Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 34

"I'd ask for any last words, but that feels too dramatic. Rest well, Hero. I hope your next life treats you kinder than this one." 

He let go.

He watched the body fall. No one appeared to save him. The Hero didn't grow wings and fly away. The body crumbled against the ground like paper.

It was a waste for a warrior to die in such a way, but Draven had bigger things to worry about. It was time to take his throne.

--x--

Hero defeated and dying, no one else stepped in his way. The following steps were easy and swift. Blood dripped from the castle steps as those who refused to repent found themselves without a head. Not the servants or the knights but the senators and nobles. Draven had no desire to kill servants for being trapped and serving evil masters.

His men settled into their new rules and positions. Letters demanding tribute from the wealthy were sent out across the new lands. His Generals dragged themselves in from their battles, and Draven indulged in some personal worshipping from his favourites. 

Violence and rage flowed through his kin. His blood turned silver, and the runes scared into his skin. Passion and pleasure tasted sweeter when the buzz of triumph raced through him. 

Then things turned complicated. 

"So where have you stashed the light's Hero?" Aric asked, combing his hair into place and pinning it up. Bruses from their activities covered his neck and shoulders, but Aric didn't cover those up often. He wanted people to know that he was one of Draven's favourites. The more primal part of Draven appreciated that. "I checked the dungeons, but he wasn't down there."

"He's dead," Draven shrugged, not having thought much about it. He dropped the man from a great height. There was no way the Hero lived unless his favourite looked at him with his current glare. 

"You can fool the underlings about that, but I thought you had a touch more respect for than to lie about the Hero's status," Aric said, voice cool. 

Draven sat up, something not sitting right with how Aric put that. The Hero fought against Aric plenty of times. Aric didn't like the Hero. He refused to talk about him usually. There was some personal connection that Draven never bothered to dig into because Aric proved his loyalty too many times to doubt him. 

"As far as I know, he is. The sword shattered, and he died," Draven said.

Aric's frown deepened. "I know that Tris and the Goddess's power act strange sometimes, but he didn't die because the sword shattered. Unless you mean his mind stopped? His soul remains on the mortal place, so I would still like to know where you've put his body." 

Tris, not Hero. Draven chose not to know his name. Aric knew it, and those words had confidence behind them. Aric believed them to be true. Draven's battle lust faded with the joy of winning and the paperwork afterwards. How he'd dealt with the Hero wasn't the best, but he didn't regret it. Aric might make him.

"He didn't spontaneously die from the sword shattering, no. I killed him," Draven admitted, not sure what reaction he was about to get here. Aric stiffened. "I dropped him from the cliff."

Aric's face turned blank. "You did what?"

"It was a battle. You knew I was planning to kill the hero," Draven said, confused as concerning body language flashed over one of his loyal Generals. Aric did his job well and didn't get jealous of the other favourites. He made friends with some of his other longstanding favourites, and they got along well. Draven enjoyed it over the bitching and infighting that some harams ended up with.