211 2E: Do Unto Others

Do Unto Others
Summary: Do Unto Others What Has Been Done To You — Flashbacks to Aidan's past. Aidan's spars against his father. Then his Uncle gets a hold of him.
OOC Date: 26/02/2014 (OOC)
Related: None
In a local forest.
Year 211 2E, springtime.

Swords clashed; the force behind them striking together heard from the echo that erupted from below the trees. Aidan was gritting his teeth, jaw tight as his arms burned, threatening to cave in underneath the pressure coming down on him. Sweat was pouring down his temples, mixing with the oozing warmth of the blood that was trickling down to his neck from a gash opened across his brow. It took all his might to parry off the heavy blow, sending his father back a step, growling his exhaustion out as he flung the devastating blow back.

It gave him a second, a split second as it was, to regain his feet. Daemon didn’t give him the opportunity otherwise to find balance before another destructive swing was aimed at him. He barely drew up his sword in time to deflect the entire blow from landing. Yet in doing so, he couldn’t hang onto his sword. It flew from his grip, propelled far by the momentum of his father’s swing. Next thing he knew, a foot crushed into his chest, sending him hard into the ground. He lost the breath from his lungs as he hit the ground, the armor biting into his flesh as he landed. Grey eyes hazily looked up in some disbelief and terror toward the seething anger reflected in his father’s gaze, standing above him, over him, with a blade raised above his head, two hands on the hilt, driving it down.

Fear and emptiness all at once filled him. Completely. His eyes squeezed shut as he was readying himself for the impact of that sword through his chest. The killing blow. Instead, all he heard was the metal swooshing by his ear and driving into the ground beside his head. Languidly he opened his eyes, staring up at the disapproving scowl of his father.

All he heard was the command to “get up” and somewhere he was struggling to obey. There was no time to even grab a breath of air, before he was hauled up and shaken until he could stand on his own. Squinting through the runs of blood tracking down his face, his sword was smacked into his breast plate, until fingers could curl around and hold it again. “Again” he heard from his father.

A pant was exhaled as he looked across toward his father, trying to read if he was serious. There was an unfamiliar stitch in his side, which sent a spasm of pain through his chest as he took a breath. Yet, his father gave him no time to figure it out and assess. If he didn’t fight back, Daemon would do much worse to him than this. He suffered it, bringing his sword up and keeping back the blows.

Underneath his own grunts of exhaustion, he heard his father say ‘the enemy will never let up until you are dead. So fight!’

The sweet music of metal clanging against metal filled the air, as sword met sword. He had no chance to get on the offensive. He had to defend. A series of thrusts and swings came at him and by some miracle he was able to deflect them and parry his father. By the rising anger inside him, he was able to counter and lash out, once at least, before another overwhelming blow crashed heavily against the side of his chest, that was followed shortly by a jaw breaking impact brought on by the hilt of his father’s sword.

He collapsed at once, feeling the sting of the armor as it folded like tinfoil and the waves of nausea that closed in around him. Darkness caressed him and welcomed him into the embrace of nothingness.

It was over.

Until water splashed across his face and made his nerves react immediately. He looked up and saw not his father but one of the knights in service of the family. There was a sympathetic scowl on his face as he said a few things that Aidan couldn’t understand right then. His mind was still a blur, confusion consuming him.

Hauled to his feet roughly and without compassion sent shocking waves of nausea through him again. He couldn’t keep the contents of his stomach down. He wretched hard and was dropped to his knees to be allowed to further vomit. People were saying things around him but he couldn’t hear, he could only tremble as the pain blinded him. His ribs were on his fire, his arms barely had strength left in them, his jaw… something was wrong there.

He was encouraged up onto the back of a horse, for all he can remember climbing up onto one. Someone got on behind him, he remembered the strong embrace of an arm to keep him from falling over, because he no longer really had control over his motor skills. He still wanted to vomit. He heard his father’s voice, remarking on how ‘weak’ he was. There was a rumble of agreement, but from who? His mind wouldn’t allow him to focus. The first jolt of the horse spurred into a gallop sent him spiraling back into the void, where there was emptiness save for the cold anger he felt toward his father. That he hung onto.

He was still breathing, so he was still alive at least. His chest hurt and there was no relief, for every breath that he took only aggravated it further. His hands were bound. He felt that now as he was waking from the confusion. Waking but seeing nothing. There was a bag over his head.

What the hell.

The enemy could at any moment take him for ransom or try to interrogate him. That is what his father told him once.

What had happened to him? Where was he. The last thing he could remember was being put on a horse and he was in the care of one of his own people. Had they been attacked? Had he failed his father and was now captured? Or was this another sick test…

He worked his hands open to test his bonds. Not ropes. Iron. The realization slowly coming to him that it was indeed metal against his skin. He was trying very badly to gather his wits about him. His father once told him if he was ever in this situation to endure it for the good of the House, that no rescue would be coming because there were four more Kincaid boys behind him. Aidan was the Heir sure, but his father had several spares. He really hated his father.

Yet… someone was in the room with him. He could hear the breathing. Turning his head this way and that, he listened until he could pinpoint the sound. "Whose there?" a croaked voice came from his own throat, regretting it instantly because his jaw just didn't feel right. A sting of tears already sprung in the corner of his eyes for it, while he stomped a foot in reaction. At least he wasn't waiting long to find out who indeed was there.

The bag was pulled off and it was Hayton. His uncle. Wearing a menacing grin. Confusion surfaced, quickly replaced by fear. Hayton…


Licking his lips anxiously as his stomach tied into knots, it was all Aidan could do not to panic and plead to his Uncle to let him alone. But it was too late. Hayton saw that fear and preyed upon it…

This day would truly hurt. Hayton was a master at interrogation. Aidan had watched as much before as Hayton got the answers out of a man within minutes of lying his hands on him. Now… now it was Aidan's turn to face that horror… But what did he have that Hayton wanted?!

"Ha, you got me, let me loose Uncle…"

But he didn't…

One day. One day he would pay…

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