Post by Xantias d’Amarante (I) on Apr 12, 2008 11:30:32 GMT -5
The first night we set up camp I could hardly believe that I was finally riding with the rest of my father’s company. In numbers we ranged roughly amidst the low thirties. Some tried and tested veterans and some, like myself, were a bit greener.
You could always tell which was which. Having just gotten my Black Shield earlier this morning, it was undented, unmarked, and the leather strappings that would lash it to my arm were, as yet, stiff and unyielding. There were probably six or seven such shields lying about the campfire this evening. We were also the ones that stroked oilcloth to sword a little longer than the others, or brushed down our horses a mite faster than we should have.
All of these things were remedied quickly, as we were driven back to horses by those more experienced, or grumbled at that we were only wearing down our oilcloths more than we were minding our sword. It would garner a blush or an ashamed remark and then we would almost secretly go back to doing whatever it was we should have been.
My father came and sat next to me that night. He didn’t look sore or weary, as I did, from having spent a day on a horse. Of course I should have realized that he wouldn’t be, considering he’d been doing this since Isidore d’Aiglemort rode forth with his band of horseman, straight into a Skaldic invasion. He had been part of that war; one of the few to walk away from d’Aiglemort’s Redemption with anything less than a wound that needed stitching. He had ridden with ‘Silverhair’ himself.
“Xantias…” he started in the soft voice. His was a voice that need not shout for his orders to be heeded, but it helped.
“Father. I am proud that you thought I would be ready to join your men.” I was, too, I realized. Nothing I had done, to this day, had made me happier than sitting beside this campfire now with my father. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Xantias, but that’s not why I’m sitting here now. I won’t do this again, as I do not single out men unless they are in need of it.” He looked into the fire then and I watched him for several moments before he spoke again.
“We could come upon bandits, thieves, or yes, even Skaldi, any day that we ride. I will not be able to watch your back every moment of every day, and in truth would not do so if I could. You are a man grown, and as such you will either live like one, or die like one. I will no longer offer my protection exclusively. You are, from this day forward, your own man. Make your own way…” he cut off her, and at the time I didn’t know why. I could see him physically swallow the words. “Don’t die Xantias. You have so much more in you than to fall now.”
Having said his piece he stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “From hence on, your are one of my men before you are my son. Remember it.”
“Yes Father…” his eyebrow rose slightly as he looked down upon me. “I mean, Yes Captain!”
That, I think, was the turning point for me. What led me to strive to never break the silent promise to my father. I thought on that briefly as I sat atop this hill, some thirteen years later, watching the small wave of Skaldi rush down an opposite slope some half mile away.
“Yes, Father…” I muttered, loosing one of my axes from the specially designed sheath. “…I have much more to live for.”
You could always tell which was which. Having just gotten my Black Shield earlier this morning, it was undented, unmarked, and the leather strappings that would lash it to my arm were, as yet, stiff and unyielding. There were probably six or seven such shields lying about the campfire this evening. We were also the ones that stroked oilcloth to sword a little longer than the others, or brushed down our horses a mite faster than we should have.
All of these things were remedied quickly, as we were driven back to horses by those more experienced, or grumbled at that we were only wearing down our oilcloths more than we were minding our sword. It would garner a blush or an ashamed remark and then we would almost secretly go back to doing whatever it was we should have been.
My father came and sat next to me that night. He didn’t look sore or weary, as I did, from having spent a day on a horse. Of course I should have realized that he wouldn’t be, considering he’d been doing this since Isidore d’Aiglemort rode forth with his band of horseman, straight into a Skaldic invasion. He had been part of that war; one of the few to walk away from d’Aiglemort’s Redemption with anything less than a wound that needed stitching. He had ridden with ‘Silverhair’ himself.
“Xantias…” he started in the soft voice. His was a voice that need not shout for his orders to be heeded, but it helped.
“Father. I am proud that you thought I would be ready to join your men.” I was, too, I realized. Nothing I had done, to this day, had made me happier than sitting beside this campfire now with my father. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Xantias, but that’s not why I’m sitting here now. I won’t do this again, as I do not single out men unless they are in need of it.” He looked into the fire then and I watched him for several moments before he spoke again.
“We could come upon bandits, thieves, or yes, even Skaldi, any day that we ride. I will not be able to watch your back every moment of every day, and in truth would not do so if I could. You are a man grown, and as such you will either live like one, or die like one. I will no longer offer my protection exclusively. You are, from this day forward, your own man. Make your own way…” he cut off her, and at the time I didn’t know why. I could see him physically swallow the words. “Don’t die Xantias. You have so much more in you than to fall now.”
Having said his piece he stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “From hence on, your are one of my men before you are my son. Remember it.”
“Yes Father…” his eyebrow rose slightly as he looked down upon me. “I mean, Yes Captain!”
That, I think, was the turning point for me. What led me to strive to never break the silent promise to my father. I thought on that briefly as I sat atop this hill, some thirteen years later, watching the small wave of Skaldi rush down an opposite slope some half mile away.
“Yes, Father…” I muttered, loosing one of my axes from the specially designed sheath. “…I have much more to live for.”