Dragonstone (530 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.35 on 14 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Anthony Locascio (View user info) at 2007-01-13 08:45:00 EST
Yet another huge project which may or may not go anywhere. No idea.
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Courage.
That had been the subject for the day, he remembered as he climbed. He had to take his mind off of what he was doing, he reasoned, or he would turn back. The very thought of the journey he was undertaking even at that moment had set his blood running cold. The news of his decision had sent his mother running into her room in tears. She would have stopped him. Even now, he wasn't so sure that would have been a bad idea.
"Courage," was the word he had used. He had barely known the man who was using it, even if that man was his father. He'd seen more of his face from the castle's paintings than from any personal interaction. Canvas, oils and a skilled court painter had done him justice in his day, leaving hair that was fading white blonde and a beard going gray even faster.
They had been seeing more and more of each other lately, father calling on son, usually in the afternoon after his letters. This time, it was the royal stables, a place where only the royal cavalry and his father ever went. There were none of the pages or stable boys that buzzed in and out of the common stables like so many flies, only huge and stern soldiers with shoulders broad from many hours training with the sword. Each man tended his own horse and trained daily with the animal in formation. Father had taken his wide-eyed son by the hand and led him down the stone hallway to the end where his personal steed was kept.
The stall door was empty, the most massive black head and shoulders he had ever seen on any horse poked through. It nickered softly and nuzzled against his father's shoulder.
"This is Darktreader. He is descended from a great line of royal stallions. His ancestors have seen more battles than most of our men at arms. His fathers bore my father into battle, and his sons will bear you one day. Touch him, he won't bite."
The boy reached up and carefully stroked the animal's dark nose. His great breath blew a fine mist onto the child's hand when he snorted. The boy snatched his hand back at the gruff sound, fearing he might lose it. His father laughed next to him.
"It's okay to be afraid. That's why we're here," he said gently. The small boy threw his shoulders back and ruffled his blonde hair out of his eyes. "I'm not scared of anything," he said defiantly, looking up and trembling at the snorting animal.
The man laughed louder this time, his broad shoulders ruffling the heavy leather cape draped over his shoulders. "I'm sure you aren't, my boy, but maybe I can tell you a little secret?" He knelt down and brushed his hair, so similar to the boy forty years his junior, back from his forehead. A small scar puckered along his hairline.
"You know who Lieutenant Brage is, don't you?" The boy nodded slowly. Brage was an absolute giant of a man, black both in mood and complexion, and the head of the palace's men at arms. When he barked orders, the normally grim-faced guards fumbled over themselves in haste to carry them out. "Well, I'll tell you a secret that must remain between you and I. And Darktreader, I suppose, since he was the one who instigated the whole mess on account of a boar that ran across his path while were riding. He reared up and threw me. When I fell, I hit my head on a stone and gave myself this little souvenir you see. Knocked me silly, I will admit. But what no one will admit is that the brave lieutenant thought me killed, and I will tell you that he cried as I have never seen any man cry before. Because even he was afraid, afraid that his friend and king had been killed. I had enough of my wits about me to pretend to come around slowly, so that he wouldn't know I heard him. Doubtless, there would have been a lot of heads bouncing around the land with no shoulders under them if word ever got out that the mighty Brage had shed a tear."
He laughed then. The boy laughed, too, not because he found the story funny, but because it seemed the right thing to do. Brage had been known to cleave a goblyn in half with his huge double-handed sword as easily as a nobleman would cleave weak butter for his bread, and had done so on more than one occasion. If it weren't for the source, he would have immediately discounted the idea.
"And what do you fear, then, father?" he asked suddenly. He was unsure of the response, but he understood enough of the lesson so far to realize that his father was suggesting that he had his own fears. If he denied them, then he also denied the lesson.
"Too many to count," he replied. "It is a byproduct of the crown, to be afraid, to worry constantly. Every peasant, every guard, every school child relies upon me to perform my duty competently. If I don't, they will suffer for my inability, and I fear that well enough."
He was silent then. The whole stable was silent, save for the soft pant of Darktreader's heavy breathing. He nuzzled the king's hand gently. "I am confident enough, though, that righteous leadership and our peaceful ways will see us through. What I am most fearful of is what will come when I am no more. There is a head, a head that must accept the crown after me, so that there will be peace in the time beyond this one." He ran his hand through the boy's hair. "So you must learn your lessons well, and give your father no more reason to fear."
The king lifted the saddle and tack from the wall and held it up in front of the boy's face. "Just leather, mind you. Nothing more. Leather, wood, some stitching. Some buckles. But this is how you harness the mighty Darktreader. This is how you guide him. This is how you get him to charge a line of goblyns. We all have fear, son, but not all of us have courage to control it. With courage, you can harness fear. That's why Darktreader no longer rears up when a deer or boar runs in front of him. That's how Brage charges and cleaves goblyns like paper. That's how a king wears a crown. Do you see?"
He nodded. At the time, he was not sure that he understood completely, or if he ever wood. Now, standing at the base of the Broken Mountain, he understood. No longer a boy, and not yet a man, he had been making use of whatever courage he could find in the past few days. Some of it had been used to comfort his grieving mother. Some of it, a great deal of it, had been used when he informed Brage that he would be taking control of the palace guard immediately. But most of it had been used when he had closed the casket of his father's coffin and bade it be lowered slowly into the grounds of Saint Gloryred, the hallowed soil in which five of his ancestors resided.
Looking up at the one sheer side of the Broken Mountain, he took a deep breath, as if he could breathe in enough courage. "It's steep, isn't it?"
Brage was seated next to him. Even if the two had switched places, he on the young prince's pony and the boy on his massive warhorse, he would still have towered head and shoulders over him. "It is steeper on the other side, my prince. This place wasn't named the Broken Mountain because it has a gentle grade."
"I should say not. I always thought that it would look less menacing when I was close to it, but it looks even worse." His eyes picked along the rocks, searching out places for pitons and handholds. "A lot worse."
"And I am afraid that is as close a look at it as you are going to get, my prince."
A dread silence fell over the group. The warhorses of the two royal guard behind Brage whinnied uncomfortably and pawed at the ground with their feet. The prince turned and looked at him nonplussed.
"We did not ride nearly fifteen leagues to simply get a better look at the mountain, commander. Or at least, I didn't. You will make camp at the base of the mountain here and wait for my return."
"I can't let you do that, prince." He nodded with his head and the two guardsmen behind him came up past him and flanked the prince's pony with their own huge steeds. Hemmed in on three sides by huge armored men and on the fourth by a sheer rock face, the boy looked ridiculously small. He could feel his heart beginning a slow acceleration in his chest and the blood rushing in his ears. He pretended to adjust the reins slightly as a cover for brushing the inside of his forearm against the hilt of his short sword.
"Is it to be treason, then, commander Brage? If so, you might have saved us the entire length of the trip and simply done so when we made camp the first night."
Brage shook his head. "I am, as ever, loyal to Kharyd, as I am loyal to you, and to your father." He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle at the boy's unwavering stare. "Your father's last words to me were to keep you safe. He his exact words to me were 'Watch over the boy carefully, and keep him safe. Dark tidings are on their way, and I am relying on you to protect him. Give me your word that you will guard him with your life.' That was the last order he ever gave me, and I indeed gave my word. I recognize you, prince, as the rightful ruler and the one who will receive the crown, and I will serve you as I served your father, but I am as honor bound to his last wish as I am to yours. I will not permit you to endanger yourself. I rode this far with you, because I could do so without breaking my word - I was with you and could protect you. I am not, however, as skilled in mountaineering as your father was. I cannot accompany you up the mountain, and even if I could, a fall from a thousand feet is not something I can cleave with my sword. I cannot allow you to endanger yourself and all of Kharyd by attempting this...this...suicide."
The prince looked evenly at Brage, then to the two men at either side. He breathed in deeply, feeling his ribs expand against his chainmail with the tension of his held air. His forearm now was held firmly against the hilt of his sword. He had trained enough with swordmasters. In the blink of an eye he could have the weapon in hand and ready. Brage was beyond his abilities. He might be taken by surprise, but he would recover. The men at either side though had made a critical mistake. They and their mounts were not facing him, exposing their flanks. Drawing their huge swords would be difficult in the tight quarters they had created. The one on his right would have to draw his weapon with his far hand and would have to either strike back over himself. His eye went to the gap in the armor plates at the shoulder joint. The narrower blade of his sword would easily slip in there, punch through padding and flesh to bone. It was a straight line to the heart, a single killing blow. His father's voice echoed in his head. "Always with men, it behooves you to appeal to their reason. A man who is convinced by appeal to emotion will turn on you, because emotion will fail him eventually. A man convinced by reason will stand beside you until death, because he knows the truth of your purpose. There are, however, men who have no mind to be reasonable. That is why it is best to reason with a sword at your side."
When he exhaled, he prepared to reason, first with his tongue, and then, if necessary, with his blade.
User Reviews
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2007-05-28 20:48:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Now to read the other instalments.
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-02-15 22:17:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
more?
Submitted by hour_man (user info) at 2007-01-15 06:17:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm almost certain I've read this in a book...but failing that, I'll +2 you untill I remember what I'm thinking of.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-01-15 03:58:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-01-14 17:26:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
BARKEEP, A FLAGON OF YOUR FINEST ALE FOR MINE GUILD!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-01-14 16:52:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-01-14 16:51:33 (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
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Oooppps. Fucking computer.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-01-14 16:51:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-01-14 16:51:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-01-14 02:08:40 (#)
Ranking: -2
Sweet jeebus this was awful. I felt like spooning my eyes out and filling the holes with bleach.
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ILS, why don't you replace your keyboard with a blender. Insert all fingers and hit Flash blend.
Rate the post, not the poster, dipshit.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-01-14 16:39:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-01-14 02:08:40 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Sweet jeebus this was awful. I felt like spooning my eyes out and filling the holes with bleach.
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-01-13 21:16:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-01-13 12:06:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-01-13 09:51:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
HAR HAR I have more unfinished series than you do. You cannot attain the numbers of the master!
So... finish it.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-01-13 09:29:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good stuff...