicately upon their surfaces while others bore images of stories or histories. Gunner even spotted a few battle scenes, complete with slain men and demons rising from deep cracks in the wood.

“We have made sure to provide for your every necessity,” the main huffed between wheezes. “Your room has been fitted with all of your requests. We hope that it fits your needs and meets your standards, your grace.”

After walking for what felt like an eternity the man finally stopped before a dark, wooden door. The images carved upon its surface were surprisingly beautiful. It held no scene of history or angelic face, but a garden covered in roses. Thorny vines had been intricately developed around the design. Gunner wondered if the spines were sharp.

“Does this please you, sire?”

Gunner blinked and looked down. The man was staring up at him with a pale, worried expression. He realized that he had been staring at the door and the man, who seemed suddenly shaken, must have thought he was displeased with the door.

“It pleases me,” Gunner mumbled firmly. The man nodded briskly.

“Of course, of course. Your room has been prepared, sire. Please, if you need anything pull the cord beside the door, it will summon a servant right away. Tomorrow will be opening ceremonies, so for today you may rest and relax to recover from your journey.”

Gunner nodded and watched as the man pushed the door in. The room was dark, with only a dim glow flickering from a candle beside the door. Gunner didn’t care what the room was like; he was growing weary and anxious to be alone. The fat man tried to enter the room, perhaps to show him around, but Gunner raised a hand quickly to stop him.

“That is all,” Gunner snarled the best he could. The man nearly flinched at his words.

“Yes, well, very well, sire,” and without a moment’s hesitation the man had spun around and padded away as quickly as his silky slippers could carry him. Gunner watched him go before slipping into the dark room. He closed the door behind himself and slid the lock in place. Just to be safe, he checked the door to make certain the lock was secure. It was. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. His entire body felt heavy and his mind weary. He didn’t waste any time shrugging off the heavy riding coat. He tugged it quickly from his shoulders and let it fall with a dull thump to the floor. He ripped his gloves from his hands and unfastened the sword and sheath from his belt, setting them aside on the table where the lone candle flickered and danced, watching him shed his disguise. He rolled his head to the right, then to the left, ran a hand through his hair and smiled. The muscles at the corners of his mouth burned from disuse, however he welcomed the burn. It felt nice to stretch and smile. He lifted his arms over his head, stretched, yawned then picked up the candle from the table. As he lifted it up it illuminated the room with a pale, faint glow. He could see the outline of a four-poster bed, a doorway that he assumed led to the lavatory, and a fireplace with unlit logs within it. A writing desk sat beside an alcove with a curtained window. He smiled and looked over at the darkened bed, nodded to himself, then blew out the candle. The room flooded with darkness. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and shuffled carefully towards the bed in the darkness. He felt the wide, tall post of the foot of the bed, touched the soft silk coverlet and pressed his hand against the fluffy mattress beneath.

He wasted no time pulling off his boots. Then, with a lazy sigh, he slid down onto the bed. His body grew heavy and his breathing deepened. Sleep began to swarm across his mind and dampen his thoughts. His fingertips tingled pleasantly and his jaw slackened as he felt sleep overtake him.
The effect was short lived, interrupted by the sensation of something shifting upon the bed beside him. His eyes opened and stared straight ahead in the darkness. He listened closely. A soft, faint breath sounded beside his face and a small hand lightly touched his arm.
Within moments he was off of the bed and across the room. He groped in the darkness for his sword, clumsily unsheathed it and held it out in front of himself. He wasn’t sure what direction he was facing or where the intruder was in correlation to himself so he swept the air with the blade once, then twice before calling out into the darkness.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The covers rustled again. Gunner tightened his grip on his sword and felt the tension returning to his shoulders. The sound of feet walking across the wooden floor caused Gunner to nearly jump out of his skin. Just as he was about to lunge into the darkness and thrash his unseen foe the curtain across the window snapped away, letting the bright afternoon sunlight pour into the room. Gunner squinted against its intense intrusion. He suddenly felt as if he had been transported to a different room. The sunshine had revealed the bedchamber for what it truly was, a grotesque arrangement of over-stuffed chairs, gold plated mirrors, and jewel-encrusted statues. He squinted against the glowing, gaudy décor and glared at the figure that stood in the aura of light from the window.
It was a girl.

He gasped and stared in awe at the little girl who stood in the alcove. She could not have been any older than twelve years old. Her hair was rust-colored and poured over her shoulders in long, thick waves, settling at her waist. Her clothes were green and gold, elaborate and gaudy like the room. She had a dagger clutched tightly in a fist and eyes bright green, narrowed angrily at him.

“Who are you?” Gunner hissed angrily, dropping his sword to the ground. His fear was gone, for how could he fear something so small and lovely as this little child. She didn’t lower her dagger, but held it tighter in her hand.

“Lord Starion,” she said in a voice and tone that contradicted her age, “I am your personal servant. Do you not recall?”

Gunner’s stomach soured. This young girl was a servant to the dark lord? Wicked, and rather disgusting thoughts began to cross his mind. His father fancied small girls? The thought of his father bedding an innocent such as this brought a sickness to his throat. He gagged a little and lifted the sword again, pointing it at the young child.

“Leave this room, your services are no longer needed. Hear me?” His hand began to quiver in anger. Did his father honestly think that he would go to this length to impersonate him?
He watched as the girl’s hand wavered. Her narrowed, angry expression relaxed slightly. He watched, as she seemed to be hurt by his words.

“This will be in your best interest, go now, and speak of this to no one. You are free from your bondage to me,” Gunner said quickly, flailing his sword at her as if to accentuate the point. The girl frowned and lowered her hand with the dagger. She then slid it back beneath a fold of her dress and looked up at the point of Gunner’s sword. Her eyes followed its length up to Gunner’s hand, up his arm, and to his face. She studied him with her crystalline, green eyes for a long moment.

“Wait…” she said softly, her ruddy eyebrows curling in confusion. Then he delicate lips twitched and she smiled. Her smile brightened and her eyes began to glimmer in amusement. Suddenly she started laughing, an unrestrained, genuine sound.

“Hahahahaaaa!!” She wailed happily, throwing her head back as she cackled. Her glossy, reddish hair fell across her shoulders and shook along with her body as she laughed at him.

“What do you find amusement in this? You are free, leave now!” Gunner commanded, his sword still pointed at the little girl. She continued to laugh at him for some time before coughing and stifling her amusement with a hand. Gunner’s patience was wearing thin.

“Girl, who are you, to be laughing at your Lord,” he asked, perplexed. He was amazed that this little girl did not fear him the way that everyone else he had encountered as Lord Starion had.
“I… I’m Agetha,” she stammered between giggles, “and… and you, you must be Gunner. I can’t believe I had forgotten.”

Gunner’s grip tightened on his sword. He stared down at the little girl and ran his father’s instructions through his head. He had mentioned that an Agetha would be reporting to him, but Gunner had assumed that the old woman in his father’s chamber had been the woman in question. He would have never guessed that Agetha would be a child.

“You… are Agetha?” He said, bewildered. His eyes narrowed and he carefully replaced the sword to its sheath. “How can I know you are telling me the truth?”

The girl smirked and began boldly walking toward him. She was very short, at full height only coming head-height to his chest. Her arms and legs were skinny made her seem to be very fragile. How could his father trust in something so small, and seemingly insignificant?

“I know all about you. You are Gunner Starion, only son of Lord Starion, banished at age thirteen to live at the Ruche Monastery, created to be the heir to the throne, however you were deemed unable to rule, so you were sent there. You left the monastery at age twenty to join a mercenary group, where you learned how to be a gun master and master strategist. Your mission now was to be sent here in the place of our Lord Starion in the event that an assassination was to take place. You cannot live without the heartbeat of your father, the man who you were created to be in the exact image of-“

“That’s enough,” Gunner interrupted, waving a hand at her in a plea for her not to continue. “You know enough, I believe you.”

Agetha smiled, seemingly satisfied. “You didn’t expect me to be a little girl, did you?”
“Honestly, no.” Gunner frowned and slumped to a sit on a nearby, fluffy chair, and buried his head in his hands. He was tired, and his sudden burst of adrenaline at a possible intruder was now fading away, leaving him completely exhausted. He heard her bare feet padding across the wooden floor towards him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t worry, Lord Gunner, I will take care of you.”

The statement was absurd. A little girl devoted to taking care of a grown man? He frowned into his hands and shook his head, but she didn’t step away. “Don’t worry, sire, you will do great. Why don’t you rest, and when you wake up, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Need to know?” he looked up from his hands and stared into her now large, shimmering eyes. She smiled and nodded.

“Yes, on how to be a dark lord.”