FOW - The Enemy

 

I'm of the opinion that a villain doesn't need to be sympathetic. There's nothing wrong with a monolithic evil that we are never supposed to like or empathize with, that is nothing but an obstacle and a danger to our heroes. It worked for Tolkien, right? In fact, it's one of the things I love about LOTR, and an area in which I feel he gets wrongly criticized by modern fantasy writers convinced they're soooo much more complex than Tolkien. They aren't more complex; in fact, there's nothing about Sauron that is simple, black and white, or throwaway. But when he sat down to pen Fellowship, Tolkien wasn't telling Sauron's story; his goal with the trilogy wasn't to help the audience see both sides. We don't spend any POV time with the enemy in the trilogy, so it isn't important to feel for any of them. 

Sometimes, you don't have to tell both sides of the story. It's okay for the bad guy to be bad. 

That said, I do love muddying the waters, and toying with reader sympathies. *insert cackle* On a serious, note, though, I'm not toying just to toy - Romanus, and the Sel history, is important to Oliver's story, and therefore everyone else's. The big picture is complicated, and though I revere Tolkien, I've decided to tell both sides of this story. 

In the Drake Chronicles, the magic of the world is taking shape and gaining dimension with each new installment, so too is the enemy. The war is still nebulous in book one: a looming threat, but one removed from the action. Our first glimpse of the Sels themselves is of armored, helmeted soldiers without distinct personalities. They're invaders, speaking a foreign language, with odd, uniform coloring and looks. Then we finally meet the emperor, and he's huge and terrifying. 

But by Fortunes of War, we begin to catch glimpses of the emperor as a man, as Romanus Tyrsbane. This is where it gets fun for me as a writer, and potentially challenging for readers who don't yet know where we're going and might feel their faith wavering. 

The wisest course of action would have been to duck his head and show deference. A man who called himself the Immortal Emperor Unchallenged probably liked a good grovel.

But Oliver was choking on panic, and he’d always had a bad habit of falling back on snark and snap when he was most frightened.

He scowled, and said, “Who are you? What have you done to my drake?”

The Sel regarded him a long, silent moment, and then inclined his head the barest fraction, hair fluttering in a new direction as the breeze changed – as though that small movement had altered the flow of the wind, though Oliver knew that was merely coincidence. When he spoke, it was in Continental, but with a thick, lilting accent. “Your drake? You think he is yours?”

Games. King games, emperor games. The sorts of games even young lordlings had played back in Drakewell. 

I said in a previous post that I've modeled Seles on ancient Rome - hence the emperor's name. Romanus is rather obvious, and "Tyrsbane" is literally the "Bane of Tyr," a Norse god. His name signifies his opposition to the gods, and therefore the culture, the history, the people of Aeretoll and Aquitainia. From the text, we know that he at least claims to be immortal, and that he has two sons. Rumors abound in Aquitainia that the Sels are deeply inbred, and practice incest routinely to preserve bloodlines. They are a conquering, colonizing people, and through Cassius, we learn about their practice of breeding soldier and servant classes. 

I don't want to give away anything too spoilery, but I will say that Romanus isn't a mustache-twirling, over the top villain bent on chaos and death for chaos and death's sake. He's very powerful - but I always write power, especially magical power, as carrying a hefty cost. Just as we've learned about our heroes' magic - and its limits - we'll learn more about Romanus's as well. Think Náli's limitations and burdens but on a much larger scale. 

Against his will, without warning, the Emperor Unchallenged had dragged him out of the physical realm and onto this plane – whichever one it was – instead.

The scene was far removed from their last encounter. No drakes, no field, no obvious threat. The emperor sat facing the flames, a glass of dark wine held loosely in one hand, and he turned his head toward Oliver after a time.

Long enough for Oliver to have realized what was happening, and close his mouth, and regulate his breathing somewhat.

“Hello,” Romanus said, quietly. His voice was low and deep, resonant; it seemed to spread through the room like smoke, dissipating in the dark archways and curling up toward the glass ceiling. An insidious sort of reach; it curled round Oliver’s throat, hooked him by the ears and drew him forward unconsciously.

He halted three steps from the emperor’s chair.

Romanus watched him, lilac eyes passive and unaggressive, mouth soft in his pale, pale face. His hair lay like a shining spill of milk over one shoulder, leaping with firelight, and rather than armor, he wore a finely-wrought golden tunic, its ivory ties set off-center in a way that highlighted the broadness of his shoulders and chest, the narrowing of his waist, even while seated. His trousers were dark and soft-looking, tucked into buttery black boots with gilded tops over each knee. A massive amethyst winked on the ring on his first finger when he raised his wine to his lips and took a sip.

“Won’t you sit?” The lilt of his accent lent the question a certain lightness – and an authority. It was a request, yes, but one he expected Oliver to obey without question. He’d conjured this moment, after all.

Oliver waited a moment, debating. Noted the table at Romanus’s elbow, the crystal decanter, the spare glass. Considered trying to claw his way back to the waking world, but knew he’d never manage. He decided that it was better to appear composed and in control of both his senses and temper in front of this man, and so he nodded, and murmured, “Thank you.” 

I'll say two things. One: the problem with holding yourself above others is that it gets terribly lonely upon your gilded throne, and Romanus is definitely experiencing some of that. His interest in Oliver is genuine, but it's not romantic. Two: no one has guessed the surprise I have in store, and this pleases me. 

All shall be revealed! But right now, as with Ragnar, I'm having a blast playing with Romanus. I think he's fun, and mysterious, and sexy, and ruthless, and it'd be a real shame if he and Erik had to have an all-out swordfight at some point. Aw, darn... 😉

Grab the first FIVE books in the Drake Chronicles series, available now. 

Oliver searched for his gaze in the dimness, a wink of silver in the shadows. “Why give it to me? So you can track me? So you can find me when you want to do this?” He gestured to camp, its turmoil.

“No,” Romanus said. “It’s a gift.”

“But why? What does it do?” Oliver’s heart was racing; the furious thrashing of it at the base of his throat was wild enough to choke him. His hands went clammy on the chain, and he nearly threw it out through the trees.

Nearly.

The coin-flare of Romanus’s gaze slanted, as though he’d tilted his head. “It doesn’t do anything. It’s a jewel. A decoration.”

“But…then…it’s not magical?”

“No.”

“Then why are you giving it to me?”

“Because I wanted you to have it,” he said, simply.

“But…why go to all this trouble? Anyone could see you here! You could be captured! Killed!”

A quiet breath of a laugh. “Does that worry you?”

“No!” Oliver protested, too loudly.

A shuffle of leaves, and then Romanus stood directly before him, close enough to see the smooth, white grain of his skin in the orange light; close enough to smell the lavender that always seemed to cling to him. Like Náli, but not. Not really. Náli didn’t leave his belly clenching this way.

Slowly, as though to give him a chance to resist, Romanus folded Oliver’s hands around the necklace and squeezed them tight. “Keep it. I want you to.”

“But–”

He stepped back, and turned away. Oliver glimpsed the toss of his hair, a flapping sheaf of white, like a banner of truce in the darkness, and then he was gone.