Penitent

Chapter 250 Book 4 Ch 31: Familiar

The next morning Michael awoke with the others and dressed. He was nervous. More nervous than he'd been when fighting for Lataxia, or assassinating a king. His nerves were closer to when Gabriel had been born, though that actually wasn't that bad either as he was Michael and Sara's second child after Victor. No, there was no good comparison for the anxiety he was feeling. Meeting your son again after you'd both died and been reincarnated into another world and now one of you was the representative of the gods and the other was a king conquering other kingdoms and under the control of an evil brand that only you could heal was… a unique set of circumstances.

Michael let himself laugh a bit as he thought through everything, drawing a raised eyebrow from Pyotr.

"Just considering the absurdity of my second life."

Pyotr smiled. "A good reason to laugh, brother. How're you feeling?"

"Anxious."

He nodded. "Of course you are. We will be with you, whatever happens."

Michael nodded appreciatively. He wondered if he'd be able to tell right away that Castor was Gabriel. Obviously he'd be wearing a crown that would mark him, but would Michael be able to see through that? Would he be able to see a familiar clench of the jaw, or quirk with how he spoke? He'd been only seventeen when Michael had lost him. The idea that he might not recognize his own son, that he'd been too changed by what had happened to him, made him ill. He could hear reassurances whispered in his ears, in Sara's voice.

~You will know him~

"Thank you, Veras," he said, buckling his mace to his waist.

…

Gabriel adjusted his crown. It was the plain iron one he wore to battle. Along with it he wore a crimson surcoat and shining black boots, but no armor. He adjusted his sword. Truthfully, since he'd gained the Cantalian royal titles, he wasn't sure he'd need a sword even if he came to blows with Swandia's king, but it was better to have it and not need it. He began to make his way out of his tent.

The mediation was, of course, pointless. It would give him time to move more troops through Cantalia though. Most importantly, it gave him a chance to be rid of his brand. Since he'd heard from that Stent deserter that the brands had been healed by a taker named Michael he'd done his research. The man had been reborn in Stent, served well, deserted, turned up in Swandia claiming to represent the gods, converted a line of people from Swandia to the heart of Old Hume, fought in definitive battles, was elevated to a Count, and slew the king of Stent along with the same group of men he'd deserted with.

From what Gabriel could find he was the most powerful non-king across all of the Humelands. His healing abilities alone could turn the tides of battle. Luckily he seemed focused entirely on the rifts. Given Gabriel's own situation with them, he anticipated that he would be sympathetic to him and would heal his brand. He wasn't sure he was the kind of man that would accept land, titles, and gold, though he would offer them. Once that was done he could leave his men in place for the mediation and ride hard back to Burndan. He could slaughter that foul insect that nested so close to his family.

He walked through the camp, finding his officers and guards already prepared to ride to the halfway point between the Swandian and Burndan camps.

"Morning men," he said casually as he returned a sharp salute from all of them. "I want no problems in this initial meeting. We will be friendly and open to compromise. No promises will be made though. We will just keep them dancing. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" answered the group in unison.

He nodded and climbed his way onto his horse, getting it moving at a light trot at the head of the rest of the men.

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…

Michael stood with his arms behind his back in the center of the pavilion that had been raised between the two camps. The Hume mediators were all there, with Lance leading, the knights guarding the perimeter, and the diplomats already seated. He was acting as Lance's second and so stood next to him, and Ollie, Marcus, and Pyotr watched the perimeter.

Lance turned to watch the Swandian approach while Michael watched the Burndan one. He gave Michael a firm pat on the shoulder and nod before he did so, which Michael returned.

Michael watched as the King of Burndan approached on horseback. His horse was at the head of his men, and he guided it carefully to the pavilion, jumping from the saddle and tying it to the stake himself.

He had dark hair combed back neatly and his face was clean shaven. His eyes were a pale green, and he wore bright red. His favorite color. He was as tall as Michael, which meant they'd both gained a bit of height in this new world, and he was broad shouldered, but lean, like an olympic swimmer.

Michael could tell it was Gabriel almost immediately. The jaunty way he took a first step, the clench of his jaw, the way he smiled more with the right side of his face than the left. Even though his hair wasn't sandy brown anymore, and his eyes weren't blue like his mother's, he was his son. That was his boy walking toward him.

"Hail," said Gabriel as he extended his hand. "King Castor."

Michael had to fight back his instinct to embrace him, and hold back tears. He'd been careful not to reveal himself. Making sure that all messages sent referred to him only as Michael, and never used his last name, or called him Count Mann. There would be a better time and place. He didn't want to alert Gabriel's enemies, or his own.

He took Gabriel's hand and shook it.

"Firm shake," he said. "I'm Michael."

Gabriel frowned for a half second, before hiding it with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I've heard of you. Saviour of cities, champion of gods, slayer of kings. An impressive resume."

"I do as the gods require," he replied, sticking with a canned phrase to keep himself from choking up.

"Do the gods require you to end injustices?" asked Gabriel, his eyes narrow.

"They do."

"Good to hear."

Michael gestured to the table behind himself, where the King of Swandia was exchanging similar pleasantries with Lance.

"Please, this way."

Gabriel nodded, and walked toward King Loen, taking only a half a moment to give Pyotr a nod of recognition that was returned. King Loen stepped past Lance and approached him as well.

They stood in front of one another, sizing each other up silently, and eventually Gabriel extended a hand.

King Loen took it, and they shared a brief shake.

Michael could see the briefest of attempts by Loen to squeeze Gabriel's hand in such a way that it would be painful, but Gabriel ignored it. They released their grip on one another and everyone went to sit at the table.

Michael stayed standing for a moment, before sitting down himself.

The diplomat Undred began the proceedings, going through the motions and rituals unique to Hume mediation before presenting the promised titled objects to each side and outlining the ways in which the talks should begin, and what their goal was. It was all set dressing, but it was important.

As she spoke Michael decided to do a scan of both of the kings to compare their abilities. He was hoping to prevent any conflict from starting in the first place, but he needed to be prepared. He went through King Loen's first, looking through his titles and deeds, then activating his eyes of judgement. His titles were very similar to the King of Stents, but with stronger hereditary titles, and fewer deeds. He was strong, but not to an unsurprising degree.

He turned his eyes to Gabriel.

…

All the hair on the back of Gabriel's neck stood on end. He kept himself calm, but felt as if he was under intense observation. His eyes drifted from the dull woman speaking down the table to Michael. The man's eyes had turned from blue to silver, and he could swear that he was staring directly into his soul. It made him wish he was still wearing his armor. He didn't let his eyes linger, instead returning them to the speaking diplomat. Something about Michael was unnerving to him. He felt an almost instinctual drive to trust him, and that made him feel far more wary of him then he would've otherwise. There was something familiar about him. The way he walked. The way he gesticulated with his hands. He let his eyes drift back to him, and saw a look of tremendous sadness on his face, mixed with concern. After a few moments the look was gone, along with the man's silver eyes. Had he been reading his titles and deeds? He was aware that some talented diviners could do that. He had no idea how that could prompt that particular reaction though.

He pushed it out of his mind and got through the proceedings without any trouble. He and his people promised nothing, and the Swandians did the same. At the end, after things were formally completed, he approached Michael and Lance.

"Please allow me to formally invite you to dinner, along with all of your people. I wouldn't want to be outdone by King Loen."

Michael and Lance nodded emphatically.

"We'd be honored."