28 Vienice Aramon

_Vienice Aramon_

Groggily, he lifted his head, groaning out as his blackened body stretched itself. The beam behind him snapped in that moment, charred all the way though and barely standing. He fell to his knees, the ashen chains around him jingling. He had not been able to pull his hands in front of him- had not been able to keep from landing on his face in a pile of ash and coals.

He huffed first, then sneezed from the ash that attacked his nose. Slowly, he pushed himself up, finding that a fresh layer of snow covered everything around him. How long had he been hanging there? He blinked once, testing out his eyes. They felt fine- nothing like charred skin. In fact, as he looked down to see his legs, they were fine- scar free too. He blushed, finding he was naked without his hands being able to cover himself. His hands were bound behind him, after all.

He stood slowly, using one leg and then the other without use of his arms. There was hardly anyone around anywhere. He supposed they all left after... after he died. But they had left him there? Perhaps a warning to all prisoners being led into the dungeons. Slowly, he took a step forward, and then another.

This was when a woman saw him. She screamed and ran off, he assumed it was to tell someone. He took in his surroundings, letting the memories come back to him as they had the last two times he had... died. He found that he did not like that word. Death; dying- not when used with himself.

He listened now, noticing the few busy bodies that had not yet noticed him despite the woman's scream. It was quiet now, nothing but the cold wind to sweep away his woes. He did not hurt anymore. Besides the assault of life against his senses once more, he felt relatively at peace. It was an odd feeling, the snow beneath his feet. When he breathed out, his eyes caught sight of the breath in the frozen air, the way it steamed and dissipated from him like smoke. He was not cold. He could not remember a time when he had ever been cold. He did not know what it was like to be cold.

Vienice curled his toes in the white frost, curiously. He was dirty- covered in ash and dirt, but he could not see the scars from the nails, nor did his ankles contain any sort of soreness. If he had not felt so empty on the inside, he would have thought this a great feeling. He had the inkling to touch his face now, but the chains that held his hands back would not allow such a movement. 

With his eyes still on his feet, he pulled against his restraints, unsure what it was that compelled him to do so. He did not stop when he heard the crunching of snow under boots approach him, nor did he stop when he felt the bones in his hands protest against his pulling. It hurt, but pain was no longer what it used to be. Pain was merely a buzz in the background. A warning he did not have to follow. He continued to pull at the constraints, not bothering to see who it was that came to stand in front of him- not caring that he was still naked.

A pop could be heard, and he felt the pain that accompanied it. Another pop followed with more pain that he would have cried out at once upon a time. He continued to pull and eventually, his hands slid out of their confines, the cuffs falling to the ground. He pulled his hands in front of himself now, inspecting the thumbs he had dislocated so easily. And it was just as easy to put them back, the sharp pains not even eliciting a blink from the boy.

He turned his hands from front to back, flexing them. The were no longer mangled and broken. They too, no longer hurt to use. Vienice used these hands of his to feel his face, expecting charred skin or something to hint of his fiery death. His fingers were only met with smooth skin- perhaps smoother skin than he had before these events. They slowly traced from his chin, up his lips and cheeks, fingers spreading to take in all of his features.

Slowly, Violet eyes looked up at who it was that stood before him.

"You never fail to surprise me," The robed man said, with arms hidden in his long cloak. "I would think you to lose your memory after these kinds of events, but every time I check, you are still sound of mind. I assume that is so now?" Vienice found himself nodding, unsure of what words to say. The robed man seemed pleased. "You don't seem to be cold, I am surprised I never noticed before." Vienice was silent. "However, I do believe it would be best to fetch you some clothes, for decencies sake."

Vienice opened his mouth to speak, but he did not know what to say, and he was nearly afraid to do so.

"Hmm?" the Archdruid noticed this. "Speak. Say something. How are you feeling?"

The boy tried to answer but he stumbled over whatever words that tried to come out of his mouth. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Alive," He said after a moment. His voice was still as it was- softer than in times past.

"Speak up." Wymon told him.

Vienice looked down for a moment, but decided against such shy acts. He met eyes with the man again, holding his own. "Alive." He said louder, but it was still weak and the fitness he had tried to put in his words was lost in his monotone.

A small smile pricked the corners of the Archdruid's lips. "You told me this would be worse than death, but I believe you were wrong. Do you still believe it as such?"

Vienice turned, and looked at what was left of the blackened stake he had been chained to. Fire, he decided now, was the worst way to go out. Nothing hurt quite like it hurt to be cooked alive. He had burnt his hands on one of his mother's cooking pots as a child, and it had left him with a blister for a couple weeks. A nasty burn was one horrible thing, but being burned alive... it was a truly harrowing experience. But was it worse than death?

"I do not know," He answered as the robed man moved to stand beside him. He was taller than the boy by nearly half a foot. Vienice was a slow grower, part of looking younger than he really was, he supposed.

"You were right about one thing," Wymon said as his cold eyes turned to look at Vienice. Vienice looked at the other as he spoke again. "You have become different." He pointed out.

Vienice frowned and touched his face gingerly. "Not in that way. You look the same- less scars, but otherwise the same. Being reborn from fire and ash will do that to a man," He said with a hint of laughter. Next, he got serious. "You have become less human. I can see it in the way you hold yourself- in the way you survey the and. I wonder..." he trailed off before he turned to start walking off. "What it is like not to be human nor animal." 

The boy turned and watched Wymon walk away, curious as to what he meant, but not finding it in himself to ask.

"Are you coming or not? I did say that after you were burnt that you were to come with me."

"I can... leave here?"

The man stopped and turned towards him. "You can leave this place, because now your place is next to me. You belong to me now. Like a slave- but less."

Vienice gave him an odd look. What was less than a slave? He followed the man on numbing legs. Legs not numb from cold, but rather the feeling of this all. Was he living in a dream? It was eerie.

______

The Archdruid's manor was a big place- from some angles it seemed to rival that of the capital's castle. It was nearly just as busy with many servants rushing about, and more robed individuals too. The Archdruid told him that he was the head face- but not the man on top of his organization. No, that honor was left to the man he was supposed to meet soon.

"But you are not ready to meet him." Wymon told him simply, showing the boy to his quarters. The hallways were long and nearly identical- if he were to live here he would not know where he was at any moment.

"I am not?" Vienice repeated.

"No."

"Why not?"

Wymon looked him over with critical eyes. "Ignoring how dirty and improper you are at the moment, you have not been trained, have not been broken in, and you look around the place as a lost wild animal." He explained matter-of-factly.

Vienice gave him a long, blank look before speaking up again. "You talk as if I am a dog..."

"That might be the closest thing to it I suppose," He said with a shrug. "There is a bath you may use. A wash basin outside. I would tell you where to heat the water but well, you don't get cold." He said simply. "Go wash yourself once we are done here," He led the boy to a specific room and opened the door. For the man having claimed the boy was less than a slave, the room he was being given was awfully nice. "This is your room. You are the top bunk there, you room with three others." The archdruid said as he pointed to Vienice's bed. "Do not kill them or you will be punished-" he caught himself before he chuckled. "You dislocated your thumbs as if they were twigs. I suppose there is not much punishment we can do here, is there? Nevertheless, behave. Things will be easier for you that way."

Vienice nodded at all of this. "Good." Wymon said. "There is a change of clothes on your bed waiting for you, and there is soap out by the basin. Wash yourself and I'm sure by the time you are done, your guide will be back."

"My guide?" He repeated.

"Aye. I do not have the time to show you around, so he will. The basin is behind the Main house, to the left. If you've walked to the stables, then you have gone too far." He explained quickly before turning to leave the boy.

"Wait," Vienice called out to him.

"How long had I been gone, dead at the stake?" he asked, trying not to grimace when he said 'dead' with conjunction to himself.

Wymon raised a brow at the question. "A month." He answered before he left Vienice there to ponder over it.

Seven days that felt like nothing, a month... that felt like nothing. Where did you go when you died? No where? Somewhere? If he had gone anywhere, he sure did not remember any of it. The thought was a scary one. So much for the gods.

Vienice had been given a shirt and trousers for the journey here. They were cheap and not quite comfortable but at least they had covered him up, however the robes he found on the bed he had been given were nicer than any he had known in a long time- perhaps since early childhood. 

He took the robes with him and looked for the basin described to him. It took a moment before he finally found the place, and even longer for him to pump buckets of water and pour them into the small pool. The basin itself was like a large bucket, just large enough to fit a person in it. There were no doors making curtains the only thing to make this place private. If the wind picked up, the curtains failed at their job. He did not quite feel comfortable bathing outdoors like this, but he had remembered how shameless he had been after waking up from his third... death.

He shook off any discomfort and undressed himself, stepping into the cold water without a flinch. He had grabbed the soap that the Archdruid said would be there and scrubbed away at himself, the water beneath him blackening. The boy had not realized how dirty he had been... though it was not surprising, since he had not bathed in quite some time... he could not remember the last time he had bathed, even. 

When he was done, he stepped out of the basin, looking over his skin now, noticing how pale he had become, as if a white marble statue or a porcelain doll. He wrinkled his nose. He was no doll. Vienice quickly put on his robes, which were light and not like the robes that the Archdruid wore. His robes were heavy and the entire thing embroidered meticulously. His were a plain dark grey with nothing much to them. The under clothes were simple trousers and a shirt. He had no shoes, he realized. Perhaps he would ask whatever guid was waiting for him back at his room.

His hair still dripping wet from not bringing a towel, he hurried back to his room, catching glances along the way from the other robed individuals. Perhaps it was his red hair that caught the attention- he did not know. When he made it back the building- which was the second largest one on manor grounds and he had been told it was for housing servants and students- he found himself lost in the hallways, pointlessly looking around for the room that he had been told was his.

Every hallway looked the same... identical even. It was as if they disoriented you on purpose. He looked for some sort of familiarity, perhaps a vase, or a painting. Soon his eyes came to stop on a mirror. He caught sight of his reflection and froze like a shocked deer. He had not gotten to see himself dirty, but seeing himself at all came as quite the shock.

Slowly he walked closer to the mirror. He supposed he could have seen his reflection in the water of his bath, but he had not paid it any mind then. Now is when it caught his eye. Now when he was seeing himself in the mirror. 

Had he always seemed so small, so skinny? He looked fragile and weak... however he felt far from it. He was so pale he looked dead, and his pale violet eyes did not help the ghostly appearance. His crimson hair was dark because it was wet, taking on a maroon appearance. Vienice wondered why it had not all burnt away. He came to touch the red locks that needed a trim, but instead his fingertips landed on his throat. He still had the scar from his beheading. It was the only one left on him now. A circular scar that circled his entire neck.

The boy had looked for other scars on his body- ones from his childhood even, but all were gone. It was as if he was almost an entirely different person... and perhaps he was. He felt different... calmer. Despite the chaos around him, he felt nearly at peace. Nearly.

"Gods, I've been waiting in that room forever, and here ye are lookin yerself up and down in the mirror." A familiar voice said. Vienice turned quickly to face the man who had spoken to him.

He gave him a long silent look, searching for the memory of the man- dying made his memories blurry at times, especially when he had not thought of them. "You are that guard... the one who escorted me to the throne room for my second trial," He said now, Identifying the man.

He nodded. "Aye. Brandy Tyre at yer service, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"Your guide should be a student or servant of a lower status than I. The misfortune is all mine."