Post by Círdan on Nov 24, 2007 23:06:49 GMT -5
The grey stone of the castle walls complemented armor of the man walking through the castle’s halls. The light cast from the torches danced along the dark walls, shooing the darkness away. The man’s boots clanked on the stone surface of the floor, his long sword swayed in its sheath with the man’s every stride.
The courtyard was beyond the light at the end of this hall. Silence was every where; an occasional eerie echo would run down the twisted complex of halls and chambers, sending chills down the man’s spine.
The courtyard was large and well occupied. Royalty ran about. He recognized the King’s son, Dracus, and his oldest son, Gillean. They charged at each other with wooden swords, but there was no rage in the sport, just entertainment and laughter. The man wondered if the boy’s would ever witness the real horrors of war. If they were lucky, they would.
“Ah, Sir Ithiyn!” the voice belonged to that of a woman. It rang out with innocence from a garden area in the corner of the courtyard. He recognized the voice; it belonged to that of the king’s eldest child, his daughter, Crina.
Thoran Ithiyn turned to look. She waved him over; perhaps she had a task for the night, undoubtedly a task revolving around her father the king, and his treasured and guarded secrets.
Thoran reached her quickly, he had come on the request of the king Elesmard. “My Lady” Throan stated, giving a courteous bow. “I am afraid I must get to your king, he sounded most urgent of my presence in his letter-“
“Shush, Sir Knight.” She said, rather harshly. Her eyes softened as she realized she had been to coarse with the honorable knight. “I have a task for you.” She stated with her eyes to the cobblestone of the courtyard. “My Father-“
“My Lady, my allegiance lies to the king. I would not think it an act of loyalty to plot against him, to betray my oath never to question or to seek answers about his beloved secrets.” His voice was as hard and grim, as serious as ever.
Lady Crina sighed. “Go on then. Can I at least trust that you will not tell my father of what we have spoken of?”
“I am not so sure, milady.” He turned and walked off to the King’s Quarters. The Castle’s banners waved in the wind, prideful and brash to all its foes. The emblem the flags carried was the same on his breastplate. That sign meant everything to those loyal to the king. The reason why they existed, the reason why they fought, why they struggled to survive. The whole history of the people that pledged loyalty to that emblem was all packed into such an object.
“Let us hope that we shall see this flag on all of our enemy’s homes, if they dare threaten us.”
The sturdy oak doors that lead to the throne hall were pushed aside easily with Thoran’s strong arms. His sword rattled as after each step, he held his head lower then usual. He could tell that something, whatever the king wanted from him now, would be much different then his task normally was. Such as diplomatic issues, or dealing with someone who had failed to keep promises with the king. Thoran did not have the job that most knights did, which was to server their lord in combat, but he served his lord in other ways, which was good enough for most. People called him the King’s Errand Boy or Enforcer, but he knew that such titles did not fit what he did.
Lord Elesmard sat in his oak-crafted throne. Jewels glittered, decorating his magnificent chair. A diplomat or messenger of some sort stood by the king’s side, talking quietly with the king. The Lord Elesmard did not take his eyes of those that belonged to the messenger. The King looked stern, more bad news, perhaps. Maybe news that the barbarians in the North were on the move once more.
Elesmard took notice of Thoran after walking halfway to the throne on the red carpet. He took notice that a knight of his was coming, and shooed the man away. The messenger jogged by Thoran; he did not wear any special insignia on his brown leather cloak. What was this mysterious man’s business? Thoran stared to try and find the man’s face, but it was too easily concealed under his hood. He walked at a brisk pace past Thoran, not taking the time to say hello or share any tidings.
The King held his hand to his forehead. He was obviously frustrated. “Milord, Thoran Ithiyn, your most humble servant, at your service.” Thoran bowed deeply in respect for the elderly king. Elesmard smiled and rose from his seat.
“And so you are, my friend. I am most glad that you have come so swiftly, but it is to be expected from a man as loyal as you.” Elesmard embraced him, and Thoran returned the gesture. “Thoran, we have dire things to discuss.” Elesmard informed Thoran, turning away to hide the sternness that had drained the happiness from his face. “But you must be hungry and tired from your travels” he turned again and smiled , “let us eat, then you can rest.” Thoran nodded, great full for this. He did not show or say it, but he was indeed weary from his long travels to the kings stronghold.
The King Elesmard lead Thoran through halls well lit with braziers and torches, and came to life with banners running along the top portion of the walls, complemented with statues of heroic figures long gone. He walked past monumental, empty suits of beautifully crafted armor. The scent of cooked meat filled his nostrils, and immediately he was placed in a good mood.
They walked into the dining hall, the king’s hands behind his back, his mane of hair somewhat mangled through what Thoran could see between the cracks of the kings gold crown.
Dozens of people sat at a very long, food and drink filled table. At one end there was a massive fire, which made the room warm and cheery, laughter flooded throughout the massive hall. At the other end of the table stood the kings chair, taller and more highly decorated then the others that sat along the edge of the colossal rectangular shaped dining table.
Pitchers filled with wine, platter’s full of meat and all other sorts of food made the great wood of the table beneath the surface of the dishes almost impossible to see. The King lead Thoran down to his chair, which was right beside the King’s great chair. Thoran had been here many times before, but he had never seen it so well occupied and lively.
The King stood up from his seat, and the rest of the loyal men sitting at the table rose too. Elesmard rose his great jeweled cup, and said, “A toast, to those of us that could not eat with us tonight from self-sacrifice to their people and king. Hail the glorious dead!”
“Hail!” Thoran and the rest of the men and woman yelled over their cups. Their was a moment of silence as they drank and sat almost in unison. Chatter resumed again, and music began to play. It was great music, and from where it was being produced he could not tell. “Trouble will find us, as it always has, but not tonight. Tonight will be a great night, my friend.”
Many hours passed, and with it many plated were cleaned and many cups were drained. It seemed as if the world had become, for at least a little while, a little less hostile, and a little more merrier. The King had not discussed anything political or did not answer any questions revolving around his people the whole dinner, which lasted for many joyous hours.
Before long the musicians tired and the food ceased to be brought out from the kitchens. A few folks had fallen face-first into their plate of bone and half-eaten food. King Elesmard still resumed a mature posture, even after the many refills he had taken from the growingly frustrated waiters.
Thoran, on the other side, had produced an occasional hic-up, and had began to sway in his chair, and when he spoke his words were slurred. His head soon began to throb, so he wished the king a good night and was escorted to his quarters by a castle servant. His room was in a tower from which he could see the courtyard and beyond. Darkness had settled in, and shadow consumed the landscape. He saw the light created from the torch of a patrolling guard as he tried to collect his thoughts of what had happened today. Before long, Thoran was snoring on richly-crafted bed.
Thoran woke, the sun’s light shining into his eye. He squinted for a moment, as he remembered what had happened last night. Thoran usually did not drink, but he was well urged by the king to do so last night. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He still had his hauberk on. How he was able to sleep in such a thing was a mystery to him. The drink worked well enough to be considered a sleeping potion by alchemists, or as it seemed to Thoran.
Elesmard would probably want to see him now. Thoran wondered why the king had held a feast on his arrival, when he sounded so urgent to speak with him. None the less, it was indeed refreshing and Thoran was glad that Elesmard had done it.
After splashing some water on his face, he did what he could to make himself look reasonable and hurried down to Elesmard’s office area. The castle was quiet. Thoran assumed he gotten up early, or that everyone had fallen into a deep sleep from last nights drinks. Thoran was almost worried that Elesmard’s ale and wine supply had run out.
Elesmard sat behind a well cut ebony desk, a quill in his hand and a multitude of forms and papers spread out before them. He was just signing the last of his name on what appeared to be some kind of treaty of some sort when Thoran walked in. Elesmard looked up to him for a moment, then went back to working, chuckling to himself.
“Milord?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, Thoran.” Elesmard looked back up to Thoran, but his lips did not curve into an amused smile. “Please, take a seat.” Elesmard gestured to a chair in front of his desk.
“I’ve never seen a king that signs his own notices and forms.” Said Thoran, offering some comical relief to the rather stale scenario. Elesmard said nothing, and so Thoran got the hint that now was no time for jokes, so he took his seat in front of his lord. “You sounded rather urgent in your letter, milord.”
“An urgent letter for an urgent matter.”
“And what is that matter, milord?”
Elesmard was silent for awhile, but continued to work on his parchment. The scratching noise of the quill was the only sound that Thoran could hear. He wondered how a man could work under such silence and solitude, Thoran thought that it would drive a man to insanity. Yet this king was very different then any other King Thoran had seen in his travels.
“Thoran, you are one of my most loyal men.” Spoke Elesmard, shattering the silence.
“Thank you, milord. It is my duty to honor such a king as yourself.”
“What is a king, Thoran?” Thoran sat still, a little stunned by the awkward question.
“A king is a leader, sire, someone that controls his subjects, and guides them away from harm and destruction.”
“You speak of me as if I am a god, Thoran.”
“Perhaps close enough, sire. You are great enough to be in their ranks, milord.”
“What have I done for my people? I’ve done nothing that has lead them away from harm.” Elesmard almost spat out these words, as he threw his quill off his desk and stared out the window. “All I have done is told people how to work, and how to live their lives. I am not a figure that should be looked up too. I have never personally saved someone. I never tended a sick child or gave gold to the poor. I inherited this position. I did not earn it. People think of me to be great because of my title, because I am a king over these people. And though I do love, and though I would do anything for them…” he spoke slowly now, and for the first time Thoran had heard his king speak low and softly “I have no right to rule over them.”
Thoran had never heard his king speak like this. “Milord…”
“No, Thoran. Do not object. I know that any objections would come only from loyalty and not from your feelings are pure thought. Thoran, do you think me, or any man for that matter, well enough to govern people, to control over them so that they have no voice, no choice in what they can or want to do?”
There was a moment of silence, as Thoran tried to think what to say. There was no doubt, Thoran loved this man, he looked up to him like a father-like figure. And to hear him speak like this… it was painful to listen too. Thoran did not know what to say. Time crawled slowly, and their eyes never meet. No one blinked, and it seemed like neither of the two men were breathing either. Finally Thoran stood up, and held his hands behind his back, and like the obedient soldier that he was he asked, “What can I do, my king? What can your servant... your friend do for you? Is there anything possible that I can do to settle such worries?”
Elesmard did not look at him. It was like confessing to his mother that he had done something bad, but on a much worse level. “I think there is.” Elesmard said, so softly it was almost a whisper.
Thoran almost shouted, he wanted so desperately to do something for his commander, his king, his friend. “What is it? You must tell me! I will do it without hesitation, and ask no questions.”
“Thoran… a man realizes his faults in life, many things become clear when life is slowly slipping away. You have no idea how hard it is to stare into the face of death and tell him to not today. I’ve been doing it for years. Sometimes I become so desperate, I just want to embrace the darkness. And now, I fear I am too weak to resist any longer. Thoran…”
It was hard for Thoran to keep a straight face. A man, close enough to him to be his father, was telling him that he wanted to die. It was an overwhelming thing, and Thoran struggled to push back the tears that developed in the corners of his eyes. And yet Elesmard did not move, at all, not the slightest movement.
“That is why…” he spoke slowly, and Thoran strained to hear him “You must take my place. You alone can make them all equal, make a kingdom, a place governed by one man, a place where we all have a voice, where we all can be heard. Freedom, Thoran, this is the virtue that you must install in this land.” The color had drained from the king’s face. He looked pale and sick-like.
“I will… but what… what of your daughter? Crina? And what of your sons? Do they not deserver your position?”
“They will accept, they must accept my decision that you will take my place. Inheritance does not make people worthy to be kings, you know this. My sons are too young, and my daughter does all but loves me.”
It was hard for Thoran to think. He had received an offer to become a ruler over this land, yet he had been instructed not to become a king, but a leader. So many things were running through his mind, he could not collect his thoughts.
“I will… I accept this offering, sir…”
“No! no! Thoran, this is not an offering, this is not a job, you must realize this! This, Thoran, is destiny.”
The courtyard was beyond the light at the end of this hall. Silence was every where; an occasional eerie echo would run down the twisted complex of halls and chambers, sending chills down the man’s spine.
The courtyard was large and well occupied. Royalty ran about. He recognized the King’s son, Dracus, and his oldest son, Gillean. They charged at each other with wooden swords, but there was no rage in the sport, just entertainment and laughter. The man wondered if the boy’s would ever witness the real horrors of war. If they were lucky, they would.
“Ah, Sir Ithiyn!” the voice belonged to that of a woman. It rang out with innocence from a garden area in the corner of the courtyard. He recognized the voice; it belonged to that of the king’s eldest child, his daughter, Crina.
Thoran Ithiyn turned to look. She waved him over; perhaps she had a task for the night, undoubtedly a task revolving around her father the king, and his treasured and guarded secrets.
Thoran reached her quickly, he had come on the request of the king Elesmard. “My Lady” Throan stated, giving a courteous bow. “I am afraid I must get to your king, he sounded most urgent of my presence in his letter-“
“Shush, Sir Knight.” She said, rather harshly. Her eyes softened as she realized she had been to coarse with the honorable knight. “I have a task for you.” She stated with her eyes to the cobblestone of the courtyard. “My Father-“
“My Lady, my allegiance lies to the king. I would not think it an act of loyalty to plot against him, to betray my oath never to question or to seek answers about his beloved secrets.” His voice was as hard and grim, as serious as ever.
Lady Crina sighed. “Go on then. Can I at least trust that you will not tell my father of what we have spoken of?”
“I am not so sure, milady.” He turned and walked off to the King’s Quarters. The Castle’s banners waved in the wind, prideful and brash to all its foes. The emblem the flags carried was the same on his breastplate. That sign meant everything to those loyal to the king. The reason why they existed, the reason why they fought, why they struggled to survive. The whole history of the people that pledged loyalty to that emblem was all packed into such an object.
“Let us hope that we shall see this flag on all of our enemy’s homes, if they dare threaten us.”
The sturdy oak doors that lead to the throne hall were pushed aside easily with Thoran’s strong arms. His sword rattled as after each step, he held his head lower then usual. He could tell that something, whatever the king wanted from him now, would be much different then his task normally was. Such as diplomatic issues, or dealing with someone who had failed to keep promises with the king. Thoran did not have the job that most knights did, which was to server their lord in combat, but he served his lord in other ways, which was good enough for most. People called him the King’s Errand Boy or Enforcer, but he knew that such titles did not fit what he did.
Lord Elesmard sat in his oak-crafted throne. Jewels glittered, decorating his magnificent chair. A diplomat or messenger of some sort stood by the king’s side, talking quietly with the king. The Lord Elesmard did not take his eyes of those that belonged to the messenger. The King looked stern, more bad news, perhaps. Maybe news that the barbarians in the North were on the move once more.
Elesmard took notice of Thoran after walking halfway to the throne on the red carpet. He took notice that a knight of his was coming, and shooed the man away. The messenger jogged by Thoran; he did not wear any special insignia on his brown leather cloak. What was this mysterious man’s business? Thoran stared to try and find the man’s face, but it was too easily concealed under his hood. He walked at a brisk pace past Thoran, not taking the time to say hello or share any tidings.
The King held his hand to his forehead. He was obviously frustrated. “Milord, Thoran Ithiyn, your most humble servant, at your service.” Thoran bowed deeply in respect for the elderly king. Elesmard smiled and rose from his seat.
“And so you are, my friend. I am most glad that you have come so swiftly, but it is to be expected from a man as loyal as you.” Elesmard embraced him, and Thoran returned the gesture. “Thoran, we have dire things to discuss.” Elesmard informed Thoran, turning away to hide the sternness that had drained the happiness from his face. “But you must be hungry and tired from your travels” he turned again and smiled , “let us eat, then you can rest.” Thoran nodded, great full for this. He did not show or say it, but he was indeed weary from his long travels to the kings stronghold.
The King Elesmard lead Thoran through halls well lit with braziers and torches, and came to life with banners running along the top portion of the walls, complemented with statues of heroic figures long gone. He walked past monumental, empty suits of beautifully crafted armor. The scent of cooked meat filled his nostrils, and immediately he was placed in a good mood.
They walked into the dining hall, the king’s hands behind his back, his mane of hair somewhat mangled through what Thoran could see between the cracks of the kings gold crown.
Dozens of people sat at a very long, food and drink filled table. At one end there was a massive fire, which made the room warm and cheery, laughter flooded throughout the massive hall. At the other end of the table stood the kings chair, taller and more highly decorated then the others that sat along the edge of the colossal rectangular shaped dining table.
Pitchers filled with wine, platter’s full of meat and all other sorts of food made the great wood of the table beneath the surface of the dishes almost impossible to see. The King lead Thoran down to his chair, which was right beside the King’s great chair. Thoran had been here many times before, but he had never seen it so well occupied and lively.
The King stood up from his seat, and the rest of the loyal men sitting at the table rose too. Elesmard rose his great jeweled cup, and said, “A toast, to those of us that could not eat with us tonight from self-sacrifice to their people and king. Hail the glorious dead!”
“Hail!” Thoran and the rest of the men and woman yelled over their cups. Their was a moment of silence as they drank and sat almost in unison. Chatter resumed again, and music began to play. It was great music, and from where it was being produced he could not tell. “Trouble will find us, as it always has, but not tonight. Tonight will be a great night, my friend.”
Many hours passed, and with it many plated were cleaned and many cups were drained. It seemed as if the world had become, for at least a little while, a little less hostile, and a little more merrier. The King had not discussed anything political or did not answer any questions revolving around his people the whole dinner, which lasted for many joyous hours.
Before long the musicians tired and the food ceased to be brought out from the kitchens. A few folks had fallen face-first into their plate of bone and half-eaten food. King Elesmard still resumed a mature posture, even after the many refills he had taken from the growingly frustrated waiters.
Thoran, on the other side, had produced an occasional hic-up, and had began to sway in his chair, and when he spoke his words were slurred. His head soon began to throb, so he wished the king a good night and was escorted to his quarters by a castle servant. His room was in a tower from which he could see the courtyard and beyond. Darkness had settled in, and shadow consumed the landscape. He saw the light created from the torch of a patrolling guard as he tried to collect his thoughts of what had happened today. Before long, Thoran was snoring on richly-crafted bed.
Thoran woke, the sun’s light shining into his eye. He squinted for a moment, as he remembered what had happened last night. Thoran usually did not drink, but he was well urged by the king to do so last night. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He still had his hauberk on. How he was able to sleep in such a thing was a mystery to him. The drink worked well enough to be considered a sleeping potion by alchemists, or as it seemed to Thoran.
Elesmard would probably want to see him now. Thoran wondered why the king had held a feast on his arrival, when he sounded so urgent to speak with him. None the less, it was indeed refreshing and Thoran was glad that Elesmard had done it.
After splashing some water on his face, he did what he could to make himself look reasonable and hurried down to Elesmard’s office area. The castle was quiet. Thoran assumed he gotten up early, or that everyone had fallen into a deep sleep from last nights drinks. Thoran was almost worried that Elesmard’s ale and wine supply had run out.
Elesmard sat behind a well cut ebony desk, a quill in his hand and a multitude of forms and papers spread out before them. He was just signing the last of his name on what appeared to be some kind of treaty of some sort when Thoran walked in. Elesmard looked up to him for a moment, then went back to working, chuckling to himself.
“Milord?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, Thoran.” Elesmard looked back up to Thoran, but his lips did not curve into an amused smile. “Please, take a seat.” Elesmard gestured to a chair in front of his desk.
“I’ve never seen a king that signs his own notices and forms.” Said Thoran, offering some comical relief to the rather stale scenario. Elesmard said nothing, and so Thoran got the hint that now was no time for jokes, so he took his seat in front of his lord. “You sounded rather urgent in your letter, milord.”
“An urgent letter for an urgent matter.”
“And what is that matter, milord?”
Elesmard was silent for awhile, but continued to work on his parchment. The scratching noise of the quill was the only sound that Thoran could hear. He wondered how a man could work under such silence and solitude, Thoran thought that it would drive a man to insanity. Yet this king was very different then any other King Thoran had seen in his travels.
“Thoran, you are one of my most loyal men.” Spoke Elesmard, shattering the silence.
“Thank you, milord. It is my duty to honor such a king as yourself.”
“What is a king, Thoran?” Thoran sat still, a little stunned by the awkward question.
“A king is a leader, sire, someone that controls his subjects, and guides them away from harm and destruction.”
“You speak of me as if I am a god, Thoran.”
“Perhaps close enough, sire. You are great enough to be in their ranks, milord.”
“What have I done for my people? I’ve done nothing that has lead them away from harm.” Elesmard almost spat out these words, as he threw his quill off his desk and stared out the window. “All I have done is told people how to work, and how to live their lives. I am not a figure that should be looked up too. I have never personally saved someone. I never tended a sick child or gave gold to the poor. I inherited this position. I did not earn it. People think of me to be great because of my title, because I am a king over these people. And though I do love, and though I would do anything for them…” he spoke slowly now, and for the first time Thoran had heard his king speak low and softly “I have no right to rule over them.”
Thoran had never heard his king speak like this. “Milord…”
“No, Thoran. Do not object. I know that any objections would come only from loyalty and not from your feelings are pure thought. Thoran, do you think me, or any man for that matter, well enough to govern people, to control over them so that they have no voice, no choice in what they can or want to do?”
There was a moment of silence, as Thoran tried to think what to say. There was no doubt, Thoran loved this man, he looked up to him like a father-like figure. And to hear him speak like this… it was painful to listen too. Thoran did not know what to say. Time crawled slowly, and their eyes never meet. No one blinked, and it seemed like neither of the two men were breathing either. Finally Thoran stood up, and held his hands behind his back, and like the obedient soldier that he was he asked, “What can I do, my king? What can your servant... your friend do for you? Is there anything possible that I can do to settle such worries?”
Elesmard did not look at him. It was like confessing to his mother that he had done something bad, but on a much worse level. “I think there is.” Elesmard said, so softly it was almost a whisper.
Thoran almost shouted, he wanted so desperately to do something for his commander, his king, his friend. “What is it? You must tell me! I will do it without hesitation, and ask no questions.”
“Thoran… a man realizes his faults in life, many things become clear when life is slowly slipping away. You have no idea how hard it is to stare into the face of death and tell him to not today. I’ve been doing it for years. Sometimes I become so desperate, I just want to embrace the darkness. And now, I fear I am too weak to resist any longer. Thoran…”
It was hard for Thoran to keep a straight face. A man, close enough to him to be his father, was telling him that he wanted to die. It was an overwhelming thing, and Thoran struggled to push back the tears that developed in the corners of his eyes. And yet Elesmard did not move, at all, not the slightest movement.
“That is why…” he spoke slowly, and Thoran strained to hear him “You must take my place. You alone can make them all equal, make a kingdom, a place governed by one man, a place where we all have a voice, where we all can be heard. Freedom, Thoran, this is the virtue that you must install in this land.” The color had drained from the king’s face. He looked pale and sick-like.
“I will… but what… what of your daughter? Crina? And what of your sons? Do they not deserver your position?”
“They will accept, they must accept my decision that you will take my place. Inheritance does not make people worthy to be kings, you know this. My sons are too young, and my daughter does all but loves me.”
It was hard for Thoran to think. He had received an offer to become a ruler over this land, yet he had been instructed not to become a king, but a leader. So many things were running through his mind, he could not collect his thoughts.
“I will… I accept this offering, sir…”
“No! no! Thoran, this is not an offering, this is not a job, you must realize this! This, Thoran, is destiny.”