Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Talek lost control of his thoughts for a moment. The question, no, the accusation, landed with a strength he hadn't expected from the serene hush of their garden walk.

"Your Grace?" he asked, uncertain, his voice filled with confusion.

Alpheo's face remained calm, but the heat in his gaze deepened."I do not like to repeat myself."

There was no bite in the words, but neither was there room to maneuver. Talek's brows furrowed, his lips parting as if to speak again, but nothing came out. His silence prompted Alpheo to continue, though when he did, it was with something like reluctance. Not irritation, but disappointment, as though he'd hoped the young lord would have realized on his own.

"I asked you if you found the moon beautiful," Alpheo said, his voice still composed, though it lowered like a blade. "You answered yes. But the moon tonight…" His eyes drifted upward toward the cloudy, fractured sky. "…has no beauty. At least none a man would admire unless he was desperate to please."

He paused, letting the silence stretch like a drawn bow.

"And then, I offered you a flower to smell. A kind with no fragrance at all. You said it smelled wonderful."

Alpheo turned to face him fully now.

"I dislike sycophants," he said, voice tightening with distaste. "Men who agree at every turn. Who wait with tongue out, ready to lick the heel of boot the moment it stops moving. If I pointed at dog's shit and deemed it sweet, would you take a bite and tell me it's honey?"

Talek's breath caught. Shame burned hot beneath his skin.

He opened his mouth, but the prince spoke again, more slowly now, as though each word weighed more than the last.

"The people I keep close, the ones who share my table and counsel…" Alpheo's voice softened slightly "…have their own strengths, their own failings, their own hungers. But more importantly, they have their own minds. They are not afraid to voice what they see. Even when it contradicts what I wish to hear."

He began walking again, a few steps, hands loosely behind his back. Then he stopped and turned, his profile drawn in moonlight, stern, thoughtful, commanding.

"That is what I value most. The courage to speak the truth, even when it tastes bitter. Because no bitter truth ever poisoned a man more than a sweet lie."

Alpheo looked back to Talek now, gaze unwavering."So I ask you again. Why did you lie to me?"

Talek lowered his eyes. The heat in his cheeks had not faded. He felt suddenly, acutely, like a child who had been caught cheating at his lessons.

"I… I feared to displease you, Your Grace." The words came quietly, shame clinging to every syllable.

Alpheo's expression didn't change, but something in his tone turned colder, sharper.

"And what was it, I wonder," he said, "in all that has passed between us, things known only to you and me, secrets the world will never know, what was it that made you believe me so petty?"

His voice hardened with each word.

"Do I seem the kind of man who must be pleased at every turn like a sulking child? Have I ever struck you as someone who punishes truth when it is spoken plainly?"

Talek dared not speak. He had no answer that would not condemn him further. And so, he bowed his head again, silently bearing the weight of the prince's words.

But as the shame settled in, another feeling stirred, curiosity.

Why did the prince care so deeply about truth from him? Why this reaction to so small a lie?

Alpheo had spoken of those he trusted. Those he rewarded. Those who shared his table and bore his burdens. Was Talek imagining it, or had there been something more to the prince's words? A subtle gesture… an invitation?

The garden was quiet again, only the faint sound of wind threading through leaves. And though Talek said nothing, part of him now wondered, was this conversation really merely a rebuke?

"When I saw Robert's child pick up the blade to avenge his father, I saw a diligent son."

The prince's voice was calm, but beneath it ran a current of disappointment so sharp it could slice through bone.

"When I saw how you stood, unflinching, before nobles and clerics alike, accusing the man that took your father, I thought I saw a man who searched for truth with fire in his blood."

Alpheo took a slow breath, the night wind stirring the folds of his robe.

"And when they told me how you fought at Stiltum, alone among enemies, daring death for your prince and your cause…" his gaze narrowed slightly, piercing, "I thought I had found a brave man."

He paused. His next words struck with the weight of a verdict:

"But now, now I see none of those three."

His head shook slowly, as if in mourning."Where is that diligence? That pride? That courage?"

Talek opened his mouth, but Alpheo held up a hand, silencing him.

"Are you not the man your father would be proud of?" he asked, quieter now, voice heavy with something close to grief. "Shame on you, Talek, who forgets himself at the mere hint of another's displeasure."

Talek bowed his head, feeling his throat tighten. The shame clawed at his chest, and he did the only thing he could manage.

"I… I apologize, Your Grace," he said, almost in a whisper.

Alpheo sighed, but there was no cruelty in the sound. It was tired, regretful.

"Talek," he said, more gently now, "in you I saw the heart of a son who bled for his father's name. I saw a man willing to give his life for memory, for love, for duty. I saw tears at a father's last words, not weakness, but strength, because only the strong allow themselves to grieve without fearing the opinion of others."

He stepped closer, moonlight drawing stark lines across his features.

"Is that man still with us?"

Talek lifted his head slowly, uncertain. "Your Grace?"

The warmth drained from Alpheo's voice. He stood taller now, his presence looming like a wave crashing onto stone.

"Answer me, son of Robert!" His tone rang sharp in the night air, the calm mask shattered.

Talek stiffened. The prince's eyes bored into his with a commanding weight that could not be denied.

He swallowed, clenched his fists at his sides, and said firmly, "Yes. I am that man, Your Grace."

But the answer did not satisfy Alpheo. His expression did not soften. He looked at Talek not as if the answer were wrong, but as if it were incomplete.

Alpheo turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward the dark canopy beyond the flowers in the garden. His voice, when it came again, was pensive.

"A man's worth," he said, "can often be judged not by what he says or even what he believes—but by who he surrounds himself with and how he acts."

He let those words settle between them, then continued.

"Everything I have accomplished, every land taken, every law passed, every enemy broken, was not by my hand alone. It was done because I had great people at my side. People who challenged me, who stood with me, who did not flinch when the truth was ugly or hard. That is what makes strength, not just how many men you can raise or how strong you can swing a piece of metal.

Those are fleeting strengths; the body will always fail in one moment or another, be it sickness or old age, but our mind and soul? Those will always remain as sharp as we keep them."

He looked to Talek once more, this time not with the disappointment of a mentor, but the weighing gaze of a ruler looking for something he could trust.

"The question, Talek, is not whether you are brave when steel is drawn. I know you are. The question is whether you are brave enough when only words are spoken. Brave enough to see, and speak, and stand, even when silence would be easier."

Talek's heart thundered in his chest.

Pride.

Duty.

His father's voice.

"I will not lie again, your Grace," Talek said quietly.

"All men lie," Alpheo said, voice low and steady. "It is in our nature. We lie to others, and more often to ourselves. But I demand one thing from you, Talek, never lie to me again. No matter how heavy the truth may be, or how sweet the lie sounds on your tongue."

His eyes met Talek's, hard and unwavering. "Do you swear it?"

Talek bowed low, his voice quiet but firm. "I do, Your Grace."

And in that moment, with the garden silent around them and the moon casting its pale light across stone and leaf, Talek understood. The prince had not summoned him to reprimand him, nor to shame him. He had brought him here to have him serve the crown.

The man who had once been his father's enemy now stood as the keeper of his father's final wishes. And Talek, in spite of the past, felt no hesitation in his chest.

Alpheo stepped forward, his presence as heavy as a crown.

"Will you serve me, Talek?Serve me with all your soul? Will you strike with your sword against my enemies as if they were your own?"

"I will," Talek answered, falling to one knee, his fist across his chest.

"Will you serve me in war, with steel and fury as your first gift," the prince intoned, "and in peace, with counsel and truth as your second?"

Talek's heart pounded like a drum.

"I will serve in both, with all that I am."

Alpheo studied him a moment longer, then raised a hand.

"Then rise" he said, voice like iron wrapped in velvet. "Rise with my blessing. From this night forward, all that you do shall be in my name and honor."

And in that quiet night, surrounded by flowers that no longer smelled of anything and a moon that still meant little to him, Talek felt something settle in his bones.

He now finally belonged to something...