Oliver stared up at the rising sun, the distant wails of injured men carried by the wind. Looking down, he saw Jeremy blankly staring ahead, his cheek clean and swollen, struggling to drink the wine he had been given. Although hours had passed since his kill, Oliver could still see that he was affected by it.
"This is war, Jeremy," Oliver said with a rough voice, looking down at the young boy. Resting a hand on his dirty hair, he nodded at a man who limped past, groaning in pain, getting a nod back, "If you want to be a knight, this is what it means. And this wasn’t even a battle but a raid."
"Ser. I... I..."
"Don’t. Don’t feel sad, don’t mourn the man you killed, nor even remember his face. If you do, you carry that with you." Oliver sighed and leaned against his knee, "War is survival, and you survived. I asked you when you first wished to be my squire if you had the stomach to kill a man. To know every battle you could die." Oliver placed a hand on his head and dragged it down, letting outa staggered breath. Pulling back his piercing eyes, he looked ahead. "It’s easy to say yes, but you proved it. You have it in you. It’s filthy, it’s nothing like the stories, but you did it." Oliver sighed, "But I’ll ask one more time, do you wish to continue being my squire. If you say no, I understand. I will take you to a church or soemthing and leave you there. I will abandon my oath and this war to make sure you arrive there."
Jeremy was silent for a while, staring into the pouch of wine. Taking a sip, he gagged but held in his urge to throw up. What felt like an eternity finally passed, and he shook his head, "I will stay." Jeremey stopped talking, almost unsure if that was really what he wanted. Clenching his fists, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to work up whatever courage he could. "I’ll stay. I don’t want to leave you alone. After all, who will wake you up in the morning?" Trying to make a joke, Oliver chuckled and smiled, standing up, helping the young boy to his feet.
"Okay. Just know, Jeremy, this offer can never happen again." Jeremey nodded, "In that case, follow me." Oliver led him away from the pained cries. Passing a tent, he saw the men in charge arguing with one another about the next course of action and arrived at an open area where a group of old and young warriors mixed, laughing and drinking, as if the previous night hadn’t affected them. Oliver knew that at least one of them had lost a friend the previous night, but had to drown out that grief. At the head, one of the leaders of the march urged his men to continue to party, shouting about honouring the fallen.
’Morale is still high despite it.’ Looking past them, he saw large swaths of men guarding the camp as it rebuilt itself, on high alert for another raid that wouldn’t come. "Jeremy. This is how you must deal with the aftermath. If every man succumbed to their grief and fear, the war would be lost. You have to give yourself a reason and others to continue to fight. Like this." Oliver stepped forward, climbing atop a barrel. "MEN!"
His cry got some of their attention, and Oliver smiled, "MEN! YOUR ATTENTION!" Finally, the conversations and laughter died down as everyone looked to Oliver, "To you all, I am happy to announce we have one less green boy with us." Oliver looked around, seeing some of the people roll their eyes, believing it was a knight wishing to make themselves stand out.
Oliver could read their thoughts, having seen many do it before, and shook his head, "It ain’t me, lads. JEREMY!" Jumping out of the barrel, he pulled the young boy close, getting intrigued looks from the surrounding group, "My little brat of a squire earned his first kill. Fought a dismounted rider in melee and won." Oliver looked around, seeing approving nods from the older men, some cheering, seeing how young Jeremy was. "We all know what it means to do this." Pulling his sword, Oliver stared at Jeremy, "Kneel."
Jeremy froze and stared at Oliver, unable to believe what was happening. Oliver chuckled and looked around, "He can kill a man, but freezes when being knighted."His words got a roar of laughter from the men around. "Kneel." Looking back down at Jeremy, the young boy slowly fell to one knee, resting his hand atop it, his previous fear and shame washed away by excitement at what was happening.
The crowd went silent, only the distant wails and laughter of other groups of men heard, "In glory and death, in honour and chivalry, in fury and nobility, I proclaim you worthy to wield your blade, to uphold justice." The sword fell on Jeremy’s left shoulder, resting for a moment. "I proclaim thee, tainted by blood and war, to uphold his truth." The sword moved, resting on Jeremy’s right shoulder, "For each death by your hand is now guided to him. Your title is your penance. His law is true. In the name of the Lord of Chivalry and Repentance, I knight thee, Jeremey Cross, in his name. May your blade be true and your judgement his." Stabbing the sword into the ground, Oliver placed a finger on Jeremy’s forehead, "May this sacred oath bind you to him. May this sacred oath protect you in the battles to come. Swear by this."
Oliver moved his hand back and took a step back, "Rise, Ser Cross." Jeremy didn’t move instantly, still overwhelmed by everything. Only for a moment that was uncomfortably long, did he look up and meet Oliver’s gaze. Nodding, he slowly stood up and looked around, seeing the men smiling in satisfaction. Touching the sword in the ground, Jeremy took a deep breath.
"I swear by this." Moving his hand, Oliver pulled the sword out and sheathed it. Looking around at the men, he smiled.
"LET US DRINK!" His words got a cry of support as the festive mood returned.
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Roderick looked out from Seven Spire at the distant land that slowly morphed into a desert the further it got. Taking a deep breath, he ground his teeth as a crow landed next to him. Taking the letter from its leg, he gave it an affectionate stroke before letting it fly off. Reading it, his fist curled around the letter.
"Send word to Lord Alkairs." Looking at the messenger by his side, he clicked his tongue, "Lord Carter is taking to the field himself."
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