Leafblade & Freelight: The Barracks

[dplax]

The last time someone had rapped him on the head like Lord Gerald had just done had been close to fifteen years ago, when at the age of seven, he had gotten himself into trouble by taking a juicy apple from a market stall. His father had given him a well-deserved beating for that, but those times were long gone. Just before his twentieth birthday Sean had joined the Alesbridge town guard.

He had been almost asleep on duty, when he had heard Lord Gerald's cries through the halls. The rap on the head had brought him to a fully wakened state, as did the news the Lord gave. Sean had recently heard rumours that the Lord had been badly wounded, but his fully healthy appearance would surely dispell those rumours, and silence those who spread them.

Glancing towards the horizon, Sean wondered whether it would be the animals or the storm, which reached Alesbridge first. Despite having been a guard for two years, the only action Sean had ever seen was in the training room, either against the straw dummies or practicing with wooden swords. But the blade he held in his hand now glistened in the light of many torches, their light thrown off the sharp steel.

Fear was a natural thing for one so young as Sean, and he had plenty of it. But he knew that once the battle was joined, his fear would evaporate and be replaced by a certain frenzy, which would only end once the battle was over or if he perished. Having just recently been engaged to the baker's daughter, Sean preferred to not contemplate the second possibility. He had almost as much to lose here as the Lord himself. At least that was the way he thought about it.

Sean positioned himself close to the hero, Rehan, whose fame had preceded his arrival. He guessed that if there was a safe place on the battlefield, it would be next to the one who was reknowned for his fighting abilities. Sean dreamt one day of being a warrior of Rehan's fame, but for the moment, he had to content himself of shooting admiring glances in the young hero's direction, waiting for the inevitable battle to commence.

[ 07-30-2006, 06:39 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

[Deiter Leafblade]

Reality hit Rehan when he noticed the occasional glances from another guard. Admiration was in his eyes, and it hit Rehan with such a force that he had to shake his head several times. People were depending on him, counting on him to meet his reputation as a hero. This battle isn't something I should take lightly... His gloved hand tightened around his sword in anticipation.

How many people would die tonight? How many lives would be snuffed out to protect their home and loved ones? What exactly was he fighting for? Fighting to protect the innocents? Fighting simply to keep himself alive? Rehan decided it would be for Alesbridge. The city gave him food, shelter, and supplies when he needed it, and it was his turn to repay the favor. Determination took control of him as he shouted for the archers to set up along the wall. The bowmen couldn't kill all of them, but the rain of arrows would slow them down and weaken their numbers.

Several men stared at him, wondering who this young man was to command them in such a way. Sighing, Rehan removed his helmet and started shouting orders again. Realizing who he was, the archers quickly placed themselves along the wall, waiting for the call to fire.

[mistral4543]

Despite the fact that her teeth were chattering and her body trembling uncontrollably from the coldness, she drew warmth from her long-lost friend's companionship. The feel of his fingers was comforting, and she marvelled silently at how their reunion had come about. Then, to break the silence, she gave a wry chuckle. "Just like old times, huh?”

Except that life was much more complicated now. In the old times, they would be spurring each other on, trying to find the best line to continue their stories. In the old times, they would be swinging wooden swords at each other, laughing when these collided. In the old times, they would be hauling each other out of the garden pool and scrambling up the servants’ staircase, rushing to find fresh clothes to change into, before they were caught for their undignified antics.

They could still do all that, she supposed wistfully. But they had grown up, especially over the last eight years. What had happened in his share of the years, she wondered, subconsciously turning her head to study his profile. Was now the right time to trade their stories? There did not seem much else to do, anyway.

“My dear Altair…” the words tripped off her tongue comfortably enough, but the sentence halted as a thought occurred to her and she blushed, before hastily continuing. “You’re tired, so you should rest.” His stories would have to wait. She could not push him like that, knowing how he must be suppressing his pain. “I, on the other hand, have plenty of energy.” The second chuckle came out more like an ironic grunt. “I’ll entertain you, for once. In repayment for those tales you humoured me with..."

And so, she began. She spoke quietly, sometimes so softly that she did not know if he had heard what she was saying. She did not look at him as she relayed her story; somehow, she could not bear to. It was as if she would lose her ability and courage to talk if she faced him, and she could not understand why. Was he not her dearest friend? It had been so easy back then, to do so. What had changed? Why did it feel so strange now, their proximity?

Hurriedly, she went on. How the years had crawled by, at first. The first couple of them especially tedious, when she had lost this best friend. How she would closet herself to her room, sulking and refusing her meals, refusing to listen to reason about family obligations and the upholding of family honour and wealth. Then, she had undergone an aggressive phase. Haunted by the image of him riding through the woods and enjoying the hunting seasons with his other companions, she had dedicated her pursuits to archery and horseriding. She avoided the forest behind Alesbridge, of course; there were enough hunting grounds in the other lords’ lands as she began to be handed around like a prize trophy for display. What saved her, unexpectedly, was her exuberance and energy; if she herself could not fully harness it, what hope had the beaux to whom she was being recommended of doing so? One by one, they admired her looks, wit and skill, only to be retreat, threatened by these very qualities. It signified nothing; she cared too little for them to feel anything. All through the years, she had hoped and prayed for Altair’s news; that was better than not knowing if he was even alive. But no news came, and she began to lose heart. She had thought that he reciprocated her trust and concern, so it was a rude awakening to know that he had disappeared without a word, not even to herself. Then, her father had sought Rehan’s help in annihilating the source of the forest’s evils. Was she not capable enough for the task? Had she not proven her abilities through those painful eight years? She had taken off for the forest, out of spite and determination to show her father once and for all that she was not a Mehlingard for nothing. Now, she had only a heart of guilt and pain to show for her catastrophic blunder. Meeting Altair at a time like this, she could not help wondering what sign it was that the gods were trying to show to her...

Throughout her soliloquy, she was acutely aware of the lessening chill and lightening of her burden. Yet in the ensuing pause, she began to doubt the wisdom of telling him her story so readily. Sitting there, her back leaning against his, she had never felt so vulnerable in all her life.

[mistral4543]

In the tens of thousands of days that had passed, she had always stopped to greet old friends, make new ones and where necessary, play adjudicator to the inevitable petty quarrels that occurred even among the best of friends. These rituals imbibed her with a sense of purpose.

Tonight, Gatha was taking yet another stroll. But the sense of purpose was drifting; it flowed from her brain down the curve of her spine, flushed down her bowels, gliding down her feet and finally, into the soil.

The soil which she had hugged on her first night in the forest.

Will I go to heaven or hell for the deeds I have done? This was a question that had cropped up of late, and only because she no longer had the strength to parry it into oblivion. Those deeds may have been unorthodox by some's standards... She could see the self-righteous expressions of the soldiers and warriors when they had passed judgement on her... before they had been mangled to death. ... but there was no one to guide me, except by treacherous examples. Yes, the code which she lived by, she had had to invent by herself.

These justifications had always been acceptable, but tonight she was having her misgivings. True, no one taught me good principles, but when others showed the alternative ways of life... I did not pay heed to them. At first, it had been a matter of survival, to creep into the city to steal fabric and some necessities for she had had no coin to spend. Then, she had had to silence the unfortunate children who had caught her in the act. She knew that she had graduated when she managed to slice the throat of the unsuspecting adult who had bent down to harass her. From then on, her hatred of the city people had been cemented, and she could watch the merchants, soldiers, guards and mercenaries being slain before her eyes, without a tinge of pity. Had they all left her alone, let her take what little from society that she wanted in exchange for her miserable childhood, the murders would have been spared. That was what she had told herself, all these years.

But tonight, she was no longer sure of herself.

As if the gods were telling her that it was all too late, they wept for her sins and for the souls that had prematurely left their bodies because of her.

It started out in droplets, then a drizzle, and suddenly it was an outpour. Lightning hurled streaks across the dark skies, while thunder berated her for her faults and misdeeds. With neither backing down, the surroundings echoed with deafening retorts and patches of brilliant white flashed across the landscape. The wind jumped into the conflict, sighing first, then fanning the exchange with its bellows.

Have I really been wrong? No longer could she confidently say that she could face the truth. And it was terrifying, realising that all her beliefs might have been misplaced. In a daze, she stumbled on, acutely aware that she was almost floating in the air.

"Aco." She sighed in relief as she recognised the offspring of a friend. "Won't you say hello to this old lady here?" She listened against its trunk and smiled dreamily. "What a sweet talker you are, Aco! No wonder you're a favourite around here." She reached out to stroke the bark. "You'll remember me when I'm gone, won't you?" And shook her head when she heard its groan. "You can postpone death, my friend. But you can never deny it." Chuckling softly, she stooped down and patted its root. "Good, you stand firm and upright. A solid example for your descendants, you'll be."

Arising, she hummed to herself and prepared to continue on her journey.

In stooping down, she had not heard Aco whimpering as the first shaft of blinding light created a fissure between its weakened branch and trunk. In admiring Aco's roots, she had not heard its muffled shout as the second shaft dug deep into the crevice. In standing up and moving off, she had not time to run to safety as Aco's lost limb came crashing down.

On this night, the gods had decided that it was time for Gatha to know the truth about her actions.

[ 07-31-2006, 09:37 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

[mistral4543]

He could see that the storm had advanced from the backs of the forest and was now pelting heavily upon that treacherous terrain at last. Would that it beats some sense into that vile monstrosity. His last encounter with the she-devil was still fresh in his memory as he held his two-handed sword firmly, glancing around to see the formation of the troops.

It was a comforting sight, to see that the able-bodied men had turned up in full force. What a pity that Robyn were not here, she had always craved to be in the midst of battle. Or perhaps, after that night's escapade, she would be a different person... How differently he felt now that he had rejuvenated and recovered! Her disappearance was no longer an abandonment; it was an answered prayer, as long as she was safe.

Then, it came; the forerunner's cry. The beasts had come, and the courage of man was being tested on this stormy night.

"The fate of Alesbridge lies in our hands, my friends!" Stentorian was his voice. "Strike when you can, but be alert!" That was all he would say. Words counted for little when it came to battle.

Drawing in a deep breath, he began to step forward slowly, but steadily, his eyes fixed upon the advancing beasts...

[Deiter Leafblade]

Guilt washed over Altair as he listened to her reactions of his disappearance. Despite all of it, she had grown up to be strong and followed the path that would improve her. He wanted to put an arm around her, to comfort her, but his wounded shoulders prevented it. His hands were still clasped around hers as he lifted them up to his mouth. Breathing as steady as he could, his warm breath caressed her fingers and warmed her up even more.

Lowering his hands, his gaze took her in and he wondered if he could tell her his story. She had always loved his stories, but this tale was full of death and injustice. Would her opinion change of him? Would she shun him? He wanted to be truthful with her. The truth... Such a fragile thing easily broken. Altair was well acquainted with lying now, but he wouldn't do that to Robyn, he couldn't. She had been open and honest with him, and she deserved nothing less.

Like old times, she sat next to him eagerly listening to what it was he would tell her. The memory was somewhat painful. She would always laugh and smile as he reenacted some parts of a tale, and finish with a grand ending. This would be quite a different story.

He began with running away from his home and living on the streets with no home or food. How he would have to steal things to keep himself alive. Then his run in with Berad, and how he tried so hard to become the thief's apprentice. Freedom and adventure enticed a young boy who so desperately rejected confinement. Berad's death was swiftly brought up and forgotten, for he did not want to linger on the memory. The crimes he committed, deaths he brought, everything, slowly poured out of him. He was not the mischievous young boy she remembered, he had grown, and with that changed into a man that could easily lie, murder, and steal. His story turned into more of a confession by the time he finished.

Altair couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see what she thought of him inside those green eyes. This was the first time he had ever second-guessed his course of actions. He had honestly never expected to see her again. Not that he didn't want to see her, but he knew she was better off safe at home, married off to someone who could give her the comforts of what she grew up with. He was unsure of it now, knowing how much it had affected her when he left.

His gaze watched the rain crash against the earth, wondering if it was attempting to cleanse him of his past misdeeds.

[ 07-31-2006, 01:40 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

[Deiter Leafblade]

ooc: Posting for Mistral since she's unable to get on IW at the moment. This is only so dplax doesn't think I'm talking to myself. [img]tongue.gif[/img]

She had guessed by the look in his eyes and his earlier apology that this was no fairytale that had a perfect ending. She had braced herself for a tale of hardship in which Altair might have suffered a good many beatings under more experienced adventurers and risked his life in foolish dreams of treasure-finding. That much she had prepared herself for, comforting herself that Altair was the manlier for all these trials and lessons he had had to learn.

When his story took a twisted turn such as he had described, however, she found herself fighting a tidal wave of distress. This was the Altair she was facing now… a murderer, a brigand and a liar! She could not deny it, even if she had wanted to – it had come straight from his mouth.

Eyes glistening with sorrow, she gazed upon his averted face. Can I bring myself to forgive him for his sins? But this thought alone punched her stomach so that she doubled over, breathless. How can I not forgive him? He could have easily fooled her, given his skills at deception. Yet he had chosen to reveal the unvarnished truth about himself, just as he had. That alone should be sufficient to satisfy her. What more the fact that he was now all alone, away from family, Berad whom he had cared for dearly and who was gone. How many trusted friends had he? How many times had he shared his grim experiences?

Courage, Robyn. She had never lacked this; it must support her now just as she must rally around her friend.

Friend. She had had plenty of friends… or had they been acquaintances, ghosts who flitted in and out of her life? They had not touched her heart the way Altair had, and certainly they had never played a part in her dreams and nightmares. Altair. Just pronouncing his name split open the unseen wound in her heart, and it bled profusely. For whom did it bleed for?

Looking at him, she began to understand that it was for the both of them.

Not trusting herself to speak, she crept closer to him and rested her left hand upon his back. A long pause ensued. Then, she addressed him, her voice trembling. “Your stories have taken a dark turn, Altair.” She withdrew her hand, seeking warmth in clasping her fingers together. “In forgetting them, I would be in self-denial as to your exploits.” Her hands were suddenly fascinating, so hard did she stare at them. “In denouncing them, I would be assuming a higher moral ground – which I am hardly entitled to, with my own faults.” Raising her head at length, she went on. “I have to accept your past, Altair, just as you have to accept mine.”

Why was acceptance so painful? “I cannot undo the deeds for which we hang our heads in shame, Altair. But I know that we have a choice.” She was gaining strength in the tone of her voice, where there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. “We can decide how we want to live our lives, from now on.” Impulsively, she grabbed his hand and knelt before him so that they were facing each other.

“Shall we strive for happiness, Altair? I don’t think we have reached the point of no return.” Her heart was pounding from the exertion, and she gripped his fingers. “Please help me to believe in ourselves.” Inwardly, she thanked the gods that she did not have so many people whom she cared for so deeply. This current experience was half-killing her.

[Deiter Leafblade]

You're so strong Robyn... Altair was in disbelief that she was willing to accept his corrupted past. She was willing to move on with him, and the act hit him forcefully with how much he meant to her even after all these years.

"I don't know what's left in a broken thief, but I'll try my best for you." His hand trailed down her wet face, wiping away stray droplets of water. She had become even more beautiful during the years, and despite seeing her soaked and chilled to the bone, Altair still felt the same.

His fingers continued down her face until resting against her lips. He considered kissing her, and thought back to the days when she used to visit him as a child. Robyn had always stolen a few kisses from him, but it was playful and they were young. The thought of it now would hold an entirely different meaning, and he was unsure of how she would take it.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed himself away from the rocky wall and closed the gap between them. He hesitated at first, but then leaned in and lightly kissed her, his lips ghosting over hers.

The kiss barely connected, and it was brief, but the emotions behind it were on a much larger-scale. Seconds later he breathed in sharply, the pain in his shoulders flaring, causing him to lean back against the wall.

Altair tried to look at her apologetically but only managed a small grimace at the pain.

[ 08-01-2006, 12:10 AM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

[mistral4543]

As a child, she had found it terribly funny to watch Altair’s cheeks burning with uncertainty whenever she ran up to him, pecked his cheeks with her lips and darted off before he could protest. Those incidents had always ended up with him catching up with her, dragging her to the pool and shoving her into the water; and in retaliation, she would tug him down and both of them would be drenched and still trading playful jeers and retorts. As a child, she had delighted in poking Altair’s hips where he was most vulnerable and burst into raucous laughter as he jumped and doubled over, trying to defend himself. Those episodes had always ended up with him grabbing her by the arms, spinning her around until they were both giddy and collapsing upon the ground, each blaming the other for their condition.

For as long as she could remember, it was always she – Robyn of Mehlingard – who had initiated their playtime activities that required the most exertion.

Tonight was different.

It was different because they were no longer children. But more importantly, it was not Robyn of Mehlingard who was provoking her good-natured friend.

Tonight, it seemed that Altair had had enough of being the passive one. She could hardly believe her eyes when he extended his hand to her and took her on a breath-taking sprint. Within the span of a few seconds, they had crossed the boundaries of friendship.

Any feelings that had lain dormant were now fully awakened with the close of the run. Even as the prize was being withdrawn from their hands, the air tingled with a drowsy sweetness that she had not known could exist in reality. By the time she reopened them, her eyes were those of a different woman.

True to the nature of such shortlived moments of ecstacy, this one collapsed with a resurgence of Altair’s discomfort. The words were out of her mouth, before she could frame them contextually.

“You should rest.”

Then, realising that he might mistake instinctive concern for a cold brush-off, she sighed and the redness completely left her cheeks then. How ironic it was, that Robyn of Mehlingard was at a loss for words and actions on this special day! Helplessly, she focused her attention on his injury rather than his countenance, unable to face the latter at the moment.

After a moment’s pause, she knew that it was up to her to break the ice, having brought about the somewhat awkward silence. How could she show her intentions without being too forward? Coughing slightly, she tried a buddy-like approach. “I hope you realise what you’re getting into, Altair Swizec.” The attempt completely backfired when the blood gushed to the apples of her cheeks, instead.

[ 08-01-2006, 07:40 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

[mistral4543]

Stunned, she could only lean against the wall for support as she tried to absorb what she had just heard.

"Tis true, my Lady. His Lordship just charged down the corridor not a few minutes ago, and he was in the pink of health." The parlour-maid darted a nervous glance at her mistress. "Is something the matter, ma'am?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. How could it be that Gerald had been fully restored? She had witnessed his pathetic state less than half an hour ago, and all the servants were prattling about the same thing: their Lord was up and running about, about to enter a battle! It was infuriating to know how she had played the situation badly, and nerve-wrecking to consider how it could be salvaged.

Gerald... I must get hold of Gerald... Barely noticing the stupefied look on the parlour maid's eyes, she lifted her skirt slightly and scrambled down the staircase.

Reaching the doorway, she ignored the expostulations of the doormen and guards, pushing them aside imperiously. I must know right now... before the start of this battle of goodness-knows-what. Her heart was screaming frenziedly at her miscalculations as she thrust aside who seemed to be a greenhorn and the hero that had arrived at Gerald's invitation a couple of nights before.

Has he changed his will? Are his possessions still coming to me when he dies? For if this battle proved to be fatal, there was no hope of reversing the beneficiaries if he had just amended them...

A firm hand halted her steps and she turned, expectantly. But it was only a protective knight, and she had no use of him. Angrily, she shoved his hand away and craned her neck further, searching for her beloved husband. Where could he be, this person who meant most to her? Perhaps he was playing their usual game of hide-and-seek.

By now, she had gone far ahead to discover that the space around her was quite empty, save for a few gallant warriors who were prepared to lay their lives for Alesbridge. Spinning around, she thought spotted someone familiar... yes, it was the right build and height, and the Mehlingard sword and armour!

"Gerald!" Her face reflected a mixture of contrition, relief and enticement as she approached him slowly, observing the expression in his eyes and mouth. What she saw filled her with dread, a term that had never been associated with her dealings with him.

"I know that you'll find it hard to forgive my rational words just now, but..."

"Silence, woman!" The revulsion in those eyes, and the loathing in his voice stopped her in her tracks. "This is hardly the right occasion to speak of private matters, and besides..." His tone grew icier by the second. "I have nothing to say to you."

"You don't mean that, Gerald." The tears which squeezed out of her eyes were those of panic. "You can't, not after what we've been through, all these years." She risked a step forward, and stopped again at his livid expression. "I would have expected you to say the same things to me, had I been in your condition." To her left, there was a chorus of cries which irritated her. "This was an arranged marriage, Gerald. Made by logical, sensible adults." The shouts were getting louder and she sensed shadows somewhere in the movement. "I would not have wanted to live on, being a burden to you. You deserve better..."

Gerald, her darling Gerald, was at last responding! The earnestness in his eyes filled her with some confidence and she opened her mouth, but before she knew it, he had sped right past her, a war-cry in his mouth and his blade singing in the air. Reality finally sunk in and she turned around to see groups of men slashing at spotted large cats and looming bears, and she staggered backward, her heart in her mouth.

False move again, Yasmine! Or rather, ill-timing. Why did the battle have to start so soon? How was she going to make it to safety in time? No time to berate all this... get going, girl!

Weaving in and out of the chaos, she tried to ignore the screams of agony and terror, the flying limbs and the sailing weapons that crossed her path. Looking around, each step she was about to take was laden with danger.

[ 08-01-2006, 10:49 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]