Stratos Caelus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
auspex_caelo) wrote2018-11-24 01:02 pm
auspex_caelo) wrote2018-11-24 01:02 pm
Entry tags:
Limits Learned
“That was very well done, Stratos.”
He looked up and his father’s approval washed over him, warmer than the little pile of tinder burning at his feet. Nereus clasped his son’s shoulder, beaming. A genuine smile, but Stratos could always sense the sadness behind it. Thoughts his father never shared aloud.
“I see why Terinwe decided you were ready for pyromancy. You’re as strong as any Caelus has ever been. But more importantly, you’ve learned a great deal of control. Mastering destruction magic means being able to use a light touch as often as a heavy hand.”
Stratos nodded, trying to show he took it seriously although his chest was swelling with pride. His tutor had only shown him the basic fire spell last week; he’d begged her to help him practice every day since so he’d be able to get it right the first time when his father rode back into Bruma.
“You know the rules, of course? You must only practice this outside, and only when Terinwe is there supervising, until she decides otherwise. His is a very potent weapon that you’re being entrusted with, and it could just as easily hurt you or your brother as your practice targets.”
“Yes, father. Terinwe told me.” He nodded again, like he should, but his smile had faltered. Hesitantly he cleared his throat. He didn’t ask his father many questions, now. This was only the second time he’d seen his father in the couple of years since his mother’s funeral. And Nereus was one of those soldiers who never explicitly brought up what he did on the battlefield.
“Um. Father? If…. I wanted to ask you something…” Stratos wished suddenly that he knew exactly what the question was. All he had was a recurring idea, and the knowledge of how it made him feel.
“Of course.” His father gave him a smile. Stratos felt even worse that he was going to spoil things when they were so happy. “Go ahead. Asking questions is the first skill a mage must learn.”
“Well… you fight people with destruction spells. Enemy soldiers and… bandits. So… have you ever set anyone on fire?” It was a silly question, in a way. They both knew what the answer must be, even if he found it hard to reconcile with the kind man who washed his face and lifted him up to bookshelves and taught him the names of all the flowers from here to the Imperial City.
“Yes, Stratos. I have,” Nereus replied quietly, studying his face. “In battle, a legionnaire has to do his part to drive back the enemy and protect his comrades. It’s not a pleasant thing, and sometimes it is… very ugly. But it is our duty as soldiers, and as mages. Our magic gives us the power to turn the tide for our people in a way no-one else can.”
This made sense. It was a good and noble thing. He knew that. But Stratos wrapped his arms around himself and looked down at the straw burning down to ash. Around it the frost had melted from cobblestones, and tiny wisps of burning straw fluttered up in the draft between the houses around them. His stomach twisted.
“We.. Um. Brother Horatius was teaching my class about medicine and he- he showed us about burns. We met this woman in the chapel and her dress had caught fire, and… there were others too. Who’d been burned. Brother Horatius said mage fire is fiercer and hurts people faster than ordinary fire. She… she was in a lot of pain, Father.” He was struggling to find the words for what he’d seen, for the agonized sounds the old woman had made. For the sick fear that had taken root then and woken him with nightmares for weeks afterward. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to burn people.
But that was his purpose, wasn’t it? Caeluses were battlemages. They served the Emperor, like his parents and aunts and uncles and ancestors all the way back to the First Empire. If he couldn’t do that…
“I see.” He was dreading what his father would say, the disappointment in his voice. But Nereus didn’t sound disappointed, or angry. Stratos felt warm, broad fingers brush through his hair and when he looked up Nereus’s face was somber. But no scolding came, nor was he told to stiffen his spine and buck up, like a man should. His father… sounded as if he understood. “It’s not an easy thing to do, my son. I know. The gods have given you a very important purpose, but it can be a difficult and painful one as well. Let me ease one fear, though. Mage fire is hotter and swifter, because it needs no fuel to build on, but is pure elemental flame from the moment we evoke it. And yes, this can mean it causes greater injury more quickly. But that depends on the strength of the spell and the will of its caster. You should never unleash that kind of magic lightly, and you must always be careful with it. But if - when - you do need it, the heat of it can kill an enemy very quickly. They don’t need to suffer for long.”
“What if I don’t kill them p-” he screwed up his face, “properly? What if if they don’t deserve to be hurt that way? If my commander orders me to do it I- I have to, don’t I? But Brother Horatius says the gods hold us to account for the consequences of our actions-”
“Stratos. Take a deep breath.” His father’s hands settled on his shoulders, squeezing tight. “Center yourself. Just as Terinwe showed you. It will be all right. A mage has many ways to fight, and fire is only one of them. But in war there is no kind way to kill, or to fight. You must never shy away from doing what needs to be done. That is your duty to your general, to your people, and to the Emperor. Even to the gods. When you are a legionnaire you will be called upon to do things you don’t care for, and things you are terrified to do, and things that very often you won’t understand. Not even a general is able to see the whole picture of which he is a part. Yet the Empire depends on all of use fulfilling it anyway. You will have to put your trust in your commanding officer. Just as your men and women will trust you.”
“What if I can’t do it..?” He was afraid even to ask it, finally dragging his worried gaze back up to his father.
“When the time comes, you’ll do the right thing. I know it.” His father’s hand brushed the curling hair back from his eyes, warm and sure. “You are my son. And you are a brave, thoughtful, dutiful boy. You are young yet, Stratos. You have years to go before you join the Legion. But you must begin to understand what is asked of you now. And… you have taken such good care of your brother, especially since your mother died. I know you will never fail in your duty to protect him, or to your people. Will you?”
“No, Father.” Stratos shook his head, knowing he couldn’t. He could never do that. If he was afraid of what doing his duty would mean, not doing it was unthinkable.
“Exactly. Good boy.” His father wrapped an arm over his shoulders and started herding him towards the door, back into the house where his uncle was keeping his little brother occupied. “Anyway, work hard at your destruction magic and one day you’ll learn to use lightning instead. Then you’ll need fire only to warm your tent and drive off trolls. Now, let’s get inside before Felix escapes into the street looking for us.”
Trust your general. Do your duty. He had gotten better at following those instructions. Thought he had. Experience with his own abilities as a mage and as a legionary officer had taught him confidence in both, and in his comrades.
Except sometimes, those words sounded like empty nonsense.
He read and re-read the orders in his hand, searching the curt words for any leeway, any opening for interpretation besides the obvious. The Thalmor justiciar stood and waited with a barely concealed sneer, golden eyes boring into him. Stratos looked up just as he felt the High Elf man draw a breath to speak.
“Quaestor,” he said, glancing at the officer flanking him. She came to attention and waited, impassive.. Their eyes were all on him, Thalmor and legionnaires alike. Expectant. He said, “Bring the prisoner to Justiciar Arelin.”
They marched her out to be handed over, a middle-aged Wood Elf half his size. She went rigid with fear when she saw the Thalmor waiting. Stratos read the look on her face and felt ice in his veins, in his gut.
“We arrested her for petty trespass,” he said to Arelin. “She’s merely a beggar. Are you sure she’s worth such trouble to the Dominion?”
The justiciar gave him a vicious look. “Praefect- Caelus, isn’t it? If I were you, I wouldn’t ask pointless questions of your superiors. This Bosmer is no citizen of your Empire. You have no cause to concern yourself with her. You have your orders, haven’t you?”
Stratos locked eyes with him only for an instant. Then he dropped them, afraid of what the elf might have seen in his look. He always thought he was in control. He was never sure...
He did his duty. He swallowed back his thoughts, and followed his orders once again. Just as he was supposed to. He hardly let himself breathe until later, in his room, safely alone, when he could lean against his desk and cling to the edge with a white-knuckled grip. And allow himself to think the questions, at last.
And when you know your orders are unjust, Father? Does the grander picture I don’t see excuse me for this?
He looked up and his father’s approval washed over him, warmer than the little pile of tinder burning at his feet. Nereus clasped his son’s shoulder, beaming. A genuine smile, but Stratos could always sense the sadness behind it. Thoughts his father never shared aloud.
“I see why Terinwe decided you were ready for pyromancy. You’re as strong as any Caelus has ever been. But more importantly, you’ve learned a great deal of control. Mastering destruction magic means being able to use a light touch as often as a heavy hand.”
Stratos nodded, trying to show he took it seriously although his chest was swelling with pride. His tutor had only shown him the basic fire spell last week; he’d begged her to help him practice every day since so he’d be able to get it right the first time when his father rode back into Bruma.
“You know the rules, of course? You must only practice this outside, and only when Terinwe is there supervising, until she decides otherwise. His is a very potent weapon that you’re being entrusted with, and it could just as easily hurt you or your brother as your practice targets.”
“Yes, father. Terinwe told me.” He nodded again, like he should, but his smile had faltered. Hesitantly he cleared his throat. He didn’t ask his father many questions, now. This was only the second time he’d seen his father in the couple of years since his mother’s funeral. And Nereus was one of those soldiers who never explicitly brought up what he did on the battlefield.
“Um. Father? If…. I wanted to ask you something…” Stratos wished suddenly that he knew exactly what the question was. All he had was a recurring idea, and the knowledge of how it made him feel.
“Of course.” His father gave him a smile. Stratos felt even worse that he was going to spoil things when they were so happy. “Go ahead. Asking questions is the first skill a mage must learn.”
“Well… you fight people with destruction spells. Enemy soldiers and… bandits. So… have you ever set anyone on fire?” It was a silly question, in a way. They both knew what the answer must be, even if he found it hard to reconcile with the kind man who washed his face and lifted him up to bookshelves and taught him the names of all the flowers from here to the Imperial City.
“Yes, Stratos. I have,” Nereus replied quietly, studying his face. “In battle, a legionnaire has to do his part to drive back the enemy and protect his comrades. It’s not a pleasant thing, and sometimes it is… very ugly. But it is our duty as soldiers, and as mages. Our magic gives us the power to turn the tide for our people in a way no-one else can.”
This made sense. It was a good and noble thing. He knew that. But Stratos wrapped his arms around himself and looked down at the straw burning down to ash. Around it the frost had melted from cobblestones, and tiny wisps of burning straw fluttered up in the draft between the houses around them. His stomach twisted.
“We.. Um. Brother Horatius was teaching my class about medicine and he- he showed us about burns. We met this woman in the chapel and her dress had caught fire, and… there were others too. Who’d been burned. Brother Horatius said mage fire is fiercer and hurts people faster than ordinary fire. She… she was in a lot of pain, Father.” He was struggling to find the words for what he’d seen, for the agonized sounds the old woman had made. For the sick fear that had taken root then and woken him with nightmares for weeks afterward. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to burn people.
But that was his purpose, wasn’t it? Caeluses were battlemages. They served the Emperor, like his parents and aunts and uncles and ancestors all the way back to the First Empire. If he couldn’t do that…
“I see.” He was dreading what his father would say, the disappointment in his voice. But Nereus didn’t sound disappointed, or angry. Stratos felt warm, broad fingers brush through his hair and when he looked up Nereus’s face was somber. But no scolding came, nor was he told to stiffen his spine and buck up, like a man should. His father… sounded as if he understood. “It’s not an easy thing to do, my son. I know. The gods have given you a very important purpose, but it can be a difficult and painful one as well. Let me ease one fear, though. Mage fire is hotter and swifter, because it needs no fuel to build on, but is pure elemental flame from the moment we evoke it. And yes, this can mean it causes greater injury more quickly. But that depends on the strength of the spell and the will of its caster. You should never unleash that kind of magic lightly, and you must always be careful with it. But if - when - you do need it, the heat of it can kill an enemy very quickly. They don’t need to suffer for long.”
“What if I don’t kill them p-” he screwed up his face, “properly? What if if they don’t deserve to be hurt that way? If my commander orders me to do it I- I have to, don’t I? But Brother Horatius says the gods hold us to account for the consequences of our actions-”
“Stratos. Take a deep breath.” His father’s hands settled on his shoulders, squeezing tight. “Center yourself. Just as Terinwe showed you. It will be all right. A mage has many ways to fight, and fire is only one of them. But in war there is no kind way to kill, or to fight. You must never shy away from doing what needs to be done. That is your duty to your general, to your people, and to the Emperor. Even to the gods. When you are a legionnaire you will be called upon to do things you don’t care for, and things you are terrified to do, and things that very often you won’t understand. Not even a general is able to see the whole picture of which he is a part. Yet the Empire depends on all of use fulfilling it anyway. You will have to put your trust in your commanding officer. Just as your men and women will trust you.”
“What if I can’t do it..?” He was afraid even to ask it, finally dragging his worried gaze back up to his father.
“When the time comes, you’ll do the right thing. I know it.” His father’s hand brushed the curling hair back from his eyes, warm and sure. “You are my son. And you are a brave, thoughtful, dutiful boy. You are young yet, Stratos. You have years to go before you join the Legion. But you must begin to understand what is asked of you now. And… you have taken such good care of your brother, especially since your mother died. I know you will never fail in your duty to protect him, or to your people. Will you?”
“No, Father.” Stratos shook his head, knowing he couldn’t. He could never do that. If he was afraid of what doing his duty would mean, not doing it was unthinkable.
“Exactly. Good boy.” His father wrapped an arm over his shoulders and started herding him towards the door, back into the house where his uncle was keeping his little brother occupied. “Anyway, work hard at your destruction magic and one day you’ll learn to use lightning instead. Then you’ll need fire only to warm your tent and drive off trolls. Now, let’s get inside before Felix escapes into the street looking for us.”
Trust your general. Do your duty. He had gotten better at following those instructions. Thought he had. Experience with his own abilities as a mage and as a legionary officer had taught him confidence in both, and in his comrades.
Except sometimes, those words sounded like empty nonsense.
He read and re-read the orders in his hand, searching the curt words for any leeway, any opening for interpretation besides the obvious. The Thalmor justiciar stood and waited with a barely concealed sneer, golden eyes boring into him. Stratos looked up just as he felt the High Elf man draw a breath to speak.
“Quaestor,” he said, glancing at the officer flanking him. She came to attention and waited, impassive.. Their eyes were all on him, Thalmor and legionnaires alike. Expectant. He said, “Bring the prisoner to Justiciar Arelin.”
They marched her out to be handed over, a middle-aged Wood Elf half his size. She went rigid with fear when she saw the Thalmor waiting. Stratos read the look on her face and felt ice in his veins, in his gut.
“We arrested her for petty trespass,” he said to Arelin. “She’s merely a beggar. Are you sure she’s worth such trouble to the Dominion?”
The justiciar gave him a vicious look. “Praefect- Caelus, isn’t it? If I were you, I wouldn’t ask pointless questions of your superiors. This Bosmer is no citizen of your Empire. You have no cause to concern yourself with her. You have your orders, haven’t you?”
Stratos locked eyes with him only for an instant. Then he dropped them, afraid of what the elf might have seen in his look. He always thought he was in control. He was never sure...
He did his duty. He swallowed back his thoughts, and followed his orders once again. Just as he was supposed to. He hardly let himself breathe until later, in his room, safely alone, when he could lean against his desk and cling to the edge with a white-knuckled grip. And allow himself to think the questions, at last.
And when you know your orders are unjust, Father? Does the grander picture I don’t see excuse me for this?