The Gray Guard
Were it easier to write this, I would have started it sooner. Yet I sit here and with pen in hand to write an account of how my life was changed by a single person. I was never a stranger to sorrow, it held my hand from my childhood when the sleeping death took my parents and left me in the care of my well meaning, but ambitious aunt. I lived with her shadow darkening my childhood with one contrived illness after another, in constant fear of the unknown and hoping that all she had said was, a lie. Yet, I feared the worst would come to me as it did my parents. My aunt rationalized that I was to be locked away to prevent the sickness from getting me. Maybe, somewhere in her logic, she was right. Yet, as I watched the sun rise and fall losing track of days, seasons, years, I had only my imagination to keep me company and the tales of my nurse.
My nurse was a splendid story teller, beyond simply caring for me through my "sickness" she entertained and taught me to read, write, and would often sneak books from the royal library to help me in my studies. Had it not been for her patience and courage, I would not be writing this memoir now. My Aunt never knew how she saved my life, but I prefer that she remain ignorant until I have my satisfaction.
Yet, even during the dark hours, just before dawn, when the cell of my room was deathly cold. It was then, I felt utterly alone. My candle would gutter out, sending me once more into darkness and I waited hoping at least for starlight to break through but finding none. I remembered listening to the rats chatter along the walls, their small feet scurrying to and fro. Sometimes, they would fight and make horrible noises screaming at each other until it fell silent and I knew I would find the remains somewhere when the sun would rise high enough for me to see.
I guess I should explain to you why I lived in such a state. My Aunt felt that the most secure and safest room in the entire castle was the dungeon. She had found the darkest cell and converted it to my own, sanctuary. Yet, I knew the truth, there was no such thing as sanctuary from her. Instead, she simply waited, but to her dismay, I did not die as she had planned.
Fortune graced me with a friend of small stature but mighty strength. My friend rescued me, he saved me from my Aunt and together we took back the Kingdom. I was crowned King, and I lived for many a happy year basking in the light. I remembered my first time watching the sunrise from my own room. It dazzled me! The fresh air made my head spin with dizzy delight, as the sound of birds singing felt like a heavenly chorus. I remember the first time I rode a horse, and how I was terrified of the beast. I remember the forest, and how I felt so free there.
The forest was the home to my best friend, and his family. As I write this, I am having a difficult time trying to describe to you, dear reader, who he actually is. A rational mind would deny the existence of such creatures, as science or our known natural history has no recollection of them ever existing. Therefore, if we can not prove they existed, then they are not real. Yet, before me sits one who is quite real, but also something of an enigma. He was created by a craftsman of legendary skill, but his soul is his own. The question remains, can the creation have a thought for itself, or is it only limited by the creator? My friend has taught me the contrary, that despite our plot in life, we are responsible for our actions alone. It is with that thought that I turn to him now. My friend is a doll of sorts, yet he has no gear or key. He can not be wound up, but he is susceptible to water. He is incredibly strong, but also weak. His creator knows him better than I do, yet he chooses to live with me. His creator called him Clockwork, a name that described his function rather than his form. Yet, the name stuck, and I have used it since. I am not sure how long he will remain with me, but as the years pass I find that our friendship has changed.
When I first met Clockwork, I admit I was dependent upon him entirely. My mind felt fragile as I struggled with accepting the death, no the murder, of my parents, the attacks made upon my own person by trusted family, and finally the responsibility of being a Good King. I relied on his advice and guidance during those years and I freely admit that his encouragement, support, and love made me into the man I am today.
Yet, now I look at Clockwork differently. We regard each other with a mutual respect borne from such longstanding friendships, but I seek his counsel less often. I feel stronger now, more capable of making my own choices. Granted, my friend helped me establish a groundwork for my Kingdom unlike any had seen before, or will ever see in the future. My people are happy, the land is productive, and I watch as the inheritance I received from my father flourishes.
Yet, war looms upon the horizon. Rumors of war, rumors of ambitious young Kings who seek to expand their borders and take advantage of the work already set in order now threaten from beyond my lands. Within, corruption among the traders, and poachers plague my forests preying upon my game stock. Woodsmen have tried to steal my lumber without paying the tariffs due. I have been merciful, but as more of my people bring me tales of such trouble my heart sinks.
I had travelled to visit my Uncle, seeking his guidance for such matters. Yule had arrived and I thought it wise to visit him heeding Clockwork's advice. It was there, that I met a most interesting visitor to my Uncle's Kingdom. A certain young girl, from a land and time far removed from my own entered my life. She opened my eyes to new possibilities, and roused a feeling I had long thought impossible to have. When I looked into her eyes, my heart skipped a beat. It is hard to describe love without sounding like lust, and I guess it could be just as hard to describe lust without sounding somewhat like love. Yet, the two are very different but closely and often follow one another as night follows day. So, I too, lingered longer than I intended at my Uncle's castle, choosing to bask in the pleasant presence of her for the time I had before returning home.
It was then, that I found the war had reached my border. My Aunt had assembled an army and had already crossed into my outer lands burning villages and destroying the livelihood of my people. She was a cruel mistress taking no captives only leaving a trail of blood that left a crimson stain upon my land. Villages, churches, even a cathedral fell to her horde, and many a strong, hardworking man fell to the axe. I was forced to take up my sword but I did not do so alone. I sent for her. I had seen her in battle, and I knew she had a talent I could use. Her skill was with magic, and this was not an ordinary battle.
She answered my call and came to meet me there.
I gave her the best of me, I gave her my all. Yet, she did not take them as readily as I expected. Instead, with a humble heart she only accepted my gift after the battle had finished. I loved her so much, it hurt.
Yet, love as I have learned, often hurts the most when it is the strongest.
When she returned I knew I had lost her to another. I may never know how or why it happened the way it did. Sometimes, I think about it, but when I do I only feel pain. I do not wish to continue to think of her with pain, but with joy. Yet, as I sit here, the tears still stain the parchment.
I used the pain. The bandits still haunted my roads, the poachers still used my forests. I could do nothing as a King, so I took off my crown and became a ghost.
The first attack did not go as planned, but I learned quickly how to accost them when they least expected. I followed the old ranger routes, the secret paths through the forest Clockwork knew, and some I knew from another life when I was transformed into a stag. I found my way, and stole upon them as they celebrated their evil deeds. I crushed them leaving only their vacant unseeing eyes staring up into the trees as their blood watered the grass below. With each swing, with each attack I felt stronger. My thirst for revenge felt complete, it was not just revenge but vengeance. I was getting my own justice for what happened to my parents, to my home, to my Kingdom. No one would know any different.
I would return on my own horse, no questions were asked. It was not uncommon for a young King to leave the grounds for the night and return in secret. I knew the rumors were that I had several mistresses in town. I let them speculate, all the better. I could never love them as they wanted, just as she would never love me as I wanted.
Instead, I swore to protect her.
She will never know, none of them will, but I am the Gray Ghost. Those who chose to ride with me, will be known only as the Gray Guard. They are the ones the rangers will speak of in hushed tones, the Knights will fear, and the Paladins will tremble. We are the company who will go where others dare not venture, and we will route out the evil cancer that plagues this land once and for all.