Broken Bread

“You must be famished.”

The man that sat across from Seren Fane was gaunt, with dark rims around his eyes and his cheeks were drawn and skeletal. An audible growl had resonated when the plate of bread and cheese had been placed before him.

His enemy had shown great restraint and poise by not instinctively devouring the food the moment it touched the table; as decorum dictated that the meal would not start until the host took the first bite.

The man’s silence stretched as he unflinchingly met Fane’s gaze, refusing to look at the meal that was so close to him. Time dragged out, and a thin smile eventually spread across Fane’s pale lips.

“There was a time when I thought we could have been friends, Ariaric.” Seren said finally, breaking the stare of his enemy and picking at his fingernails with one of the knives on the table set before them. He sat in a massive oak chair, covered in carvings of screaming faces, the armrests were both contorted faces stretched across the length.

“It seemed that our motivations were similar, but one misunderstanding has complicated a relationship that could have blossomed into something special.”

Ariaric’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightened, and his quivering hands gripped the edge of the table that separated them.  Whatever stoicism he had tried to present was quickly falling apart.

“Would I change what happened?” Seren asked, putting the knife down carefully upon the table in the exact spot he had picked it up from. “No, obviously not, but I think you can see in retrospect that it put us both on the path to this moment, no?”

“You are a monster.” The words came out as a hoarse whisper, through clenched teeth.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Fane said, with a large toothy smile that resembled that of a wolf. “I have my goals and my methods of achieving those goals, and what happened was an obvious misstep.”

Fane leaned back, raising three fingers on his right hand, and immediately a fine golden goblet was placed before him. Fane raised the goblet to his lips, taking the smallest of sips of the contents.

When a similar goblet was placed before Ariaric, he drank deeply from the cup, emptying it quickly, the white liquid pouring from the corners of his mouth and into his scraggly beard. After a moment, the richness of the drink touched his stomach and he violently erupted in coughs, vomiting up much of the drink upon the carpeted floor beneath the table.

A servant made to move towards Ariaric, but the venomous glance from Fane stilled the young woman, who instantly paled and went to resume her place at the corner of the tent, eyes becoming wild, like an animal caught in a trap.

After the coughing was done, Ariaric unsteadily resumed his seat across from Fane, his body quivering slightly as he tried to restrain further fits. He somehow looked even frailer by the episode.

“Now, do my methods sometimes upset those affected, of course! But does it change the nobility of my goal? I don’t think you can make that argument.” Fane said, resuming the conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted.

“Water.”

Seren sighed and raised a single finger on his left hand, and one of the servants that lined the tent leaped into action, placing another goblet in front of Ariaric, this one with condensation on the outside and two ice cubes floating on the surface.

“Ice?” Ariaric laughed in disbelief. “How do you have ice here?”

“These minute details don’t matter!!” Seren shouted as he slammed his fist onto the table, causing the tent to shake, and the candles sputtered as the pressure in the tent dropped as if lightning had struck.

Seren’s face had become animalistic, his teeth bared and hands claw-like, as he stood across the table, looming over the room and filling it with his presence and his shadow seeming to encompass everything.

Ariaric instinctively scooped one of the small knives off the table and leaned forward, preparing for the attack that he was sure to come.

The moments stretched out, the servants around the tent remained deathly still, and the pressure in the room regained its equilibrium.

With a sharp and sudden laugh, Seren sat leisurely back in his chair, reclining backward in the massive oak chair. All signs of the animal which had been close to unleashing faded with each second that passed.

“Now. We were discussing my methods, I believe before that… disturbance.” Seren said as he wiped his hands upon the white napkin before him.

Ariaric resumed his seat but did not put down the small knife that he gripped in his hand.

“We won’t surrender.”

The wolf-like smile touched Seren’s mouth again. Instead of answering, he picked up a single small piece of cheese and ran it between his fingers before placing it in his mouth.

Ariaric stared straight ahead in defiance to the invitation, doing his best to endure the hunger a minute longer. He pictured their faces in his mind, before finally succumbing to it, and began to eat the bread and cheese before him.

Seren leaned forward, examining Ariaric as he devoured the food before him like a hungry dog, bits of the cheese and bread crumbling from his fingers into his beard and onto the plate. These were quickly grabbed up in hungry hands and jammed into his mouth. Seren allowed the moment to go on in the relative silence, except for the sound of rabid chewing and slurping.

“My methods aren’t always palpable to some, true, but sometimes lessons have to be learned the hard way. Sometimes you have to beat the dog to teach it to sit.”

“You don’t beat a dog to teach it to sit, you beat a dog to teach it violence,” Ariaric responded, finishing the last piece of bread, and licking his fingers of the juices.

“If you beat it bad enough, all it can do is sit.”

“We won’t surrender,” Ariaric repeated. “If you have brought me here, you are obviously getting desperate.”

“Desperate. I have nothing but time, my friend. And of course, you say that won’t. Not yet at least.”

The grin faded from Seren, as he rose from his chair, a pair of the servants immediately rushed in and moved the heavy chair into the corner to allow Seren to walk seamlessly about the lavish tent.

“I understand your loss. I really do. And your anger, though misspent as it is.” Seren said as he paced the length of the tent. “You blame me, but who is truly responsible? Me for giving the order, the warrior for swinging the sword, or the person who made a decision that started the chain of events?”

“You killed my family.”

“And yet you lived. Somehow. The Aslolm never make mistakes, but it seems they did at least once.” Seren said as he examined Ariaric, before waving a dismissive hand. “Your father made a choice. I didn’t make that choice for him. And he paid the consequences. Should crimes go unpunished?”

“All he wanted was freedom. And for that, you drew and quartered my whole family. Even the children.”

“That is the price of defying me. And it seems you haven’t learned the lesson, so I will have to beat the dog twice as bad.” He halted and looked to the floor of the tent before taking a deep breath and approaching Ariaric once more. “Unless you surrender now.”

“We won’t surrender to you.” Each word came out sharp and painful. “We hold the walls, we have water, and provisions, and every day we hold you here, is a day you aren’t inflicting yourself on others.”

“You won’t surrender,” Fane repeated, leaning across the table. He smelt of ash and blood. “You are aware of the consequences of your actions. But the price is one that not only you will pay, but all of those in your care. There are countless families that are like yours, that you are making this decision for.”

“We. Won’t. Surrender.”

Fane inclined his head and raised a single digit on his left hand, a course of roasted meat and potatoes was brought out and placed before Ariaric. The smell of the roast filled the air of spices, taking away the sickly smell of Fane from Ariaric’s nostrils.

“You can’t bribe me with food to betray my people,” Ariaric said firmly, refusing to look at the platter laid out before him.

“You have done well, much better than I would have expected, truly. You haven’t overextended your resources. You have fought well and bravely. And what ground you have given up was of no strategic import.”

Seren resumed his pacing of the tent, moving silently across the tent like a shadow, his hands clasped behind his back.

“This is why I believe we could have been friends. You have made the tough decisions. It has been months that you have held out when we should have had this over in weeks. I am impressed.”

Ariaric finally relented and grabbed a piece of the meat off the platter, tearing at it with his teeth, the juices running down his hands and chin. He quickly devoured one slice of the meat, before ravenously ripping into a second, his hands and face soon becoming red from the rare meat.

“And yet you have fought on, with seemingly no hope. What can you gain after all this time?” He asked, emphasizing the final word of his sentence. “Instead, every action seems to be about delaying.”

Ariaric ceased his meal, weighing in his mind the words that were spoken. He couldn’t know, could he?

“Delaying, but for what?”

Seren never broke his gaze with Ariaric, studying him like a predator stalking its prey. His strides had quickened, nearly dashing his way across the carpeted floors of the tent.

“He’s not coming for you.”

Ariaric swallowed hard. He knows.

“My methods might seem harsh,” Fane said changing the subject, “but my motivation is a noble one, wouldn’t you say? I protect all of humanity. I would say that my motivation is justified in my methods.”

“What did you say?” Ariaric asked, slipping the small knife back into his hand and clutching it under the table.

“You see, breaking a person isn’t that different from breaking an animal.” Fane approached the table once more, and slowly grabbed a piece of the meat from the platter in front of Ariaric. “You can beat them, sure, but in order to break a person, truly teach them to sit, is to remove hope.” 

Fane deliberately bit into the meat leaning close to the sitting man. The stench of Fane washing over Ariaric once more, this time causing him to nearly gag on the smell.

The weight of the blade in Ariaric’s hand felt heavy. Fane was close enough to plunge it deep into his neck. Ariaric pictured the action, willed himself to move as he fought to bring the blade up, seizing his chance, but the blade stayed under the table.

“We. Won’t. Surrender. All of your fancy words have changed nothing.”

“Right you are,” Fane said, biting off a large chunk of the meat with a snap, and knocking purposefully on the table. “Bring him in.”

A pair of the servants dragged a man in between them, throwing him to the floor in front of the table. The man was deathly pale, and his left leg had been recently amputated, the bandages over the stump were crimson. He wore the clothes of a common laborer.

“Geberic.” Ariaric shouted, running to the side of the man.

Geberic was barely conscious, his head lulling from side to side was flushed and covered in sweat. He stank of rot. Ariaric clasped his friend's hands, which were clammy with sweat. Even in this Geberic had the bearing of nobility to him, an obvious sign to anyone who would have seen him and spotted out his disguise.

“What did they do to you?”

“They took my leg, Ariaric. The bastards, why?”

Bile rose in his throat before vomiting on the floor once more.

“They are monsters Geberic, true monsters.”

“I’m sorry Ariaric. I’m so sorry.” The words came out half-dazed as the man fought to remain conscious, pulling and clutching.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my friend.”

“I thought I could get the message through.”

“What message?” Ariaric asked, leaning close.

“We aren’t coming for you. I’m sorry, but you are to surrender.”

Ariaric sat back heavily, the wind taken from him, his mind reeling. Their faces conjured into his mind once more, and he could hear their voices calling to him, begging. He had long wanted this fight, and now had to fight on, no matter the cost. His decision made, he rose to his feet with difficulty, the weakness of the malnutrition pulled at his muscles, as he struggled to lift his friend with him.

“I am taking him and going. This isn’t your day.”

Seren blocked the way out of the tent.

“Stubborn man. You must truly be broken. Bring in the wretches!”

Ariaric stopped as he heard the screams: “Daddy, please daddy help.”

The two children were brought in like his friend had been, and he saw their faces once more. They were held back by the servants, as they kicked and thrashed to reach their father. The servants held them tight with grim faces, if they had any thoughts on the matter, they were well hidden.

Ariaric fell to his knees, releasing his friend who fell to the tent floor with a crash.

Upon seeing their father, the children fought harder, screaming and pulling against the ironlike hands that held them, but it was fruitless as they struggled and cried.

Tears streamed down Ariaric’s face.

“No, please, no. Let them go. I will do anything. I will agree to your terms, just let them go.”

“Terms? You have missed that opportunity, my friend. Now it will be decimation, twofold. You must truly be broken. Taught to sit. You will watch them all die. Again. And you will live. Again.”