|Portrayed by||Henry Cavill|
|Full name||Zarius Iiro|
|Occupation||Asha'man of the Green Ajah|
|Affinities||Fire, Earth, Spirit, Air, Water|
Stands 6ft 5in, and weighs around 250lbs; has broad shoulders that, in combination with his height and frame, gives his bearing a rather intimidating cast; keeps his brown hair cropped close to his skull; if allowed to grow it is both wavy and curly; facial hair - if he chooses to have any - is always neat and meticulously trimmed; has grey eyes; is fair skinned. When he smiles, the expression sits crookedly on his face and lips; corner of his eyes unexpectedly crinkle.
Zeen is a very private individual. He is formal and reserved, everything about him - outwardly at least - befitting the dubious honour of being the first cousin to the current King of Amadicia. It is not that he is incapable of trust, or that he is hiding some monumental secret. Having spent his formative years beneath the shadow of the Fortress of Light was no easy thing to endure; a light step and silence were soon ingrained habits. Having a father who was a Lord Captain of the Children of the Light made it so that as a young man, Zeen's silence morphed into something wary and alive, irrevocably linked with survival.
“It's your own fault!”
His head snapped back, his entire body jerking, and he was knocked back with a grunt. The ropes around his wrist creaked, pulled taut, his legs giving out beneath him. He fell backwards, a snarl choking in his throat as his shoulders twisted, stretching a fraction, before forcibly stopping his fall. Fire raged across his face. His father's voice seemed to be coming from across a great distance, nearly drowned out by the noise that roared in Zeen's ears. His back was agony; even thinking about it was too much, but he kept his teeth locked tight together even as he screamed within the confines of his skull. Red slowly filmed over his eyes, sticky, stinging, burning, as his sight blurred and ran together in meaningless lines.
“Admit your guilt!”
He hung by his arms, trying not to breathe, trying to stay as still as he possibly could. It hurt, everything hurt, but he still gulped in air thirstily, drinking it in like a man starving. He tasted blood, metallic and bitter, as sweaty crimson rivulets dripped into his open mouth.
It was night. Of course it was night. Or was it day, and he just could not see? Odd to be doing this during the day. The thoughts skittered, nonsensical and useless. Grey eyes blinked almost owlishly, pushing blood up into his eyelashes. Torchlight, flickering and moving. Night. It was quiet though. It made the crack of the whip against his flesh all the louder. There was no one but Children about. Best to keep this “unfortunate” business of the Lord Captain's son as quiet as possible, but the stones of the private courtyard were splattered with red. Zeen had not uttered a sound, not a single flaming sound. He could not remember why.
Two rough vices suddenly clamped around his chest from behind, hauling him unceremoniously upright. Zeen nearly bit through his tongue. Black spots exploded before his eyes as his back was jostled, nausea kicking him in teeth. He emptied the contents of his stomach, his gut roiling. His arms dropped to his sides, and he reflexively stifled a moan. His feet scraped against the ground. He was being hauled somewhere, like refuse. Where? His father's voice was suddenly absent. The whip was suddenly absent. Zeen realised this too late, groggily trying to find purchase with his toes, but all he did was lose a nail.
Inside his head, he was still screaming.
“Admit it and it all will end.”
His father's voice, this time close enough to breathe into his ear. Mailed fingers curled into his hair and yanked upwards, biting, cruel. Zeen gagged up a bubble of saliva and blood. He felt it run down his chin, wet and warm as his cheek was pushed against something cold and rough. He was dizzy. He was spinning. His face was dragged against the uneven surface, the new abrasions on his cheek and nose scarcely registering. Lost in his stupor of agony, it took him what felt like an eternity of squinting before he understood the shapes he was seeing. A noose. A hastily erected scaffold. All just for him.
Zeen tried to speak, but only succeeded in another rheumy gurgle.
“Just say it.”
The voice turned soothing.
“We know it's the reason strange things happen around you. Just say it, and it will end. Absolve yourself.”
The voice was cajoling, but the fingers curled in his hair clenched. Zeen choked as hair was ripped out by the roots.
His fear, tightly coiled until now, spasmed and expanded into full-blown terror. Wounded. Mindless. It engulfed everything, twisting with his long-buried rage, flooding his veins with searing ice. Time seemed to slow, and that feeling of something happening danced along what skin he could still feel, like small deliberate pinpricks. The scaffold burst into flame, as did the noose. His father's voice said something, or maybe it did something, as the mailed hands that had dared to lay upon Zeen's person were suddenly burning too. He was dropped. He was falling... falling...
Grey eyes shot open a split second before he abruptly smacked face first against the floor.
The dull thud and the ensuing grunt that followed echoed in the cavernous room. The twisting mass of half-healed scars on his bare back protested angrily at the abuse, the Amadician letting out a loud groan. His nose ached, crushed against the floor and again his face at an odd angle. Slowly, Zeen extricated himself from the dream that was not truly just a dream, just as he slowly disentangled himself from the blanket that he had taken with him. Tumbled out of the narrow Infirmary bed. Like he was a child again. Absently, he rubbed at the prominent scar that lashed across his forehead, another wince passing over his features as he touched raw render skin.
Annoyed now, he scrubbed his hands through his hair, feeling the motion pull against the bandages between his shoulders. His... father – and his lip curled in disdain – had been a paranoid bastard, cruel and petty. Zeen's hand twitched and he slammed his fist into the nearest hard surface. The bed frame rocked from the impact but did not break. The pain brought some clarity, enough so that he could rein in the boiling creature that was his rage. It seethed and writhed just below his skin, begging to be let loose. He did not know if he had killed the man... but he sincerely hoped so. He hoped that he had killed them all. A little smile ghosted over his face. The Lord Captain had been right about one thing: there had been something different about his son.
As he flexed bruised knuckles, the manic rage lessened further. Zeen forcibly reasserted himself, enough so that he was able to shove all the garbage of the dream and its waste back behind a walled off section of his mind, where it belonged. Locked away. It was best that way. He did not have time for this. He scrubbed his hands through his hair again, rubbing at his jawline. He had larger problems...
Like how he could not recall what had happened after the fire. It was obvious that a lengthy amount of time had passed, the evidence sitting on his back and between his shoulders.
Like how he could not recall how he had gotten to this... Grey Tower. Zeen did not think anyone else would lay false claim to be an Aes Sedai and from this place... but what had happened to him? How had he arrived? He could not remember. His last coherent memories were of heat as it warmed his damaged face... then... waking up here...
No, a nightmare was the least of his worries.
- Soldier (11 February 2016)
- Dedicated (18 May 2016)
- Asha'man of the Green Ajah (4 August 2016)
- Captain-General of the Green Ajah (22 August 2016)
- M'Hael (29 September 2016)