Viserys Blurb #2

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Alex fulfilled all prophecies thrown his way. After hardly five years in Khrennad he headed the Tower division of the Combined Army. He was widely considered to be the most powerful man on the continent, second to Tim Markandov. And since the Head of Counsel had already proven himself immune to mind-control, the Enemy would surely target the young commander instead.

Commander Dumon himself had agreed to the plan. His own mental shields allied to the more mystlcal ones set in place by the Head of Counsel himself would hide their true designs, while false memories - which Alex himself would believe whole-heartedly until the spells were removed - would set the Enemy himself moving inexorably on a path to his own destruction. So, working quickly and with utmost secrecy, they prepared.

The ruse proceeded smoothly. Their "weakness" was sensed; the Enemy sent his emissary; the emissary was despatched and finally the Enemy himself took a hand. But Robert Joseph Lee had never been one to play by his opponents' rules: He preferred to make his own.

So when he came, it wasn't the commander's mind he invaded.

****

"Captain! What orders?" The soldier was young, one of the newest recruits, and visibly frightened. Understandable. His commander was standing face-to-face with the enemy, and judging by the lack of news from outside, he wasn't exactly winning.

Viserys hesitated for the barest of instants. "There are none," he said. "You are to remain at your posts. Commander Dumon has the situation well in hand." And without further ado he strode off through the halls.

****

Empty. The room was empty. So were his office, personal quarters, and usual haunts.

"DAMN IT!" Alex roared. "I want every section on the alert. Check every room, sent a patrol - no, three - send three patrols to the grounds. Any word, bring it to me in the Council Chambers." Tim would be there, he knew. And he had questions that needed answering. Cloak flourishing as he spun, Alex pelted through the long hallways and up the stairs, leaving a confused recruit standing open-mouthed behind him.

The voice caught him in midair, one foot having just bid farewell to a step while the other was beginning to think about landing. He missed his footing and tumbled head-over-heels.

YOU HAVE FULFILLED YOUR HALF OF THE BARGAIN. I WILL HONOR MINE. Then, worse than any war-cry: Pleased laughter.

Horribly, horribly familiar laughter.

The youthful recruit blinked as brilliant sunshine flowed through the window for the first time in weeks, then blinked again as his commander, crumpled at the foot of the stairs, began to weep.

****

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Most things did.

The chance to utterly control the single most powerful vessel in either world, with the traitors' sworn oath not to retaliate. And while theirs wasn't a word he usually trusted, a certain spell would ensure total cooperation.

That also had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now, though, Lee was beginning to wish they would try something. It would take the boy off his hands.

The first two days or so had been fine. Wonderful, even. He had in his complete control the one person who could best him in strength or skill; the only threat to his safety had not only been nullified, it had been converted one hundred percent to his cause. And because the boy's very thoughts were his to command, there was no chance of mutiny.

The boy's power was impressive. Rebuilding his stronghold, healing every man and beast in his army, and lifting the age-long curse from the Towers (per the charmed agreement) had taken the space of five minutes or less. And if the boy had been left a little pale and sweaty, well, such was to be expected. His reservoirs of energy were all but unaffacted. The following forty-eight hours had seen fully half of his life-long dreams fulfilled and the rest on their way.

Then, desiring a moment's peace, Lee had handed the boy off to the dungeons and gone for a drink. He'd hardly filled his glass when one of the guards defied all orders by bursting into his private room.

"Sir - apologies for the intrusion, sir, but it's your prisoner - sir, he's dyin', sir, and there's nowt we can do, sir!"

Lee was instantly on his feet. "Bring him here."

"Aye, sir. Apologies, sir," and the guard backed through the open door and tore off through the halls.

The boy, as they dragged him in only moments later, was pale and gasping, but very much alive. Lee raised an eyebrow.

"I can't explain it, sir," the guard said, shaking his head and visibly trembling. The thought of his lord's wrath was not one he found pleasant. "When I left him first he was twitching, like, but when I got back he was right as rain, pardon the expression, sir." Until the previous day no rain for nearly two centuries had been quite right.

Lee forced down his fury and dismissed the guard with a gesture. "Leave him here."

"Sir, if he - "

"It would seem I can't trust him to you, and he's no threat to me. Leave him."

"Aye, sir." The guards left, quickly and silently. Behind them, the boy stood motionless; his eyes held no more expression than did his face, and he hardly seemed to breathe. Lee sighed mentally and turned his attention back to his drink. Soon his mind was fully occupied with other matters.

Thump.

Lee spun. The boy was gone! - wait, no, he wasn't. He had collapsed. Blue-tinged lips and faint twitches in his fingers that fell in perfectly with the guard's tale were the only signs of life left in him. Vacant eyes gazed sightlessly at the ceiling.

"Damn you, boy!" Lee cursed, dropping to his knees and catching the twitchy hand in an iron grasp. Life-energy flowed into the limp form, and air flowed into and out of the lungs once more. "Typical of your kind. Always more trouble than you're worth, even half-dead." Lee snarled. "Wait in that corner. I have - "

not dead?

" - a drink to...finish..." His brows furrowed. For an instant, he'd felt the feather-touch of an unprotected thought flash through the boy's head. He held perfectly still, waiting, but there was nothing more.

****

From then on, it became a game. A particularly dangerous game. Lee was forced to go through each day while consciously keeping the boy in mind - for every time he forgot, for even the barest of instants, the boy dropped dead. And every time Lee revived the boy, there was a split second when his control was weakened and the boy's own thoughts flew free.

Still, mental exercises had always been Lee's forte. Splitting his attention in such a manner quickly became second nature. He even learned to how to send the boy to take care of his personal matters - eating, sleeping, anything - while carrying on other matters uninterrupted. Of course, there was a week before he realized that such would be necessary. Lee smirked. Must have been uncomfortable. Amazingly, the physical exhaustion had no effect on the boy's powers. Lee was disinclined to voice a complaint about this. It fit perfectly with his plans.

Two weeks passed, then three, and finally four. He began his preparations. And at long last, the time came.

His foot landed on Tower property just as the month expired. One month to the minute since his last attack on the Towers had ended. One month to the minute since his deal with the Combined Army set in. One month to the minute since he had wrested complete and total control of Viserys Stark, icon and popular "savior" of the Khrennad'an people.

Under most circumstances, said control would also have expired with the oath and the month. But Lee was a strategist; his plans were not dreamed up and instigated in an instant. Thirty-one days on short rations and shorter sleep shut his conscious brain down the instant it awoke. Instantly Lee cemented a magical link between himself and the boy: Power flowed from the boy to Lee, was converted to physical energy, and then flowed back into the boy, keeping his body functional but completely under Lee's power.

So Viserys' foot was the second to tread the grounds, and immediately behind him spanned an army.

****

"Sir, we must retreat!"

"They're decimating our lines, sAAAAGH!"

Alex grimaced, spun, decapitated another of the Enemy's black-armored soldiers, and gave the order to fall back to the White Tower. Its walls were more for show than for defense, but that was more than the other Towers could offer. As quickly as his feet raced, his thoughts were faster.

How can they have recovered so quickly? Their weapons, what are they made of? Why are they not tiring? What's with the weather? WHERE IS LEE?

As if on cue, the Enemy's smooth voice floated above the din.

"CEASE!"

Instant silence fell. Glittering swords disappeared into black scabbards and their owners took careful paces backwards, leaving a clear space between the attackers and defenders. Into this gaping space walked Lee, and behind him, head held high and proud, strode Viserys.

Alex froze. I don't know what's going on here, but I don't think I'm going to like it, he couldn't help but think. He sidestepped one of his men, apparently frozen in terror, and made his way through the motionless throng to meet the Enemy.

"Ah, Dumon, my friend," Lee said congenially, but the smile never reached his eyes. "I'm glad to see you well."

"I'm sure," Alex replied in kind. His grip on his sword hilt tightened. "So tell me, jolie, do you plan on honoring your agreement, or will we have to take Viserys from you by force?"

"Oh, the latter, I suppose. But I'm afraid you'll have to convince him first. You of all people should know how loyal he can be." The taller man smirked. "Have fun." And with that, he disappeared.

Alex growled, a low guttural sound. "Come on, Viserys," he said, reaching for his friend's wrist; "I don't know what he thinks he's up to, but I - oof!"

As their skin touched Viserys' immobility came to a shocking end. His fist caught Alex hard in the belly, doubling him over and sending him sprawling. Before the commander could recover, Viserys had summoned a blade of fire and fallen into his customary defensive stance.

Well...damn.

****

Take him down, the Commander had said. Take him out. The Brigade was accustomed to tall orders, and to overwhelming odds - they ate impossible for breakfast - but this was the epitome of madness. Standing in the midst of a full-scale battleground, hardly holding his own against his crazed, traitorous, and ultimately deadly second-in-command, the Commander had shouted the orders over his shoulder and dived back into the fight.

Kaja Jorrin gritted his teeth. Impossible? Probably. But the Brigade had never left an order unfulfilled, and he didn't intend to start now. So he gathered his men with a shout - "Brigade! Aye Brigade! To me!" - left Captain Stark and Commander Dumon to kill each other, and assembled a hasty strategy even as he ran.

Without backup, without support, and without hesitation, the Brigade set out to kill Joseph Robert Lee.

****

It didn't work. Seven of their eleven men were felled in reaching the Enemy. The rest took him as one, but his physical strength was considerable, and even after losing his sword Lee managed to throw off his attackers. Jorrin struggled against a shattered leg and managed to catch Lee's ankle as he ran, bringing the black-armored magician crashing to the ground, but wounded as he was he could manage little more. Lee, unsurprisingly, smirked. His fall had brought him within reach of his sword. He grasped the hilt and rolled to his feet, raising the weapon above the brigadier's prone form.

Jorrin's heart pounded mercilessly, and his gaze locked onto Lee's whitening fingers, unwilling to look away.

The blade swung down. There was a sickening crunch, a shout of pain, and Jorrin rolled out of the way as Lee's unconscious body landed next to him.

"Sorry I took so long, sir," the other brigadier panted, dropping the heavy hilt he held. "Can you stand?"

Jorrin nodded and accepted the arm. He leaned on his shorter companion. "You've a good arm. Not many people could have managed that, especially not against that helmet."

"Did a number on my sword, sir. Think the Commander'll issue me another one?"

"If we make it out of this, I think it'll be the least he can do."

****

Well...damn.

Alex had time for no more. Between physical sword attacks, mental jabs, and of course his trademark magical barrages, Viserys had him effectively pinned; only blinding reflexes and an innate knowledge of his friend's favorite tactics had allowed the youthful commander to survive even this long. His arms ached. His lungs burned. He was sure that if he had been able to stand still for an instant, his legs would be shaking. His sword, carved ceremoniously but well-crafted for battle nonetheless, swept down from an attack that had left him wide open to a sloppy and ineffective defense. Faster than thought, his body moved to take what advantage he could.

Even as Viserys' blade of fire screamed towards the taller youth's neck, Alex's more slender weapon ran him through.

And it was only then that Alex realized. Viserys' eyes, so long empty, were suddenly awake; his blade had dwindled to little more than a tongue of flame to singe his hair as it passed.

He was free.

And he was falling.