The Wolf who Sits the Throne

Remus : Asymmetrical

Maris Willshire's body laid out upon the table. A black sheet spread out over his body except for his face. His skin sickly gray and rigid. His eyes wide open and milky, no longer the dark brown that the women in court used to swoon over. His brown hair was brittle and hung lifelessly off the edge of the table. A guard standing his vigil reached over and placed a gold coin on each eye to hide the eerie stare. He had stood for well over an hour now and he just couldn't quite take it anymore.

Maris's son, Merle, stood on the other side of the table. The young squire's eyes were dim and bloodshot from his mourning. He was only sixteen, a rebellious sort. He had left Castle Rendell in an outrage two days ago and the death of Maris hit him hard. His last words to his father were probably not pleasant and he had to live with it forever. The youth was probably the exact image of his father but by the looks of the graying carcass, one just couldn't quite see it anymore.

In the corner of the silent chamber, a child laid asleep under furs and wools. All that was visible was the brown mop of curls and the rise and fall of his sides under the blanket masses. Merle's little brother would have no memories of their father but little Myrick seemed to understand the loss somewhat. He had clung to his knee all day and cried. Only three years old he was, and he would grow up all too soon now.

Merle had inspected his father's body for any sign of weakness or injury and he had found nothing. His father was fit and healthy so his death was a horrible shock to the family and the realm. However, Merle already had someone in mind and he had a reason too. All his father would complain about at the dinner table was Remus this and Remus that. Merle honestly didn't care to listen then but now he wished he did. Clearly his father knew something that this Remus decided to silence him forever on. His family lived to serve the royalty, but they knew those inbred dogs were nothing like their house words. Lead with Truth and Honour.

A cold draft shot through the chamber and Merle brought a wool blanket about himself and tried not to shiver. The torchlight inside was beginning to dim and the warmth was sapping away. In the darkness, little Myrick managed a groan and rolled over in his sleep.

The door creaked open, bringing with it a colder gust. Merle caught the glint of steel and upon further inspection, realized it was only rings upon a hand. However, that filled him with as much dread as if it were a sword. Remus Rendell placed a ringed hand upon where the dead man's thigh lay. He glanced to the coined eyes and squirmed with disgust, although Merle felt it was all staged and quite insulting.

"Would you rather his dead cold stare?" The guard broke the silence here.

Remus looked to be pouting, or trying not to smile. He wiped his hand on his tunic, "I am terribly sorry. I lost my manners for a second. Death isn't quite my thing, you know."

"I'm sure." Merle murmured.

"Truly, I am. I am still haunted by Reastus's terrible demise and that was nearly a year ago. I am sorry for your father. A sudden illness is always questionable and we never get closure on such deaths. My own father went sudden too. I was only eight at the time." Remus smiled now, "But we learn well from such things, in a dim sort of manner."

Merle ground his teeth. He could read between the lines on what this rat was implying. It's been a year since my last foes's death and now your father's gone and no matter how questionable his death you will never know.

"I'm sure we all do, such is the way with life." Merle strained his words to the murderous councilman. He knew Remus was behind it all. Remus was a usurper and he hid it well but he had a small opening that Merle could see clearly. His father had always warned him about Remus. Sickly sorts were always something to be cautious of.