Chapter Text
Simon
Simon the Dragon, Simon the Chosen, Simon the Divine (that title made me blush for the affront any god may have felt from it), those are my titles.
And recently, and most mockingly, I was entitled Simon the Chaste .
They are not official titles by any means. I am a simple soldier, or I was, at first. One does not remain simple when it is known that they are a mage, even before that one knew they were a mage for themselves. It happened quite by accident, during battle. The enemy had pushed us back, and then their reserves cut us out from the side. We could have escaped through the Wavering Wood, but most soldiers feared that place as much as they feared being cut down by the enemy. Their fear wasn’t unfounded. Demons and their like sheltered in the Wood, and no doubt they had been called to the edges of their domain by the clamor beyond.
I, and a few other likeminded idiots (Penelope’s words, not mine), held to the front lines as much as possible, but the battle had already been lost. Most of the contingent had turned tail and run. Most of those had been skewered on pikes already. We were corralled, and if I had been the enemy, I would have let loose arrows upon us.
It was that thought, I think, that caused it to happen.
There was a smell not unlike campfire. I’d barely had time to register it, and to see that others about me also had detected the scent, when it happened. Whatever it was, it laid flat every soldier about me in concentric rings. Fire then erupted about me, with the air curling forth into my proximity before turning to flame, and then it burst forth, consuming the enemy, their weapons, and their mounts in a wave of fire.
Most of our ranks were unscathed, as they had been flattened to the ground, however, those closest to the enemy suffered burns, some to the extent that they could never be a soldier again. Some lost limbs. Some were horribly disfigured.. Those numbers were few, however, and Penelope told me not to grieve for them. After all, what I had created had won the battle for us, and had sent the enemy running back to their camps much like dogs with their tails between their legs.
It still struck a hint of guilt within me.
Penelope had told me that my magic was wild and untamed, like a wild-caught horse. She said it came from my not knowing that I was a mage.
She had been assigned to me to help me learn to tame my power, which only added to my guilt as mages were few and far between in our ranks. I was sure she had been pulled from a more important assignment, such as providing counsel to lords and knights. However, she has proven to be a good teacher and an equally good confidant. Our friendship is as if we have been friends since birth. However, we could not have been. She had been born into an old line of mages, and I...well, I’d been but a street urchin turned camp follower who happened to be good with a sword.
I’d been called Simon the Dragon that day, although I do not breathe fire, and I certainly am not a giant winged beast covered in scales the height and breadth of a man. The other soldiers tell tall tales of that day, of how I had breathed fire upon the enemy, roasting them not unlike a hog upon a spit. The worst rumors are that I called lightning from the heavens and like a god used it to strike down our enemy. That’s where Simon the Divine came from. I am as much a god as I am a dragon, as in, I am neither.
Now, as for Simon the Chaste?
“They only say that because you allowed Lady Agatha to turn down your proposal. If indeed you did propose to her,” Penelope says while boredly reading from some magical tome or another. Her arrival at our camp included a whole wagon dedicated just to her magical books and materials. She not only had them littered across her tent, but mine as well. I don't mind. “They assume it was you who turned her down, and the only reason why you would do that was to keep yourself pure.”
I scoff from my bedroll. “If only that were true.”
“You are not chaste? I hardly see man nor woman enter or leave your tent.”
“I am not chaste .”
“Celibate, then.”
“That requires a vow.”
“And you have made no such vow?”
I sigh and roll onto my side. I'm wearing a simple tunic and leggings, and am pleased to be draped in a wolfskin blanket. It had been a gift for aiding in the decimation of another enemy contingent. “I’ve not made such a vow.”
“Then why did you not marry Lady Agatha?”
“She would not see me as a husband.”
“You did not exactly fight for her affections.”
“Marquess Wellbelove made it quite clear that my affections were not welcome.” It was true. Although Lady Agatha was receptive of my advances at first, she turned cold and distant once her father made it known that he disapproved of our union. His tone had implied that I had somehow defiled his daughter. I had not wanted to suffer consequence for such an accusation. Especially since it had been Agatha’s idea in the first place. It was better that I just...let her go, then.
Besides, I had since learned she was betrothed to someone else.
“So you are going to just...toil away in battle for forever?”
“At least until this war is over.”
Penelope laughed and set her book down. “There will always be another war, Simon. And you’ve no need to continue being a soldier in His Majesty’s armies. You may find a wife. Or husband. Surely one will satisfy you.”
“I thought I was to be a mage.”
“Your education is lacking.”
“I thought that was what you were here for.”
She cast a glare my way, her eyes rolling over her spectacles.
I flopover on my back. “Go on, then. Tell me about how I couldn’t possibly be a mage.”
“You never received the education of a mage, which starts nearly the day you are birthed. You are well past the age of having been married with a litter of children nipping at your heels.”
“You make children sound like dogs. Just the same, I’ve no desire for children.”
“No?”
“What could I possibly give a child? I am a poor orphan. I’ve no titles, no money, no lands. I am good with a sword, and good at sending the enemy to their deaths in hellfire, but aside from that, worth not much. I could find a peasant to marry, and spend my days tilling fields and digging peat and slopping piss and shit about, but I don’t even know how to do any of those things. All I know how to do is fight. Surely that is not that terrible of a fate.”
Penelope sighs. “No, not that terrible. But...it may not be the fate for you.”
This catches my attention. I sit up. “What do you mean?”
“As much as your power is loved by our leaders, it is also feared. You do kill the enemy when your power is unleashed. Most if not all of the enemy at that. But you also wound many of your fellow soldiers. They have become fearful of going into battle with you.”
“So they do not wish to have me in their service? Then why not send me into the enemy’s ranks and have me use my power against them there?”
“Your power only seems to work when you are threatened. When the circumstances are dire.”
“I do not hesitate in saying that walking into the enemy’s camp is dire.”
“That is not the only issue.”
“Then what is?”
“The local nobility fear that you would use your power to supplant them.”
I scoff. “Why would I do that?”
“You’ve said it yourself. You are poor, an orphan, and without much prospects. Creating war upon a lord would enable you to take their lands, people, and money.”
“That would be dishonorable.”
“Do you believe aristocracy to be noble?”
“Aren’t they?”
Penelope mutters her own sentiment under her breath. “You are naive. No wonder they call you Chaste.”
I frown. “Then what options have I?”
“You could answer His Majesty’s invitation to the royal city, and attend him as a member of his personal guard. For one.”
I raise my brows. "What invitation?"
"The one that arrived this morning."
"From the King?"
"Or an aide. I doubt the King pens his own invitations. "
“I assume it is so he may keep a potential enemy within his gaze.”
“Or capture you and behead you before you could become that enemy.”
“That doesn’t sound like a choice at all.”
“It isn’t. But it allows you to do what you do best.”
“Oh?”
She smirks. “Fighting like the uneducated pillock you are.”
I wrinkle my nose and settle back down. “You should be glad that I am endeared towards you.”
“That I am.”
Baz
The reception of Marquess Wellbelove and his daughter, Lady Agatha, is as uneventful as one would expect of the arrival of a regional Marquess. Of course, the whole of the court turned up for it, for if there was one thing they liked and disliked all at once was the arrival of someone not of their ranks. They couldn’t wait to bestow double-faced pleasantries while making note of every flaw so that they could gossip about it later.
The Marquess is an unassuming man, and hadn’t bothered in decorating his person to attempt to match the garb of his fellow nobility. It is as if he was unaware that he was nobility at all. He could pass for a rather rich merchant, if not for a simple necklace bedecked with only one black moonstone. Family magical relics, I assume.
Lady Wellbelove is another figure entirely. She's wearing a mauve kirtle with white moonstone buttons up her wrist, and a laced surcote of a lighter shade, trimmed with squirrel belly. Her hair, as fine as angel-floss, is braided back with a simple jeweled comb. She dared not wear a veil so that her crowning glory could be seen. Such a bold move that was sure to garner whispers, but she seems unbothered. She's meeting every stare with a smile upon her pink lips. Shame does not befit her.
Such a beautiful woman. She certainly deserves queenship if only for her countenance. If my father had his way, she would have it.
I try not to let my frustration show itself on my face.
I wait as the two made their introductions to my father, the King. Lady Agatha’s curtsy is as perfect as she is. She has the grace of a princess, that was to be sure.
I drown out most of the introductions. I’ve heard them enough to know what I am or am not missing. Such and such the noble so and so, and his daughter the who and what, his Majesty the King blah blah blah, His Royal Highness…
Oh. That is me. I am the prince. How could I ever forget?
I turn and give a nod towards our visitors. Lady Agatha gives a blush as if on command. Has she been raised to do this? I wouldn’t doubt it. Lest she is ambitious. There is no reason as to why not. No one else had had the luck of birthing a daughter in my generation. That would make an interesting crisis of succession for most of the nobles. There is one, and only one person who could vie for the privilege of being my wife. Lady Agatha.
And if she has any competition, it wouldn’t matter. I've no desire to marry her or any other woman. And although our kingdom served no punishment to those who shared their bed with a member of the same sex, that didn’t mean that I am allowed to marry who I wish to marry.
A queen birthed princelings. A king fathered them.
I shudder at the thought of it. Not that I find the act disgusting. I just cannot envision myself partaking in any sexual act with a woman.
I think my shudder is noticed by Lady Agatha, as her beautiful features twitch in minute confusion.
Oh yes, my Lady. You are as trapped in this unfortunate situation as I am
There will be no love between us, if the way she batts her eyelashes at me means anything. Our future iss to be a disappointment, entwining two lives that, perhaps, ware not worth living if the path of honesty and fidelity are to be followed.
Look about, my Lady. Look at the dukes and lords and counts. Pick from them your lover. I cannot take on that title.