Mikal

Autumn winds howled, lashing against his face and upsetting his hair. Prewinter cold seeped through the tears on his worn out coat, making him shiver. His head throbbed and his legs ached as he walked through rocks and dirt, chains clanking heavily with every step he took. He only slowed his pace for a moment to catch his breath, before a sudden tug forced him to keep moving forward. He winced as the metal collar around his neck bit into his skin, and he looked up with a bitter frown at the guard who walked before him, leading him by a long suspended chain.

This could not be happening...

It had been a whole week since he was knocked out in Vilfred's tent. He did not understand what had happened then. And he still did not understand what was happening now. All he knew was that by the time he woke up, the battle was already over. That they had lost. And that he was branded a traitor.

Mikal Nordstrom, the most important figure in the North, had been branded a traitor for giving false information about the Vausterian forces, luring his own people into a trap and leading them to an outrageous defeat.

Vilfred had not even given him a chance to explain. Not that Mikal had anything to explain anyway. He had told them what he knew of Tristan's plan. He did not know anything more than what he told them. He hadn't hidden anything. He hadn't betrayed them. But no matter how many times he said so, no one would listen to him.

Vilfred had not spoken to Mikal since they fled Grytia. Neither had any of the knights or nobles who had once regarded him as a hero. And now he was forced to march at the very back of the remaining forces as a prisoner, along with the workers and the slaves, and a few winged guards.

How could Vilfred do this to him? Vilfred, his beloved brother...

Mikal knew that Vilfred was angry. Frustrated by their terrible defeat. But he was certain that Vilfred didn't really believe him to be a traitor. Vilfred wouldn't really do any real harm to him. And eventually he was going to listen to him.

"I need to speak with my brother," Mikal said as he turned to the nearest guard. He had lost count of how many times he had asked to speak with Vilfred during the past week, and how many times his request had been ignored. "Please," Mikal pleaded, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

"Move along traitor!" the guard leading him spat as he pulled him along, and Mikal tripped, falling to the ground.

Another guard stepped in at once, aiming a brutal kick to his stomach. Mikal groaned and doubled over, before a third guard came to join the game, punching him in the chest...

For the following days, Mikal marched in silence, knowing better than to grab the guards' attention again. But as the march dragged and more days passed, his silence had rather grown into a resigned acceptance of his hopeless state. Dia cawed as he flew behind Mikal, his cries loud and mournful, as if lamenting the fate of his precious owner.

Mikal could not tell exactly how long they had marched, but it must have been over a month already. Judging by how shorter the days had grown, and how long the nights stretched, he could tell that winter was approaching. And by the chilling Northern winds that slapped against him, and the downpour of late autumn rains that soaked his shivering body, he knew he was too close to home.

Home. His mother.

A sliver of hope shone before him as he thought of his mother. Perhaps his freedom lied within his mother's hands. Yes. Only his mother would be able to sort out this whole mess. Only she would believe him. Only she could save him.

Mikal took in a deep breath as he spotted the cold grey stone walls of Nordenvania ahead, longing for the moment when he ran into his mother's arms.

Despite the Northern cold, warmth filled his heart as he entered the familiar great hall of Nordenvania. He looked around him in anticipation, ignoring the surrounding clamor of the returning forces, and the contemptuous stares thrown at him by those few who cared to notice his existence. He only cared to find his mother. His single eye continued to search frantically among the crowds of weary men and distressed women swarming through the hall. Until he noticed that the guards were dragging him towards the back of the keep. Straight to the Sky Tower.

"No!" Mikal cried out, writhing and struggling within his chains, as if he had suddenly snapped out of his long repose. He had been more than patient during the whole march, enduring his brother's coldness and the guards' assaults. But he had had enough. "I demand to see my mother," he hissed, pulling against the guards who only grasped him harder as they took him to the Sky Tower. "Let go off me," he cried, his voice echoing between the encircling stone walls. "Vilfred! Mother! Mother, help me!"

***

Mikal never thought that he would miss the scorching summer heat of Vausterland. He never thought he would miss his finely furnished cell where he spent his days drinking wine and playing chess with his captor. His heart winced at the memory of Tristan. And he started to doubt whether he had made the right decision, changing sides right before battle.

Sitting on the cold stone floor of his tiny cell, Mikal stared ahead into the darkness, waiting. Waiting for this whole nightmare to end. How ironic it was, escaping his prison in Vausterland, only to get thrown in an even more dreadful one when he returned home. Stone walls surrounded him from all sides, giving him barely enough space to lie down. There was no furniture like his cell back in Vausterland. No light. No windows. Only cold and darkness. He let out a ragged breath and closed his eye, wrapping his wings around his body against the creeping cold.

How did he end up falling that far? And why? 

All his life, Mikal had been the epitome of honor and power. Everyone wanted to be like him. No, everyone wanted to be him. The greatest man in the North. The man who was just about to become their king. And yet those very same people who had once worshipped his mere existence, branded him a traitor. How could they do that?

He had always risked his life, all his life, to fight and save them from deadly enemy after deadly enemy. He lost his eye, and the beauty of his face, because he was a man who did not cower in the face of battle. He ended up betraying his best friend for their sake. He tried to help them, to the best of his knowledge, by revealing the enemy's plan, risking his life once more. And yet, just because of a little misunderstanding, they branded him a traitor.

How could they...

Footsteps thudded outside, followed by the screeching of metal against the iron door of his cell. Mikal sat upright in anticipation, wondering who came to see him. Hopefully his mother. Or Vilfred.

The door creaked open, and a sudden burst of light filled the dark cell. Mikal quickly raised his arm to shield his eye against the painful brightness, before he looked up slowly at his visitor, squinting before the Angel Light sphere that floated before him. And he froze at the sight of brown eyes glaring down at him.

Of all the people he could have thought of, Hilda was the last one he had expected to see. 

Without a word, Hilda closed the door behind her and stepped inside.

"Why are you here?" Mikal asked. "Where's Vilfred?"

"My husband is busy at the moment," Hilda said as she stood towering above Mikal.

"Your husband?"

"Oh haven't you heard?" Hilda smirked. "Vilfred and I got married in summer. I didn't think you would have a problem with that, since you were planning to marry King William's daughter anyway. So I took it that our engagement was broken."

"I..." Mikal hesitated, his heart racing before Hilda's overconfident demeanor. "I wasn't planning to do such a thing. I was only trying to – "

"Shut up, traitor!" Hilda suddenly shouted, her earlier smirk replaced by a murderous glare.

"I am not a traitor."

"Are you not?" Hilda hissed as she knelt down before Mikal, her dark eyes boring into his very soul. "Do you deny that you were planning to usurp my father and have us all killed?"

"I don't..." Mikal said weakly, turning his face away in shame. "I... I had no choice. It was the only thing I could think of to walk out of there alive."

"You are a dishonorable coward," Hilda spat.

"You would have done the same."

"What?"

"If you were in my place, you would have done the same," Mikal peeked up at her. "You wouldn't have sacrificed your life for me."

"And how would you know that?" Hilda scowled. "Just because I loathe you to death doesn't mean I would betray my people and dishonor my word. My father trusted you, and you betrayed him."

"And yet here I am, in chains, because I chose to be on your side." Mikal looked up at her with a wounded expression.

"You mean because you betrayed us again. You lied to us about the Esserian forces."

"I swear I didn't know anything about these forces," Mikal clenched his fists in frustration.

"So you have lived among the Vausterians for months, and made them trust you enough to actually allow you to fight with them. You attended their war councils, and you were standing at the front lines with their leaders, fully armed and armored. And you tell me you didn't know about these forces?"

"I didn't. They tricked me!"

"So they didn't fully trust you? Well it surprises me then that they haven't killed you at once when you stepped over to our side," Hilda sneered. "Or was that too part of the game? Of course it was. You pretended to turn over to our side, so that you could give us false information about their forces and their moves."

"I didn't give you false information. I told you everything I knew. I swear!" Mikal persisted. "They apparently changed their attack plan when they realized I was betraying them, and they had lied to me about the true number of their forces."

"You still think yourself smart, huh?" Hilda hissed as she leaned in closer to his face, and he shuddered. "You still think you can open that pretty mouth of yours, speak out lies, and make people fall for your manipulative ways?"

"I am not lying. And I am not trying to manipulate you!"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because it's the truth," Mikal said, his voice breaking.

"The truth?" Hilda laughed. "Well let me tell you the truth. The truth is, if Vilfred hadn't tied you up during the battle you would have turned back to the Vausterians once you did your job pretending to be on our side. And you would have been sitting now celebrating your great victory, indulging in all the praise you got because of your brilliant treacherous scheme."

"Why do you think so lowly of me?"

"Because you are so low."

"Why? Why do you hate me that much?" Mikal asked, knowing he must have sounded more pathetic than he already looked.

"Oh, playing the pitiful victim now? Like you don't hate me just the same?"

"What if I don't?"

Hilda gave out a sudden short laugh, and the next moment she slapped his face.

"Don't you dare think you could ever manipulate me," she hissed as she grabbed his hair, glaring at him with a deadly scowl. "I do not fall for the honeyed lies of treacherous bastards like you."

"See? That's what you always do. You never stop insulting me, and hating me, even though I never hurt you."

"Shut up!" Hilda shouted.

"Remember the first time you ever spoke to me?"

"I said shut up!"

"I was simply doing my job, giving advice during high council, and you just decided to insult me in front of every Lord in the North. Because you were jealous of me for being prettier than you."

A sharp slap fell across his face again.

"It's been the same ever since," Mikal continued, ignoring Hilda's assaults. "I would be minding my own business, and you just have to think of every possible way to insult me."

Another slap fell against his cheek, and this time Mikal remained quiet.

"Stop playing the victim!" Hilda yelled. "You speak like you never insulted me as well."

"I did. But only in response to your insults."

Hilda raised her palm, ready to strike him again, only to pause midway and drop her arm by her side.

"Fine," she said. "I hated you for no reason. I enjoyed insulting you and mocking you before everyone even though you never hurt me. But you know what? You deserved every single moment of it. Because you proved to be the lowliest and dirtiest bastard I have ever met. Oh you deserved more than just insults, and I am glad that Vilfred was inspired to tie you up before you ran back to your Vaustrian friends. I just hope he doesn't get too soft to punish you with the most torturous means."

Hilda stood up and took in a deep breath, apparently pleased with her little lecture. She raised her head high and smoothed her skirt before she turned towards the door, ready to leave.

"Wait please," Mikal called, stopping her. "I... I need to see my mother. Please, Hilda. Hate me all you like, but please, just do this one thing for me," he pleaded, giving up whatever pride he had left. "Please, find my mother, and tell her I need to see her."

"Had Vilfred really not told you yet?" Hilda asked as she turned back to face Mikal, all the earlier anger and hatred in her eyes replaced by an unusual hint of compassion. Mikal's heart raced as he looked up at her in blank silence. "Your mother is dead, Mikal. She's been dead for a year now."

*************

I know, things are getting ugly for Mikal. What do you expect his fate will be?

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