Lucius, Red Faye and ‘Bloody Third’

enter the city and received by undulating crowds

-

Slightly inaccurate large carved marble relief over the East Gates of Asturia

Commissioned by its wealthy Mayor, Domitian Sidon

Circa 193

Praetor Lucius Alden

None, but the Fair Lady tolerates it

Part I

-The Firstborn-

A day after they left behind Foxville, more than two after they crossed the bridge over the River Ruinal and left behind the dour walls of Whitetiger, Lucius’ large entourage saw a mouldy giant head appearing out of the morning mist. The massive lake’s shores on their right making the heat of summer mildly tolerable in the day, but when nightfall came the chill and humidity reached one’s bones.

Lucius pulled at Stormbolt’s reins, the loyal destrier snorting in protest and he had to pat its black mane with a gloved hand as an apology. The familiar sight of Ebenezer’s head had brought a wave of emotion on the homesick general so strong, he had paused abruptly to collect himself.

With a few stoic though notable exceptions most of the men and women escorting him murmured either deeply moved upon witnessing Asturia’s famous landmark, or shocked regarding it for the first time. A young nurse from Ludr fainting outright and collapsing on her feet, until they carried her to the wagons in the middle of their long procession.

First Cohort’s, Second Century following after Lucius group, led by Centurion Marcus Antonius Merenda, the rest of Primus Pilus Simon Gata’s First Cohort with the Third Legion and Tribune Veturius in Anorum, but for the First Maniple that was with ‘Prefect’ Durio ‘hopefully’ at the other edge of Framtond by now.

Logan ‘Gray’ Barret, Layton and their Northmen brought up the rear after the six wagons and the carriage with Roderick, Lord Pryor, his wife and their armed Anorum escort. Almost three hundred men in total. A clad in dark red leather armour Faye, both her swords strapped on her back broke out of the group marching slowly up the wide cobblestone road and cantered towards him, back kept straight on the saddle, long red hair billowing behind her, the overwhelming majority of the soldiers cheering seeing the warrior woman pass them by.

The Bloody Third loved Faye almost as much as it did its Legatus.

Lucius brought his left hand up and loosened the leather fastenings of his polished steel and bronze helm, then removed it and placed the engraved tiger’s head on the saddle’s pommel. He used his right hand’s fingers to push his long black hair back and smiled at a proud Faye showing off her graceful riding skills. There was no denying his wife’s talent in sword and horse, Lucius thought and heard First Prefect Trupo ordering a booming general halt, after seeing the Legatus had stopped himself.

“There’s a scary giant lurking behind the walls Alden,” Faye said bringing her chestnut mare near a snorting very annoyed Stormbolt. “Reckon I should ride in there and slay him dead.”

Ha-ha.

Framtond faces the Valkyrie that’s a story worth reading about, he thought.

“Perhaps you should have taken the dress Lady Anne offered,” Lucius commented with a smile seeing her fierce expression.

“I took it,” Faye replied shamelessly, raising a crimson brow. “Put it in a box wit the winter blankets. I’ve cleaned my good armor for the occasion. Fixed the blades proper.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s who I am Lucius,” Faye reminded him with a scowl, although he knew that also.

“And I love you for it Red,” Lucius replied honestly and reached to cup her flushed face.

“Will they love me as well?”

“They better do.”

“Eh, I don’t care either way,” she replied and glanced at the men watching them to hide the small lie. “I’ll kiss my Legatus!” Faye announced hoarsely. “Want no funny shit, or sounds!” she warned them, then stooped to grab Lucius’ messy head and bring him closer.

Faye smelled of milk and honey, dry leather, gritty sharpening oil and horse.

Plenty of funny sounds and lots of whistling came from the soldiers, forcing a smiling Merenda to bark them down.

“Cut the bullshit ye cunts!” The Centurion bellowed whilst Lucius kissed his wife. “Else ye all are sprinting to the gates! That’s right! See if I’m jesting, I dare ye!”

“Will you ride with us Lady Faye?” Lucius asked when she let go of his mouth.

“I’ll ride with you until my last day,” Faye retorted and brought two fingers to her mouth to whistle loudly for the procession to move forward again. The northeast port gates of Asturia looming behind its busy docks.

“Praetor?” Trupo asked scratching his freshly shaven beard. He’d left the thick blond mustache untouched, curved tips protruding bellow his tied cheek-guards, but had worked on his armour with enthusiasm. Each man adding small details as the years went by, either to cover up much needed repairs, or to commemorate personal moments during the long campaign. Trupo had a pattern of vine leaves carved on the seams as a nod to his estranged family, though either due to the crafter’s lack of skill, or utter ignorance, Lucius thought they looked more like palm leaves.

“Get us going mister Varus,” Lucius replied with a smile. “You heard the Lady.”

Inside the ramparts and fortifications Decius the Second had built Asturia proper grew. It spread westwards afore the central square, from Tyeus Tower to the river’s mouth on the northwest corner where another guardtower stood and the southeast corner near the main gates facing the river. It touched the base of the walls there and then spilled out of the smaller south gates and the second guardtower.

The ground there prone to flooding made the citizens turn their sights on the other side of the walls to the northeast and the port. Since the Duke’s Palace had claimed the grounds inside that side of the walls and the lake’s shores, the city buildings poured outside the fortifications. The small port turned into another attached town and to the south of the northern road leading inside the city another district had sprang with time, with houses constructed to the edge of the Lake Wall, overlooking Asturia’s Forest and hugging the sloped harsh drops of the old abandoned now overrun quarry.

Lucius’ procession marched through the port-side gates, the port-district houses smaller near the lake, larger towards the slopes. Mostly out of white stone like the walls, with red tiled roofs and minimum two stories. Taller buildings started behind the gates, up to four stories high, typical Lorian villas on the side of the walls facing the lake’s shores and some even erected outside of the Coast District Gates, roomy with internal yards and sculpted marble façades one could rent for the summer, but most were purchased from rich noble families as a permanent vacation home.

The alleys between these villas, all leading to the beach, named after their most famous owners. The Alden Street, where Lucius’ family owned a lovely large villa, across Lord Holt’s luxurious though ancient summer residence. The Lesia Corner where the wine barons and the Davenports had bought themselves a spot near Canlita’s white pebbled beaches. Each villa ridiculously one-upping the other with Riveras’ having a large pool built at its center and Napoli constructing a hanging-garden at its flat rooftop for his pet wolves. The sadly howling each night wolves died out or were secretly poisoned, the pool iced over during the winter and as the Coast District’s allure enticed more noble houses, even austere Issirs, eventually the craziness calmed down.

It was years since the howl of a direwolf was heard inside the walls of the city.

A large nearby seashore tavern having the name of all of them -mostly to avoid the headache- was the most important spot of that part of Asturia. Each Baron putting his name first when offering a night out to their loftier guests. Riveras, Napoli and Trupo. Or Faro, Sava and Sartor if one went by their respective town-sized estate names bordering Flauegran. There thirty years ago, almost thirty two to be exact, King Alistair had met young Lady Vacia Davenport, Lucius mother.

Late in the season with the summer’s last month fast approaching, the city bristling with visitors from all sides of the realm and the prospect of another of Asturia’s Bacchanalia at the gates bothering the more guarded Lorians of the Lesia coast, King Davenport’s late father decided to take his teenage sons and daughters and leave while he still could. The journey back taking him through Sovya, with a ship waiting for them at the distant Kadrek. The young King Alistair’s guards, the King carrying the sword Lucius had with him stopped the Lesia procession at the same gates his son had just crossed and demanded a bewildered Vacia’s hand instead of Nike’s, the older sister he’d just refused to even consider earlier that month.

‘For political reasons I’ve given them nigh hard a bargain’, the late King Alistair liked to boast to his two older sons with their mother shaking her lovely head from her spot near the fireplace, but Lucius knew that decision his father had taken with his heart.

People had started gathering from the nearby markets seeing the legionnaires marching down the large main street leading to the palace grounds. The city guard got overwhelmed not expecting the large crowd. Whether it was Lucius’ sudden approach, or just a case of this being a lethargic post without excitement they lost control of the people. It must be noted that even if they hadn’t been, the numbers weren’t in their favor. The nearby roads and alleys were soon swarmed with Asturians of all ages. The unruly crowd’s noise increasing and despite the arriving from other postings guards’ best efforts to clear their way, their pace crawled to a stop. The noise increasing as more and more people pressed on to see what was going on and those nearer commenting on what they were seeing for those behind them.

Some speculating, others being surer in their conviction.

Even disagreeing.

“That’s the Alden banners. Allfather as me witness!” A young merchant boomed.

“The King storms the city?” A young lad with a tricorn hat gasped.

“What did that fool say?” An older woman with a bigger hat responded.

“No they aren’t, you’re mistaken!” A man with a brown mustache that rivaled Trupo’s argued irate, though it was unclear with whom.

“That’s Lucius, Silvanus don’t be an idiot!” The merchant berated the man with the mustache.

“Ayup, that’s him alright,” an older head with adventurer’s eyes assured them smoking his pipe, as more and more curious citizens arrived to see for themselves. “That’s his horse and Regia’s blade. Saw him leaving through them gates back in eighty eight.”

His words spreading about and people cheering happy the Heir’s name, until a constipated, sour-faced man pointed a finger further back.

“Is that a giant Nord? Cock in arse!”

Damnit.

An alarmed Lucius twisted on the saddle and eyed Prefect Trupo’s excited face. Trupo’s excitement turning to worry immediately.

“Protect the flanks,” Lucius ordered him soberly. “Place the Nords in the center with the wagons. Get Lord Pryor out here and guard Roderick!”

“Merenda spread ‘em out!” Trupo barked, over the increasing murmurs of excitement, the crowd easily in the hundreds and Lucius could hear the bells ringing at Tyeus Tower rousing the large city, responding to those in the palace and the two large guardtowers near the river answering them in the distance. Ebenezer’s creepily smirking face now only a couple of kilometers away. “Single file! Keep the crowd away.”

“RAISE SHIELDS!” Merenda boomed and the crowd’s buzz turned different. There were cheers aplenty and exultation at Lucius’ arrival, but also disbelief and even anger at the armed Northmen strolling down Asturian’s streets.

Soon many spotted the armed Faye riding next to Lucius and attempted to push through. The legionnaires shoved them back with excessive force. Whether their intentions were to approach Lucius in a friendly manner or not, Merenda couldn’t risk it and ordered the soldiers to clear the main street, then break through to the palace’s moat bridge, creating a hollow square formation the bottom side guarded by Barret’s Northmen.

Lucius slotted the helm on his head and turned Stormbolt about, the warhorse rearing on its hind legs with an angry neigh that scared Faye’s mare, the roar of the crowd turning wild. Trupo waved his arms at the confused people at the back and the angry citizens getting shoved aside by the soldiers at the front, but while yelling as loud as he could, no one could hear anything in the uproar.

Merenda raised his fist and then lowered it abruptly, the legionnaires starting their slow deliberate march towards the moat bridge through the crowd blocking them. Overwhelmed city guards amongst them trying to keep order and failing. Lucius grabbed Faye’s elbow to stop her from drawing her sword and then cantered towards the back of the surrounded formation towards the wagons and Logan’s Northmen.

“No weapons!” Lucius barked at the mute warrior and Logan showed him his teeth in a wolfish snarl. “I mean it Logan!” Lucius warned him and jumped from his horse to talk with Lord Pryor and his wife. Lady Anne had little Roderick in her arms.

“Good grief my lord,” Lord Pryor said, a short heavy set man in his fifties. “Is it the festival already?”

“Silly goose,” Lady Anne told him with a carefree smile. “Of course it isn’t!”

“Lady Anne is correct,” Lucius agreed forcing himself to be as civil as possible. “You need to be seen Baron. Calm down the crowd.”

“Of course, of course,” Lord Pryor replied with a nod and looked at their carriage. “Ahm, do I climb over the top, or…?” he trailed unsure.

The carriage was his meaning.

“Faye, I need your mare!” Lucius decided and jumped lithely on the saddle. “Don’t sulk yer pretty face, you ride with me. Lord Pryor, if you be so kind,” he said turning to the confused Baron of Anorum. Lady Anne slapped his arm to goad him along, Roderick still in her arms trying to kick him with both small feet but failing.

Lord Pryor managed to get on the saddle, Faye jumping up behind Lucius with a fierce smile and the Legatus waited until an excited Lady Anne had returned in the carriage, a Decanus climbing inside after her, afore turning to glance at his wife.

“You’re smiling?” he queried confused and followed after a clumsily bobbing up and down her horse Lord Pryor to the front of the slow moving square.

“This I understand,” she replied wrapping her arms around his torso. “Plus it reminds me of Montfoot.”

“We were fighting for our lives then!” Lucius bemoaned at her dreamy expression, Lord Pryor waving his arms trying to calm down the crowd.

“Mmm,” Faye agreed. “Exactly.”

Auspiciously Lord Holt’s guards arrived, the large force led by Titus Virilis, not long after. They managed to break them out of the clutches of the crowd and into the palace grounds two hours later. Mayor Domitian Sidon flooded the city with criers soon after, sent Heralds to all Districts of the city and even hijacked the Adventurer Guild’s boards paying out of his own pocket, in order to spread the news and restore order.

Again fortunately no one was killed during the uproar, but sixty citizens and six guards had to be hospitalized for a while.

Lucius gave Gripa his helm, the excitement of their entrance slowly dissipating, as they waited for Hostus Clarus, the Herald he had released a month back, to usher them inside Lord Holt’s main hall. The massive walled estate a small village unto its own, with the main hall’s four story building situated near the side of the walls facing the Lake surrounded by a forest sized rich garden on both sides.

“Who’s that?” Faye asked him, her hair caught at the nape with a simple knot, pointing at one of the two large marble statuses standing afore the entrance.

“Lord Decius Hortulanus,” Lucius replied and used a cloth to clean his face as best he could. “He constructed the river part of the wall.”

“Who’s the other guy?” Faye asked with a nod.

“Lord Decius, the second,” Lucius replied with a glance at her flushed but clean face. “He built… the rest of the walls, I suppose. Much of the city and the… garden we've just crossed.”

“He built all this?” Faye guffawed. “That’s the biggest city I’ve ever seen! Fuck!”

“Not by himself,” Lucius replied with a grimace and tensed up, when the doors opened. Lord Holt’s throne room coming to view, its walls depicting the diverse personalities of the many Lords of Asturia. The banners and coat of arms that Lord Hunter Holt valued. The reliefs and engraved marble columns, the expertly chiseled large windows his ancestors had built. The wealth of the city displayed in the quality of the furniture and massive bronze chandeliers, the rosy marble floor and the large silver and gold statue of Naossis holding a disk with a miniature old Asturia in her hands, standing tall behind the polished marble modest-size throne. Nothing vulgar, or excessive in the surroundings, but for the bare-breasted youthful-looking Goddess that is.

“Are all cities like that in Regia?” Faye asked, sounding impressed and Lord Holt clad in his father’s legion-fashioned armour got up from the throne.

“No city is like Asturia,” Lucius admitted and walked inside the hall, the much older than he remembered him white-haired Lord Holt rushing to meet the Legatus halfway, his wrinkled face scrunched up and his familiar clear-blue eyes having a strange luster in them.

“Praetor Maximus, Lord of Greater Kas and the northern territories, Legatus Augustus of the third and fourth Legions, Sir Lucius Alden,” Clarus started reading from his scroll under Ramirus’ severe scrutiny, a sweaty Sirio Veturius standing next to the LID officer with a sense of awe on his youthful face, oiled black hair tightly combed back on his head and eyes wide open as if not to miss anything.

“Eh, you’ve left the best part out,” Lord Holt cut Clarus off curtly and eyed Lucius moved, afore grabbing the numb Legatus in a tight bear hug. He patted Lucius broad back fondly a couple of times and then pulled away, his eyes turning back to stay on the Lords and the rest of his family standing near his throne afore he addressed them. With Lady Anne behind Lucius and next to her husband, all living children of Lord Holt were present.

But for one.

‘That’s Alistair’s son,’ the Duke of Asturia declared inside his courtroom. ‘His firstborn. The true heir to the throne of Regia. We may agree, or disagree with him on the morrow, but this fact no mortal shall dispute in my presence. And he’ll be addressed by no other name in Asturia.’

Lord Sirio Veturius

The Fall of Heroes

Chapter II

Unpublished,

Addendum, Notes & Transcripts

Subchapter

Numbered *A14

Asturia-Two and a half months

Lord Lucius Alden,

-Also addressed-

[sic] Legatus Augustus omnis legionis,

Praetor Maximus, High Dictat of the Triads (3 seas & 3 gulfs), King of Greater Regia,

Liger Hominis Panthera Divinus (after deification)

read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms

& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms

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