Tale of Four

"SER JEREMY ’SCARFACE’ CROSS!" A valley soilder cried out during the feast held within the fort to celebrate the victory, getting a round of laughter. Walking over, he lifted Jeremy up and threw him over his shoulder, easily manhandling him. Despite his pleading eyes, Oliver smiled and shrugged. "A small brat, yet I saw with my own eyes how he killed a man." The man shouted, getting a cry of support as those with drinks held them up in respect. Oliver sighed and leaned on his hand, watching as Jeremy was paraded around, men shouting "Scarface " at him, thanks to the cut running along his cheek.

Although he could see Jeremy didn’t wish to be in the spotlight, he knew it was necessary for the men. They needed heroes and such to rally behind, and nothing was better for them than rallying behind a young boy with a confirmed kill. "All of you." Another man stood up, a stout man in light armour. Slamming his fist on the makeshift table, he looked around, "You should be embarrassed if you did less than a boy without hair."

Men laughed, some at themselves, others at their comrades who they knew hung around the back to avoid fighting. "Lads." Oliver stood up and got the attention of the group. "He’s shy. let him down." The large warrior holding Jeremy boomed with laughter, knowing Oliver was his mentor, and set Jeremy onto a table.

"You’re quite young yourself." The man said, walking over to Oliver. Looking down at him, he grinned wide enough to show his teeth. Soemthing seemed to click in his mind when he got a good look at Oliver, making his grin grow wider, "You’re the one who Lord Alkaris fought in the hall." His words got the interest of men who hadn’t been privy to the first war council. Leaning closer, before Oliver could say anything, the large warrior spun around and slammed his fist on the table a few times.

"The student takes after their teacher." Wrapping a hand around Oliver, he pushed him forward to make sure the rest of the group could see him clearly, uncaring for the pain it caused Oliver in his rib, "This little shit here looked Lord Alkaris in the eyes and told him to let Scarface sit in the council and listen, even when he was green at the time." Slapping Oliver back, he groaned in pain. "Balls of steel. Even managed to cut his grace when they fought a small duel, even if he was embaressed."

The group burst into laughter hearing the story, and Oliver rolled his eyes, stepping forward as three places cleared for him, Jeremy, and the warrior at a table reserved for veterans of past conflicts, all of them older men with hard gazes. Oliver couldn’t help but feel out of place, let alone Jeremy, as they looked at the two with fascinated eyes.

"You ain’t from the Valleys, are ya?" One man with a greying beard asked, before taking a large gulp of wine, unbothered when it spilt into his beard.

"I know how you all feel about the place, but I’m from the flatlands." There was a collective groan at the mention of the land before another leaned forward and smirked.

"I didn’t think that place could make men like yourself. Forgive me, but they’re all weak men who don’t understand hardship over there." Taking a sip of his own drink, he held the cup up afterwards, "No offence." Oliver shook his head in reply, feeling none.

"You’re what, twenty. What was your first kill?" The large warrior who had picked up Jeremy asked. The table perked up. Oliver smiled.

"Seventeen, actually." Confirming his age, the men looked at one another and respectfully nodded. "First kill." Looking up to the clear night sky, he watched as the stars danced and tried to recount it. "I was part of a guard protecting this merchant’s convoy, utter shit pay, but we had to travel through the forestlands. Don’t know if you know, but bandits are always in that place. It is easy to hide and ambush. Anyway, we get through this particularly thick part of the forests, the merchant wishing to save a few coins by taking a dangerous route."

Oliver looked at the man next to him, his drink in particular. Seeing his gaze, he handed it over, letting him have a sip. Wiping his chin, he carried on, "It was a group of around ten bandits, poorly armed, probably some commonfolk who suffered a bad harvest and wished to feed themselves. To cut a long story short, I stabbed them through the stomach. I was an idiot then, so shaken by the first kill that I forgot to finish him off quickly. He bled out screaming in pain, gosh, what a horrid sound." A few men smirked, one laughed, and a few shook their heads, disappointed it wasn’t soemthing better.

"How old?" The same large man asked. Olvier took another sip of his drink.

"Fourteen. After that, I took a few more jobs helping merchants before my name spread and I could help in the lord’s squabbles." The men chuckled, and one turned to Jeremy.

"Was it your first one today?" One asked Jeremy, making him fall silent, tightly clutching his legs under the table. All he could muster was a weak shake of the head. A few men wished to push to ask, but with a sharp glare from Oliver and a few others who could see he was still shaken, they dropped it.

"Scarface." One of the men said with a kinder tone, getting Jeremy’s attention. Looking up, he met the greying man’s eyes, "You can’t be stuck in your head when it comes to these things. It is unhealthy and dangerous, especially during war. It will be hard, and for a while you’ll be like you are, but one day, you’re gonna wake up, and go through the day, and you didn’t think about it. Once that happens, you’re fine."

"But..." Jeremey said with a weak voice, "If it doesn’t?" The man shrugged and took a drink.

"It will. If you’re marching with us, fighting in battle, you won’t have time to be hung up on these things. Eventually, it will be easy. Fighting, killing. The sound and smell. It will all be a passing thought to you." The man leaned forward and pointed a finger at him, "But you gotta grow up quick. I commend you for killing a man so young, hard thing to do, but you’re a knight now. Stop focusing on the past. These people don’t deserve to plague your mind. They will kill you otherwise."

Jeremey meekly nodded, leaning closer to Oliver. Resting a hand on his shoulder, he sighed. "He’s right. No one here will judge you for it, and if they do, ask them when they first did what you did." His grip on his shoulder tightened, "But getting lost in those thoughts will get you killed. What did I always teach you? Survive, that’s all that matters on the battlefield. Not glory, not victory, survival. What good is the rest if you die?"

"You’re mentors’ right", the large warrior next to him said as the rest nodded in agreement. "You’re a tough brat, though. Don’t worry too much. It’ll pass." Jeremy sighed and closed his eyes, leaning even closer to Oliver. Feeling the mood sour, a man looked at Oliver.

"Tell us. You married?" Oliver smiled and looked to the sky, not answering straight away, rather listening to the laughter that then spread throughout the fort.

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