The Paladin and the Troll

Sweat drips down the brow of a young Squire as he completes the final swing of his practice maneuvers and throws himself down upon a pile of hay. Lying back against the soft embrace of the haystack, the Squire begins methodically cleaning his weapon and ponders the mysteries of life. As the sun begins its decent towards the horizon, his mind turns towards his Master and the new light in that Knight’s eyes. Having recently learned of the heartbreak his mentor had faced in the past, the Squire could not help but long to know more of this tremendous story. Thus, he gathers up the supplies and equipment from his workout regiment, trudging down towards the village below him and seeking a companion he knew had traveled with his Master for several years.

Following the meandering path into the quaint village, the Squire soon approaches a house with a middle aged couple sitting on the porch and gently rocking on a large porch swing.  Recognizing them as companions of the Paladin, he steps lightly up to the railing surrounding the porch and asks them if they knew his Master all those years ago, or if they knew someone who did. After some thought, the man tells the Squire that the village does host someone who would know this story and points him towards the tavern in the city of the village. Confusion sweeps across the face of the young Squire as he considers the location, until the friendly man points out that the bartender used to a traveling Merchant.  “He was a giant of a man, bold and affable and willing to tell you any tale that would make you desire to pay more for his trinkets,” the man explains, “Always had a tale, story, or rumor to feed you. And then one day he went too far and made some tale that was a bit too close to comfort. It involved the Queen and a dalliance, and the rumor seemed so believable that nearly half the Kingdom was in an uproar. That is when the Royal Decree went out, and the Merchant became a lonely bartender.”

With this interesting bit of gossip in his mind, the Squire begins to walk again and this time set his path directly to the village Tavern. Raucous music assaults his ears to provide confirmation that he is getting close, and just in time as the clouds have begun to darken and the air stills in anticipation of an incoming storm. Walking down the worn mud steps into the tavern entrance, he glances over the abused building and notes that despite the exterior wear and tear, the Tavern is very solidly built and can withstand the antics of the patrons within. Shouldering through the heavy oak door, the Squire is greeted by impact of a meaty fist upon his cheekbone. The strike is awkward and off balance and thus barely grazes the young man though it does force his head back and up, causing a moment of extreme alarm and anger. Before the Squire can even decide how to react, either by wading in with his fists or pulling out one of his swords and fighting in earnest, a massive hand clamps on his shoulder and he is firmly pulled to the side. 

Twisting his head around in protest at this newest affront, the Squire suddenly grows quiet as a red headed mountain of a man moves in front of him.  With a quick flash of movement, a massive arm grasps the drunken lout who began the fighting and just as quickly the man is flung through the door with a mighty thud. Swearing heavily, the drunk picks himself up and shakes his head to the accompaniment of beads of sweat flying from his distressed hair. Just as the drunk opens his mouth to shout a challenge, the heavy bulk of the door swings back shut and slams into the back of the inebriated fool. Silence fills the tavern for a few moments as all occupants stare at the still form of the drunk sprawled upon the ground, and then the room fills with a hearty cheer when the drunk begins to snore.  Two patrons hurriedly step up and drag the man out of the tavern as everyone else lifts their mugs and business returns to normal.

Guided by the nudge of a large hand upon his back, the Squire travels forward to sit on a small bench set into an alcove near the main bar. Sipping gratefully at the full mug that is deposited in front of him, the Squire turns towards the one time Merchant and makes his quest for knowledge known. For a moment, the Merchant remains silent and contemplates the young man before him. Then he leans back against the bar and enters into the narrative of such a story that can hardly be believed.

The Merchant’s deep voice starts with rehashing what the Squire already knew; the brave Paladin, who mentored him now, was also a young man in this story and had fallen for an Angel who could not decide between two worlds, flitting back and forth between the Paladin and another man. But then that baritone voice changed the story in a way that the Squire did not expect. With a heavy sigh, the Merchant illuminated the slow setting poison that began to creep into the thoughts and feeling of the Paladin as he watched the night sky for his Angel. With trembling heart, he saw the paintings across the stars that were meant for another. With weary ears, he heard the sweet nothings carried from her lips across the wind but meant for someone else. And so the Paladin had resolved to move on, to explore the world abroad and to burn all of his feelings for the Angel who could not seem to settle down upon this mortal earth.

The Squire listens patiently, hoping to discover a happy ending in the midst of what seems to be a very dreadful tale. However the Merchant simply continues his story without changing his expression; hearkening back unto the days of yore and bringing to mind that young Paladin again. The Paladin began to travel the world, withdrawing his thoughts and feelings into himself while outwardly being social and friendly with those he met. During a period of this lonely journey, he encountered a fellow traveler that seemed to share the same desires of the heart. Reminiscing about different encounters they had experienced in their respective lives, they came to agreement on several different ideas and theories. Common complaints about the idiocy of the fellow travelers and the fact that romance seemed to be dead in this world tended to dominate the conversations that they had. Then one day, the Paladin dared to bare his soul and shared the story of his encounters with the Angel.

Pain enters into the Merchants voice as he narrates now how the friendship between the Paladin and the Troll began to take a very different tact. The Paladin watched bewildered as each day passed and the Troll became more and more aggressive, turning the Paladin’s words against him and twisting situations to become issues where there were originally no issues. The Merchant pauses here for a moment, wincing as he reflects upon his own role in this degrading friendship. With the wry tones of one who now recognizes past folly, the Merchant explains that he had enjoyed watching the friction build between two erstwhile friends and so had plied his gilded tongue towards twisting the mental state of the easily deluded Troll. While the Merchant spent his time spinning what he thought were harmless yarns, it turned out that the Troll had encountered the Angel for himself and decided that he could woo this beautiful creature far better than the Paladin could. Thus the Merchant unknowingly aided in fueling the competitive fire burning within the Troll which caused him to view the Paladin as competition though that was reality only in the mind of the Troll.

Things quickly come to a heated point in this tale, as the Merchant’s voice speeds up in anticipation. The Troll begins to strive against the Paladin. First quietly, then suddenly he openly challenges the Paladin. Surprise and disbelief pour through the young Knight at this escalation of what he had once considered a friendship and then he realizes that the lurking fear growing in his mind has become a truth. The one whom he had once called an Angel was instead simply a Witch hiding behind a veil of deception and secrecy, and her whispered words were repeated in any ear that would listen.  As the Troll continues his barrage and attempts to drag the Paladin down into a cesspit of fighting and backstabbing, the Knight has developed the wisdom to avoid the situation and focus upon his own battles. Safely removed and ignoring the posturing and threatening from the Troll, the Paladin watches from afar as the Witch attempts to pretend that nothing has changed. Secret words are still whispered in the dark of night, little signals are sent that seem to indicate an Angel waiting for the right moment to slip into the arms of the Paladin. But now the veil has been torn and the Paladin is wise to these ploys, so he continues his travels in earnest and leaves the tattered bridges of false promises behind.

Shock is mingled with relief on the face of the Squire as he takes in the unexpected twist in this fateful story. Learning forward to face the former Merchant, he asks if there was a conclusion to this story. The Merchant briefly chuckles before explaining that several friends had attempted to drag the Troll away from the siren call which drew to him. His voice seems to contain a trace of derision as he narrates the several times that the Troll appeared to come to his senses and apologize for the madness of previous moments; he includes the conversations where the Troll is explaining the lies that he was told and is countered by the Paladin repeating the exact same phrases from the Paladin’s own experience with the now renowned Witch. And yet, every time that the Troll seems to be recovering and regaining sanity it only takes one slight call and the right snap of the fingers and the Troll falls again under the spell.

As yet another scuffle breaks out in the Tavern, the jovial features of the Merchant fade into the resigned expression of the Bartender and he excuses himself to enforce peace upon his patrons. Settling back into the bench, the Squire contemplates the new information that he had learned. Some made sense, as it explained why his Master had traveled so much and even now continues to be social on the exterior but keeps things very private beneath the emotional surface. A sad shake of the head accompanies his thinking, as the Squire hopes to never personally repeat the experiences outlined in the story of the Paladin and the Troll.

More than a Storm.

Steely gray eyes stare relentlessly across the void. Dark and full eyebrows furrowed as the man contemplated the unknowable questions of life. A slight twitch sets firm jaw muscles quivering as he turns slightly and glares down at the packed grass beneath his feet. His visage remains a mask for a few moments more, as certain thoughts rumble inside his head. A speck of gold briefly swims in the depths of his brown eyes before he closes his eyelids and emits a painful groan.

Resolutely, the man places one foot in front of the other and forces himself to walk forward a few paces, leaving his residence behind and stumbling into the open space for a brief moment. Dropping down to land upon a single bent knee, the man grimaces as he struggles to hold back his fears and even his tears. Flinging his head back as if to let loose a fierce yell, he is suddenly enchanted by the vision of the few moon above him, only slightly hidden by the clouds. But that very beauty soon begins to eat at him and the conflicted emotions crossing his face tells a tale to which not even a bard could do full justice.

Thoughts churning in his head, the man cannot even decide which thought to entertain, nor which emotion is truly suited. His low voiced growl of frustration is answered with a responding rumble of thunder and he briefly glances around before deciding that his inner storm is more important than any outside force.

"Do I love her?" rings in his head, demanding an answer that he can not seem to provide. The romantic idea of love pulls at him, but how can he know what is true when his emotions change every second. A fond memory of a moment with her surfaces and a slow smile steals across cracked lips. But then comes a harsh reminder of the truth in her actions and he growls in pure frustration. Sweet words seem to linger in the air, as conversations replay in his mind. Forcibly he reminds himself of the value as words, remembering the last kiss she shared with her as she chose a different path.

Anger pours through him now, though at himself and with no other target. "I swore that I knew better. Swore I was not going to let myself get hurt. I Swore that I could be just friends and not ask for anything more." A knotted fist pounds the dirt beside him and feels moist dirt cover his flesh. Surprised, the man opens his eyes and notices that rain has begun falling in a steady cadence. A wry chuckle echos in the air around him, as the realization strikes home that the weather is most appropriate to his current situation.

With that realization, it is as if a dam bursts within him and suddenly he can not hold back. Fire burns through his blood as he feels the heat of passion again, feels the touch of her skin and hears the pearling tones of her laughter. Raindrops land upon his skin and hiss away in steam as his body reacts to the recollection of her caress. A bolt of lightning rips across the night sky, splitting the world asunder in exactly the same moment as pain and loss fills the heart of the man. Screaming out against the dark of night, he feels again the hurt burning inside when he saw her in the arms of another man. Rage pours forth from him now, though he held it in then. "Remember, you had no claim. She was his and not yours, what right do you have to be angry".

His own words seem to slap him across the face and he stumbles for a moment, recognizing the pang of jealousy in the last flickers of the lightning leaping between clouds. Truth settles in his soul as he remembers those last fateful moments. He told her to choose, told her that there can only be one world in her life. Told her that he would accept whatever she chose and walk that path happily. But his tears coursing down his face begin to mix with the heavy raindrops that are hurtling down around him. "It would never work, there is much wrong. She doesn't even know me" he tells himself in a mumbled exertion. And just as he begins to feel a moment of comfort in that, suddenly he recalls the sparkle in her eyes as they share a moment just gazing at each other. Nothing else exists when she looks at him like that, the entire world stands still.

Stumbling to his feet against the wind and rain, the man stares forlornly into a night which he can no longer see. Every second that he breaths comes another emotion. Deep down, he knows that the past is the past and what has ended will not begin again. Practical thoughts seem to have little hold at this moment though, as another lightning bolt crackles down to shatter the tree next to him. Bowing his head for a moment, he breathes deeply to calm his thoughts. When he raises his eyes again, the fire in his eyes is reflected by the burning branches twisting against the thunderstorm. At last his emotions begin to fade, replaced by the soft patter of a healing rain. Once again, he places one foot in front of the other and continues along his journey. A gentle breeze caresses his face and gently tugs at his lips until he graces the world with a brief smile. Perhaps there is hope for the future after all. As the storm inside ends, the world outside no longer looks so grim.

The Decision: To be a Squire or a Knight

This is for H.A.

He requested a story and some advice that deals with how to approach the realization that you made a mistake and turned away someone for whom you had real feelings. I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment.

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The squire stares into space, eyes open but unseeing.

The gentle cry of a hawk sounds in the distance, but even that majestic sound fails to leave an impression. The world spins upon its axis, and yet still the squire stares. Searching forward in time, seeking answers to questions he is not even able to properly form. In all of his musing, no escape from the past presents itself and now the present demands attention. Closing his eyes tight, he remembers the infamous words that he can never seem to retract. He really did tell her that "I don't really love you like that".

A frustrated huff escapes the lips of the brooding squire, as he leans back against the tree he has taken refuge in. At one point, he was the epitome of confidence. Always knew what he wanted and where he was going, strode briskly forward and took life by the horns. Smooth and assured, it seems like nothing would ever go wrong. But now, now how can he go on? How can he face tomorrow when the memory of yesterday flashes before his eyes seemingly every second. He was sure he knew what he wanted, that he was never meant to settle down or tie himself to just one place. He was going to be a Knight! A champion whom all would admire, surely he would be sought after and never have to worry about companionship.

Dark furrows creased the brow of the squire, in complete contrast to the peaceful stillness of the meadow around him. Within his mind, a mental storm raged with utmost ferocity. Questions forming and dashed aside, emotions roiling but not addressed. How had things gotten this way, what had so complicated his life now? It was one simple sight, and yet he can never forget it or block it out. How dare he be so upset, so torn and lovesick, when he was the one who told her to move on. And yet nothing else matters but the repeating image of her full lips firmly locked upon those of another man.

One thought beats a tune in his mind until finally he can focus upon it. Does he really care that deeply for her, or is it just the fact that she has found comfort in the arms of another that has so upset him? A discomforting thought for sure, he slowly muses while clenching his armored fists against each other. His training has taught him to be calm and slow in his reactions, to judge the situation and determine outcomes before moving. And yet every time that he comes back to considering this problem before him, it is as if nothing else matters. The simple fact that he wants to see her, hold her, kiss her again has completely distracted him from all other worries. Even his weapons lie beside him in disarray, no longer able to keep his mind away from these pestering questions.

As a lonely cloud drifts across the pale blue sky, the squire feels a determination building up within him. These feelings can not be false, how deep they are and how much they have affected him. Something must surely be true here. Slowly his internal storm resides and he grows steadier, his eyes beginning to glow again as he realizes that he again has confidence. Now instead of regretting what is lost, he ponders how to address his errors and regain the rhythm to his heartbeat. How do you take back words that can never be retracted, how do you heal a pain that one should experience in the first place. No wizard stood before the squire with an easy answer or a magical wand to wave. His mentors and Knights taught him the art of battle and combat, not of navigating the powerful currents known as love.

Pulling himself onto one knee, the squire plants his sword into the dirt and leans upon the hilt. Surely there must be an answer, a recourse to address this terrible tragedy. Chivalry would not allow for the most direct means of simply marching into her presence, grabbing her close, and telling her that he was wrong. Besides, how could she possibly believe or listen to him if he did that? It would look like the arrogant action of one who is jealous and believes he has a claim. No, this path must be slowly trod and carefully measured. If the feelings beating within his chest were true and as deep as he considered them, then they would be his guidance. He must harken back to the times of yore, realized what she cared for and prove that he truly listened and cared about the things that she cares about. To prove that he truly cares about her.

Muscles rippling beneath him, the squire steadily rises and strides forward. No true answer has yet presented itself, but he is determined that he will not give up without a fight. A Knight shall not be known for moping around wondering what might have been, and so this squire has decided to act like a Knight even before receiving his spurs. He must tell her of his feelings, this is obvious. But only if he truly cares and has paid attention to the beat of her heart does he have a chance. If he cared only for her attention and not truly for her, then it would be best to turn away now and mold himself to be the Knight of the future. In his heart beats the truth, the truth of his decision.

As the squire disappears into the gathering dusk, a question lingers. How does someone prove that their love is true, that the words of the past where a mistake, that there is a future together? The soft twitter of birds as they come to rest in the tree branches illuminate an answer. Slow down and stick to the true beat of the heart, take the time to show a true interest, communicate, be open and honest. No excuses uttered to hide painful admissions, but only words of truth backed by honest actions of caring. And then the strength to accept the response and bear it like a true Knight.