The Trial of Solveig the Great

SOLVEIG

"Please, right this way, Ms. Solveig."

Her hands felt heavy under the cuffs, cold iron dragging her wrists down. The guards walked her down a long flight of stairs, the light thinning with every step, stone replacing marble, torches replacing chandeliers…

Then in no time at all, she was shown her cell. She heard a jangling of keys.

And finally, a CLICK.

Wow.

Solveig could laugh. She was behind bars. Again.

Life really was a circle, wasn't it?

Time passed by… yet it didn’t matter. She stood still for what felt like minutes, but by the way she felt the sun fade in heat on her back, it only meant hours she didn’t perceive fled her awareness. And quickly.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Those footsteps felt more like thunderous hoofs from her perspective.

No surprises to see who made them, given how measured they sounded.

The Duke stepped into view outside her cell.

“Solveig,” he said, unceremoniously.

Solveig smiled thinly. “Mister Duke.”

“It’s… that’s not how you address…” The Duke sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now, really, does it?”

“Nyo.”

They said nothing for a while.

"The trial will begin tomorrow," the Duke said.

Pff. Obviously.

It was one Solveig was waiting her entire life for. Her first life, she didn't even get one; they ridded of her the first chance they got...

Though…

“What kind of trial?” she tepidly asked.

"We call it the Trial of the Thousand. The nature of your crimes will be determined before an assembly hall, viewed by your fellow classmates,” the Duke continued. 

"Not intimidating at all..."

“You are a minor, so you won’t be judged in front of me. In exchange, those who would actually know you will. That is the tradition here and what it means to be of Hrafen’s Stock: you take care of your own—’care’ being the flexible word that it is, being key here. That is the nature of the Jury of the Thousand. All of Hrafen Academy will get a say in your ultimate fate.”

He let that sit a moment before continuing.

"If you fail before the Jury of the Thousand, you will be expelled from Illustria. Permanently. Not merely from the academy. From the borders themselves."

Solveig said nothing.

“I am… to understand you are not entirely at fault here. My son told me everything he could. Though he refused, quite stubbornly, to divulge specifics. I imagine he thought he was protecting you." A pause. "I imagine he was right to think I'd use them against you if he had."

She looked up at that.

"Your only way out of this," the Duke continued, "is if Ten of the Thousand step forward to defend you. Publicly. By name. And then it will head into a vote of the Thousand—but ten committal votes of confidence must be cast first."

"...That's it? Just ten?"

"You say that as though it is a small thing."

"Isn't it?"

"Solveig…" He said her name carefullly. "Do you understand what it means, to be one of those Ten? To stand before the entire assembly and put your own name, your own family's name, your own future in this Concordat, behind someone that is seen as volatile—hells, a threat to the rest of the academy?" The Duke closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. "Pardon my emotion; it was unbecoming. Yesterday was the most I’ve been scared since Abel…”

He shook his head.

“Point being, nobody offers their endorsement of you lightly, especially not with Isolde circling the way she is. Whoever steps forward for you will be making themselves Isolde’s target for the rest of their time at this academy, and likely long after it."

He turned to leave, then paused at the top of the stairs, not quite looking back at her.

"I forgot to mention. But that Ten… if they testify against you and you lash out again like you did yesterday…”

The Duke shook his head.

“It is not just you who might be exiled from our campus.”

Solveig’s heart dropped. The implications did not need to be said aloud.

“Please rest well," he said. "You will need energy for tomorrow.”

Solveig watched as the Duke went, each step seemingly heavier than the last.

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SOLVEIG

It was akin to being hauled in front of an executioner, Solveig concluded.

The feeling was hard to describe.

There was none of the usual chatter which should come with kids her age, a ruckus or whatever else.

And as she entered the hall, two guards to her left and right to keep her in check, the silence was far louder than even her loudest Null spells.

She felt that her feet were sore, and with each step it morphed into things closer to weights, pulling her, tethering her, screaming at her NOT to go.

Solveig was lucky her mana was so depleted there was no way for her to overload. Again.

And eventually, her reckoning was left slightly, toward the center stage but not quite.

All of those eyes… it reminded her of the Demon King’s army—the very last one as she went on the offensive for a last gasp Operation that could make or break the survival of the human race.

It was there the proceedings mutedly began, and Isolde was more than happy to capitalize. 

She had been sitting in the front row. Solemn, shaken, vulnerable. Not words that would be associated with someone like her but for this specific use case was perfectly appropriate and advantageous.

Solveig looked further around the crowd.

Miriam's face was one she found first. She was never the best at hiding her emotions. 

Then there was Bobby. To be honest, she's not talked with him so much as at him. Their 'friendship' was as bare as it could be.

Isolde eventually settled toward the actual center of the amphitheater. And, with a wave of her hands to cast her Resonating Formula, she began:

"I will keep my introduction short. You all know me by now. On track to be Dux of my year level and on track to clinching Student Council President. You know my character too. All I have ever wanted is for Illustria to flourish. I've dedicated most of my life to be the best. That is why I run for Student Council President. For a better future for all."

Solveig shifted her feet. She could say so many things about her right now. But for once, Solveig chose to be the bigger person.

"So, in the interest of time: rather than introducing myself, let’s introduce Solveig instead," Isolde said. "Solveig slew a Great Mother Bear. An ancient, sacred creature. That's a punishable crime enough. But what's more: Solveig strode in and kicked a commonfolk out of her dorm room just so she can attend the academy. Woo'd Cain with her power... and her charm. And now… Solveig nearly killed us all."

It was pretty damning, said out loud.

"And do you know what that tells me? That tells me this girl has always had more raw power than she has any ability to control."

A murmur rippled through the gathered students.

"Because that is precisely what happened next, isn't it? The same magic that felled a Great Mother Bear turned on this academy itself. It nearly leveled an entire wing, with every one of us inside it." 

Isolde let the silence sit for a moment. 

"I want a fair competition. And Solveig would have been, if not for her debilitating... condition. I don't want a kingdom held hostage by whether or not this girl manages to contain herself on any given day. I don't believe that's an unreasonable thing to ask for."

She turned, addressing the crowd rather than the podium now.

"It seems that the Earl, Cain II, is intent of keeping her here rather than throwing her out like the ticking explosive she is. This tells me everything. Because from my perspective, Cain threw himself directly into the blast radius of an uncontrolled explosion, for a girl he's known all of a few weeks. Thank the gods, it worked. Truly. I mean that." Her voice softened. "Thank you, Cain, for saving us. For all our sakes."

A pause, timed perfectly.

"But what if it hadn't gone that way? What if the Duke had been left childless, gods forbid, his only heir buried under rubble because his own tutor couldn't hold what was inside her? The power struggle that would have followed would not have been fair."

Isolde faced the podium directly now.

"House Blackmore demands its achievements earned. Not given, and certainly not handed to us by catastrophe, and certainly not by something that slaughters what it cannot control. If Cain Cunningham is meant to be Student Council President, let it be because he is capable."

Isolde nodded once to the Principal and the Duke. "I'm finished."

The Duke rose. "The argument is received. Let it stand entered into record." He swept his gaze across the hall. "By the fair eyes of Solveig and Yvlid, let that be enough."

The hall took up his words as one voice.

"Let that be enough."

"I've not presided over one of these in ages..." the Principal murmured, half to himself. "Alright. Now, for the uninitiated, ten people may stand on this stage to argue for the defendant's character. Once that quota has been reached, we shall enter a round of voting. But until then... please: may the Ten Make Their Case."

There was silence for a while.

For a split moment in time, something ugly erased any rational thought. 

Cain's... throwing me away like the liability I am.

He wasn't going to defend me. He was going to throw me away...

Honestly...

What an appropriate way to end things.