Bibrid, once in his rarely used silver dragon form, held the weeping human that was near the body now slowly cooling on the floor./ (I.... I cannot.. believe I just did that.. I just... killed them.)
"But in doing so, many, many more will live."/ (A part of me felt like it just died, too.)
"That's what it feels like to kill another cognizant being. The fact it upsets you so means you understand, too, the gravity of it. It means you'll never kill without cause."/ (It hurts.)
"Pray it never stops hurting even when it's a necessity." -- Anon Guest
The world is wrapped in unalienable truths. Fish have to swim. Birds have to sing. And Dragons... have to fly. Bibrid was always careful to never let anyone untrusted see him take off or land whenever he needed to stretch his normally hidden wings.
He could fly around the world and still have joy enough to try once more to touch the moon.
He glided through the clouds just because he could, circled castles or towers just to listen to whatever chatter happened to reach his ears. And on this pass of this castle, Bibrid heard, "Oh gods, oh gods, help me. What have I done?" followed by hysterical sobs.
A soul in pain and distress. No good healer could leave them to their own devices, and Bibrid was chronically a good healer. So he lit as carefully as possible, following the sound of sobbing to a window. Where a richly-dressed room almost hid two figures. One laying on the floor and a puddle of blood, and the other kneeling nearby.
They were the same age, though the victim was dressed far more richly than the one with the knife. A little paring knife, Bibrid noted. A king and his whipping boy? Bibrid tapped the window, very gently, and almost scared the hells out of the only living person present.
"Mighty silver Dragon, master of justice and light, I throw myself on your mercy and your teeth. I have murdered the king in a moment of rage and weakness, and I deserve no less than execution," he threw open the window and his arms akimbo. Ready for a definitive end.
"If I am a master of justice, I would hear more of a confession," allowed Bibrid. "May I enter in the guise of similar folk?"
"Do as you will, there is no authority here." He sank to his knees again.
It was always tricky, moving from form to form while moving through a space. Bibrid had had thousands of years to practice it and make it look graceful
Bibrid considered which middling-sized creature to imitate. His usual Gnome body was too telling. An Elf would imply an air of superiority this suffering soul did not need. So he became something close to Human, like his patient. But unlike his patient, he was all in tones in white and silver. He took a careful seat away from the scene of the crime. "What's your name?"
"He always called me Whip. It's what I'm for. To everyone else, my name is Dumb Duncan. I'm not allowed to speak." A shuddering breath, close to more tears. "He can't stop me any more."
That said more about the deceased than Bibrid truly needed to know. Whipping boys were meant to be fast friends, confidants, and the closest thing to an equal that a king could have. Not a living punching bag for His Majesty to vent his frustrations upon.
"And what was his name?" said Bibrid, gentle and soft.
"Harald Amalryc Gunthrem Robaldo Brekkys. Fifth of the name..." Whip rocked in place as he recited a truly impressive-sounding list of titles that, if examined closely, were the results of either breathing or actions taken during his childhood. Honorary Master of the Hound always sounded impressive until you realised it meant that the noble-as-a-child was inevitably found playing with the castle's hunting dogs or smuggling puppies into their bed.
That man hadn't done anything of note or worth since he came of age and took the crown. He was almost forty when the paring knife had hit an artery, and left his soul to the mercies of Mistress Dark.
What had sparked this scene was the king blaming Whip for the demise of his fifth wife. The fifth one who, after less than a week in the king's company, had found a way to end her life. Despite never talking to her, never being alone in the same room with her, and only very briefly glimpsing her before being sent out of the room, it was all Whip's fault.
He was not a good king. Because Whip wasn't allowed to speak, many people assumed he was stupid. Thus, he heard everything everyone had to say about the man who beat him every night.
"I don't know what happened," said Whip. "I'm used to his rage, and... I was peeling his pears for him, and... It was as if my arm wasn't my own any more. All the anger in me filled it and I kept stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing... He was my friend... I'm lucky to be alive because of him."
"He was no friend," said Bibrid. "Not to you, not to any of his wives, and certainly not to his people. Be at peace. I will help, and I will bring help."
Wraithvine wouldn't like it, but this was clearly an emergency of mercy. This kingdom needed a lot of help.
[Photo by Oksana Zub on Unsplash]
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