Post by devilinthedetails on May 1, 2023 5:47:00 GMT 10
Title: Reflections on the Long Road North
Summary: Wyldon and Owen reflect on their regrets during a long ride north to the Scanran border.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: References to rape and kidnapping.
Reflections on the Long Road North
“Do you have things in your life you wish you could undo and do all over again, my lord?” Owen’s question cut through the silence that had settled between him and Wyldon on the long road north to the Scanran border.
“Why do you ask?” Wyldon’s sharp brown eyes fixed on the boy like spears. “Do you have regrets, squire? Things you shouldn’t have done weighing heavily on your conscience?”
He didn’t think his squire–who often seemed more like an exuberant puppy in need of caroleing than a warrior in training–had any substantial regrets. Had committed any major crimes worthy of great remorse. Then again, if his checkered tenure as training master had taught him anything it was that his perspective was too skewed to reliably judge those under his tutelage.
After all, he had never envisioned that Vinson would grow into a brute who raped Lower City girls. Or imagined that Joren could be capable of kidnapping a maid and holding her captive in a tower for political reasons. Like a cowardly villain out of the fairy tales Vivenne had read to their daughters when they were younger.
Except in fairy tales, Wyldon remembered, it was always beautiful princesses who were abducted and held hostage to await rescue by bold, chivalrous knights in shining armor.
The fairy tales hadn’t elaborated on the details of what happened when those who were supposed become the bold, chivalrous knights in shining armor grew up to be ruthless monsters who kidnapped and raped the women they should have been sworn to protect. Such details, no doubt, being deemed too lurid and scandalous–too downright grimdark–for the ears of little girls being groomed as proper gentlewomen as all Wyldon’s daughters had been.
“Well.” Owen flushed and squirmed in his saddle but met Wyldon’s gaze squarely enough with cloud gray eyes. Owen, he was fairly certain, was constitutionally incapable of lying. Might collapse in a twitching heap if he attempted it or melt like ice in spring. “I do speak too quickly sometimes. Open my mouth without thinking first. I regret that sometimes.”
Wyldon felt a cresting wave of relief surge through him. His squire’s most significant flaws remained that the lad had a horrible tendency to put his foot in his mouth every time he opened it and that he was reckless to the point of having no survival instincts. The boy–who could not lie to save his life–was not going to confess to kidnapping or forcing himself on unwilling tavern wenches.
He hid his relief behind a mask of severity. Determined not to be lax with this overeager boy who was in such desperate need of discipline and stern guidance. “You do. Let that be a lesson to you. Words, once spoken, cannot be taken back. So they must be measured with care. Nor can we rewrite history. Change the past. So, we must think about our actions and their consequences before we do anything because we can never erase our deeds.”
“Yes, sir.” Owen nodded dutifully. Flicked a sidelong glance at Wyldon as they passed beneath the needled boughs of spruce trees. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”
Wyldon drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. Debating whether he would answer his squire’s question after all. Decided in the end that he would be honest. At least to a point. Grunted, “It doesn’t matter whether I wish I could undo things because I can’t undo them. All I can do is apologize to those I have wronged and seek to make amends. That is the only way I can live with integrity despite my regrets.”
“Oh.” Owen sounded disappointed with the terse sparseness of this reply. “So you do have regrets then, my lord?”
“Everyone has regrets, Jesslaw.” Wyldon’s tone was dry as a bone sucked of marrow by a ravenous dog. He thought of Vinson and Joren. What he had done to turn them into the worst sort of criminals. Thought, too, of Keladry of Mindelan. The student in whom he took the most pride. The student whom he had tried to prevent from becoming a knight or even a page. Whom he had been so tempted to dismiss as a probationer. He had a crooked enough sense of humor to appreciate the irony of that at least. His life would have been dull without such bitter ironies. “I treated your friend Mindelan unfairly at times as you challenged me on sometimes. I put her on an unjust probation and sought to discourage her from training for her shield. I have acknowledged to her that I was wrong to do so.”
It had sliced through his pride like a lash to do so but she had seemed to absolve him. Regard their accounts as square merely because he had baldly admitted his error to her.
She was not, he thought, the type to bear grudge. She was more generous than him. Always had been. He was harsh. Stinting and stingy with his mercy. Even when it came to forgiving himself. Perhaps especially when it came to forgiving himself.
In that same conversation, she had suggested to him that he should take Owen as his squire.
He had considered her words with care. Because he had learned to value her opinion. Trust her clear head.
In the end, it had been the memory of Owen insisting while Mindelan elbowed him in the ribs–urging him to hush–that Mindelan had saved their bacon during the battle with the bandits and that Wyldon had been unfair to question her stomach for blood that had decided him. The boy would stand up for what was right and just even when it wasn’t prudent. He would be a true knight even if he was a hellion. And there was no denying he was a hellion in need of a strong civilizing influence.
“She always respected you, my lord.” Owen’s tone was hushed. Oddly subdued. “Saw you as a hero even when you were treating her unfairly.”
“I know.” Wyldon’s response was curt.
He did know that Mindelan had revered him. Seen him as a brave and just hero of the realm even when he had treated her unfairly. Which made it harder for Wyldon to accept that he had been utterly unworthy of her admiration. Always would be unworthy of her admiration no matter what amends he sought to make.
His clipped manner seemed to alert Jesslaw that it would be wisest to lapse into silence again. Quiet fell between them once more save for the clopping of their horses’ hooves on the dusty road north.
Summary: Wyldon and Owen reflect on their regrets during a long ride north to the Scanran border.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: References to rape and kidnapping.
Reflections on the Long Road North
“Do you have things in your life you wish you could undo and do all over again, my lord?” Owen’s question cut through the silence that had settled between him and Wyldon on the long road north to the Scanran border.
“Why do you ask?” Wyldon’s sharp brown eyes fixed on the boy like spears. “Do you have regrets, squire? Things you shouldn’t have done weighing heavily on your conscience?”
He didn’t think his squire–who often seemed more like an exuberant puppy in need of caroleing than a warrior in training–had any substantial regrets. Had committed any major crimes worthy of great remorse. Then again, if his checkered tenure as training master had taught him anything it was that his perspective was too skewed to reliably judge those under his tutelage.
After all, he had never envisioned that Vinson would grow into a brute who raped Lower City girls. Or imagined that Joren could be capable of kidnapping a maid and holding her captive in a tower for political reasons. Like a cowardly villain out of the fairy tales Vivenne had read to their daughters when they were younger.
Except in fairy tales, Wyldon remembered, it was always beautiful princesses who were abducted and held hostage to await rescue by bold, chivalrous knights in shining armor.
The fairy tales hadn’t elaborated on the details of what happened when those who were supposed become the bold, chivalrous knights in shining armor grew up to be ruthless monsters who kidnapped and raped the women they should have been sworn to protect. Such details, no doubt, being deemed too lurid and scandalous–too downright grimdark–for the ears of little girls being groomed as proper gentlewomen as all Wyldon’s daughters had been.
“Well.” Owen flushed and squirmed in his saddle but met Wyldon’s gaze squarely enough with cloud gray eyes. Owen, he was fairly certain, was constitutionally incapable of lying. Might collapse in a twitching heap if he attempted it or melt like ice in spring. “I do speak too quickly sometimes. Open my mouth without thinking first. I regret that sometimes.”
Wyldon felt a cresting wave of relief surge through him. His squire’s most significant flaws remained that the lad had a horrible tendency to put his foot in his mouth every time he opened it and that he was reckless to the point of having no survival instincts. The boy–who could not lie to save his life–was not going to confess to kidnapping or forcing himself on unwilling tavern wenches.
He hid his relief behind a mask of severity. Determined not to be lax with this overeager boy who was in such desperate need of discipline and stern guidance. “You do. Let that be a lesson to you. Words, once spoken, cannot be taken back. So they must be measured with care. Nor can we rewrite history. Change the past. So, we must think about our actions and their consequences before we do anything because we can never erase our deeds.”
“Yes, sir.” Owen nodded dutifully. Flicked a sidelong glance at Wyldon as they passed beneath the needled boughs of spruce trees. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”
Wyldon drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. Debating whether he would answer his squire’s question after all. Decided in the end that he would be honest. At least to a point. Grunted, “It doesn’t matter whether I wish I could undo things because I can’t undo them. All I can do is apologize to those I have wronged and seek to make amends. That is the only way I can live with integrity despite my regrets.”
“Oh.” Owen sounded disappointed with the terse sparseness of this reply. “So you do have regrets then, my lord?”
“Everyone has regrets, Jesslaw.” Wyldon’s tone was dry as a bone sucked of marrow by a ravenous dog. He thought of Vinson and Joren. What he had done to turn them into the worst sort of criminals. Thought, too, of Keladry of Mindelan. The student in whom he took the most pride. The student whom he had tried to prevent from becoming a knight or even a page. Whom he had been so tempted to dismiss as a probationer. He had a crooked enough sense of humor to appreciate the irony of that at least. His life would have been dull without such bitter ironies. “I treated your friend Mindelan unfairly at times as you challenged me on sometimes. I put her on an unjust probation and sought to discourage her from training for her shield. I have acknowledged to her that I was wrong to do so.”
It had sliced through his pride like a lash to do so but she had seemed to absolve him. Regard their accounts as square merely because he had baldly admitted his error to her.
She was not, he thought, the type to bear grudge. She was more generous than him. Always had been. He was harsh. Stinting and stingy with his mercy. Even when it came to forgiving himself. Perhaps especially when it came to forgiving himself.
In that same conversation, she had suggested to him that he should take Owen as his squire.
He had considered her words with care. Because he had learned to value her opinion. Trust her clear head.
In the end, it had been the memory of Owen insisting while Mindelan elbowed him in the ribs–urging him to hush–that Mindelan had saved their bacon during the battle with the bandits and that Wyldon had been unfair to question her stomach for blood that had decided him. The boy would stand up for what was right and just even when it wasn’t prudent. He would be a true knight even if he was a hellion. And there was no denying he was a hellion in need of a strong civilizing influence.
“She always respected you, my lord.” Owen’s tone was hushed. Oddly subdued. “Saw you as a hero even when you were treating her unfairly.”
“I know.” Wyldon’s response was curt.
He did know that Mindelan had revered him. Seen him as a brave and just hero of the realm even when he had treated her unfairly. Which made it harder for Wyldon to accept that he had been utterly unworthy of her admiration. Always would be unworthy of her admiration no matter what amends he sought to make.
His clipped manner seemed to alert Jesslaw that it would be wisest to lapse into silence again. Quiet fell between them once more save for the clopping of their horses’ hooves on the dusty road north.