Post by devilinthedetails on Mar 12, 2018 7:50:40 GMT 10
Title: Questions of Loyalty
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Fidelity
Summary: After Scanra, Owen and Wyldon face questions of loyalty.
Questions of Loyalty
“You have a hundred questions in your eyes.” Wyldon arched an eyebrow as he shut the door of his office, where he was certain that only Owen dared to eavesdrop upon him or else he would never have risked discussing the secrets that could end in rolling heads if King Jonathan were merciful and drawing and quartering if he weren’t. He had ordered Owen not to say a word until they reached his office, and the boy—maybe more of a man after his adventure in Scanra—had managed to obey. That combined with the fact that Owen hadn’t revealed his intention to join Keladry behind enemy lines before he bolted to Scanra almost gave Wyldon hope that he might be able to keep his mission to Scanra quiet. If only Owen’s eyes could be relied upon not to betray him. “Ask one.”
“Can you regret something that you’d do all over again if you had to, my lord?” Owen bit his lip. Wyldon remembered like a knife in the chest how Owen had knelt at the river bank, admitting, because he never lied even when doing so would have been smarter and easier, that he had betrayed Wyldon but he would do it again under the circumstances. There had been tears streaming down Owen’s cheeks but he hadn’t apologized for anything except Happy’s death. He had been trained for eight years not to apologize since apologies were a step away from excuses.
“Yes.” Wyldon thought of the letter he had written to King Jonathan where he alluded to a covert mission to Scanra he had authorized. He had been deliberately vague, constructing exactly the sort of imprecise report he would have scolded a subordinate for composing. The vagueness didn’t make his letter less of a lie, less of a treason, because it was, of course, treason to lie to your king. Before writing the letter, he had assumed that it would be a difficult one, but his hand hadn’t trembled once. Treason, it turned out, was surprisingly easy to commit even after a life devoted to serving the Crown, but his duty was to more than just the Crown. The laws of fealty cut two ways. Obedience to those above you was balanced—or offset—by the obligation to protect those beneath you. Duty to those beneath her had drawn Keladry into Scanra, and duty to those beneath him had compelled Wyldon to lie to his king, something he had never even imagined doing before. “We do our duty but that doesn’t mean we can’t regret it.”
“I didn’t do my duty, sir.” There was a shadowy sadness in Owen’s eyes that Wyldon had never glimpsed before but his gaze remained unflinchingly fixed on Wyldon’s. “I’m a traitor and a liar. I broke faith with you and the Crown.”
Wyldon wondered if he had taught Owen to be too black and white in his thinking. To Owen, people were either loyal or traitors, heroes or villains, honest or liars, brave or cowards. With him, there was no middle ground. Wyldon recognized some of that rigidity within himself and decided that in guiding Owen he was counseling himself. Sometimes the squire could be as good for the knightmaster as the knightmaster was for the squire, not that the squire should ever be told that, of course.
“I prefer to think that you were loyal to Keladry and the refugees rather than unfaithful to me and the Crown.” Wyldon squeezed Owen’s shoulder, reassuring himself that his squire was still alive after a dangerous undercover expedition since if anyone seemed ill-suited to a covert operation it was Owen of Jesslaw.
“Can you be loyal and a traitor at the same time?” Owen’s forehead furrowed.
“The Code of Chivalry lists our many duties but it doesn’t state which ones should take precedent over the others.” That was more of an advocate’s response than a knightmaster’s but since Owen had disappeared behind enemy lines, it had hit Wyldon like a lance that the Code of Chivalry he had memorized as a page and dedicated his whole life since childhood to following to the letter was rife with contradictions. He still didn’t know how to reconcile those contradictions because he was more accustomed to believing in the Code than to questioning it. “We must choose for ourselves what duties are most important and live with the consequences.”
As a page polishing swords, Wyldon had imagined duty as a straight path down which he must march, but now as a knight, he was discovering that it was a winding one with twists he could never have predicted. When your duties collided, it was inevitable that you would betray someone but that didn’t have to mean that you were disloyal. It just meant that you were torn apart by duty in ways you never could have envisioned unless it was given to you by the gods to see the future.
Wyldon had lost the high ground to criticize Owen for his choice to remain loyal to Keladry and her refugees when he hadn’t clapped Keladry and her accomplices in irons and sent them back to Corus in chains. That was his crossing of the Vassa. To ignore treason was to condone it and to become party to it.
“I know we can’t go back in time and I can’t undo even if I wanted to what I did”—Owen was almost breathless from speaking in a rush but there was a flare of hope in his eyes—“but will you ever be able to trust me again, my lord?”
“I never stopped trusting you.” Wyldon studied his squire sharply. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything, sir.” In his relief at having Wyldon’s trust, Owen was too eager to swear a mystery vow.
“You must never tell anyone who doesn’t already know what happened in Scanra about it.” Wyldon grabbed Owen’s shoulder tightly and shook it. His squire feared his wrath more than he did dying, and Wyldon wasn’t above using that to his advantage in situations that could kill. King Jonathan was practical enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth but it was best not to attract attention to the mission that had rescued the refugees and eliminated the killing devices rom the war. The king could only turn a blind eye to treason if it wasn’t shoved under his nose. “I cannot protect you or any of your companions if you fail to keep your mouth closed. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.” Owen slid like an eel out of Wyldon’s grasp, and, massaging his upper arm, glared up at Wyldon. “I’m not stupid, my lord, but neither are other people. They’ll have books full of questions. Am I just supposed to not answer them?”
“No.” Wyldon shot his squire the icy look that was most effective at freezing him. “You’re supposed to remind them that asking incessant questions about matters that are none of their business is rude.”
“Can I borrow your cold stare when I tell them that, sir?” Innocent as a puppy, Owen cocked his head.
“I spent years working on this cold stare, squire.” Wyldon snorted, caught between amusement and irritation at Owen’s exaggerated innocence. “You’ll have to cultivate your own.”
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Fidelity
Summary: After Scanra, Owen and Wyldon face questions of loyalty.
Questions of Loyalty
“You have a hundred questions in your eyes.” Wyldon arched an eyebrow as he shut the door of his office, where he was certain that only Owen dared to eavesdrop upon him or else he would never have risked discussing the secrets that could end in rolling heads if King Jonathan were merciful and drawing and quartering if he weren’t. He had ordered Owen not to say a word until they reached his office, and the boy—maybe more of a man after his adventure in Scanra—had managed to obey. That combined with the fact that Owen hadn’t revealed his intention to join Keladry behind enemy lines before he bolted to Scanra almost gave Wyldon hope that he might be able to keep his mission to Scanra quiet. If only Owen’s eyes could be relied upon not to betray him. “Ask one.”
“Can you regret something that you’d do all over again if you had to, my lord?” Owen bit his lip. Wyldon remembered like a knife in the chest how Owen had knelt at the river bank, admitting, because he never lied even when doing so would have been smarter and easier, that he had betrayed Wyldon but he would do it again under the circumstances. There had been tears streaming down Owen’s cheeks but he hadn’t apologized for anything except Happy’s death. He had been trained for eight years not to apologize since apologies were a step away from excuses.
“Yes.” Wyldon thought of the letter he had written to King Jonathan where he alluded to a covert mission to Scanra he had authorized. He had been deliberately vague, constructing exactly the sort of imprecise report he would have scolded a subordinate for composing. The vagueness didn’t make his letter less of a lie, less of a treason, because it was, of course, treason to lie to your king. Before writing the letter, he had assumed that it would be a difficult one, but his hand hadn’t trembled once. Treason, it turned out, was surprisingly easy to commit even after a life devoted to serving the Crown, but his duty was to more than just the Crown. The laws of fealty cut two ways. Obedience to those above you was balanced—or offset—by the obligation to protect those beneath you. Duty to those beneath her had drawn Keladry into Scanra, and duty to those beneath him had compelled Wyldon to lie to his king, something he had never even imagined doing before. “We do our duty but that doesn’t mean we can’t regret it.”
“I didn’t do my duty, sir.” There was a shadowy sadness in Owen’s eyes that Wyldon had never glimpsed before but his gaze remained unflinchingly fixed on Wyldon’s. “I’m a traitor and a liar. I broke faith with you and the Crown.”
Wyldon wondered if he had taught Owen to be too black and white in his thinking. To Owen, people were either loyal or traitors, heroes or villains, honest or liars, brave or cowards. With him, there was no middle ground. Wyldon recognized some of that rigidity within himself and decided that in guiding Owen he was counseling himself. Sometimes the squire could be as good for the knightmaster as the knightmaster was for the squire, not that the squire should ever be told that, of course.
“I prefer to think that you were loyal to Keladry and the refugees rather than unfaithful to me and the Crown.” Wyldon squeezed Owen’s shoulder, reassuring himself that his squire was still alive after a dangerous undercover expedition since if anyone seemed ill-suited to a covert operation it was Owen of Jesslaw.
“Can you be loyal and a traitor at the same time?” Owen’s forehead furrowed.
“The Code of Chivalry lists our many duties but it doesn’t state which ones should take precedent over the others.” That was more of an advocate’s response than a knightmaster’s but since Owen had disappeared behind enemy lines, it had hit Wyldon like a lance that the Code of Chivalry he had memorized as a page and dedicated his whole life since childhood to following to the letter was rife with contradictions. He still didn’t know how to reconcile those contradictions because he was more accustomed to believing in the Code than to questioning it. “We must choose for ourselves what duties are most important and live with the consequences.”
As a page polishing swords, Wyldon had imagined duty as a straight path down which he must march, but now as a knight, he was discovering that it was a winding one with twists he could never have predicted. When your duties collided, it was inevitable that you would betray someone but that didn’t have to mean that you were disloyal. It just meant that you were torn apart by duty in ways you never could have envisioned unless it was given to you by the gods to see the future.
Wyldon had lost the high ground to criticize Owen for his choice to remain loyal to Keladry and her refugees when he hadn’t clapped Keladry and her accomplices in irons and sent them back to Corus in chains. That was his crossing of the Vassa. To ignore treason was to condone it and to become party to it.
“I know we can’t go back in time and I can’t undo even if I wanted to what I did”—Owen was almost breathless from speaking in a rush but there was a flare of hope in his eyes—“but will you ever be able to trust me again, my lord?”
“I never stopped trusting you.” Wyldon studied his squire sharply. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything, sir.” In his relief at having Wyldon’s trust, Owen was too eager to swear a mystery vow.
“You must never tell anyone who doesn’t already know what happened in Scanra about it.” Wyldon grabbed Owen’s shoulder tightly and shook it. His squire feared his wrath more than he did dying, and Wyldon wasn’t above using that to his advantage in situations that could kill. King Jonathan was practical enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth but it was best not to attract attention to the mission that had rescued the refugees and eliminated the killing devices rom the war. The king could only turn a blind eye to treason if it wasn’t shoved under his nose. “I cannot protect you or any of your companions if you fail to keep your mouth closed. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.” Owen slid like an eel out of Wyldon’s grasp, and, massaging his upper arm, glared up at Wyldon. “I’m not stupid, my lord, but neither are other people. They’ll have books full of questions. Am I just supposed to not answer them?”
“No.” Wyldon shot his squire the icy look that was most effective at freezing him. “You’re supposed to remind them that asking incessant questions about matters that are none of their business is rude.”
“Can I borrow your cold stare when I tell them that, sir?” Innocent as a puppy, Owen cocked his head.
“I spent years working on this cold stare, squire.” Wyldon snorted, caught between amusement and irritation at Owen’s exaggerated innocence. “You’ll have to cultivate your own.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!