The sun beat down upon his bare back like a shower of heat and the sweat coating his skin didn't help to refresh him at all. He was certain he would burn as a crisp at the end of his training.
He grunted as the brunt of his father's training sword connected with his sternum and sent him keeling into the dirt. He brought a hand over his eyes when the sun seared his retinas and took a deep breath when his lungs started working again.
"As much as I admire your strong offensive, never underestimate fighting in defensive. Your strikes are quite imprecise too", grunted Validar.
"Yes father."
With that Robin stood, swiped the dirt off the back of his silver hair and got into sparring position again. He kept his eyes trained onto his father who stared him down without an ounce of pity.
It was like this every two days, they'd come down in the courtyard to train in fencing, magic, hand combat and meditation. It was only the two of them, no one was allowed to see the High hierophant, dressed in such a fashion: bare chest, loose pants and laced boots.
Truly decadent.
He did enjoy those training sessions, even though he came out of them exhausted and in pain, it was the only time he could see the old man.
Well...
Old man wasn't really the term. He could still pack quite a punch if he wanted to, even if swords were never his weapon of choice.
"Try again then!", barked the man, the stern look in his dark eyes never gone.
They repeated feints and lunges over and over again, till Robin felt like his arm would fall off his shoulder for keeping it stretched for so long. Answering his prayers, his father ended the fencing practice for the meditation session.
They sat under the archways the contoured the courtyard, in the shade. Robin could finally savour the fresher air against his skin and the calming descent of his heartbeat. This was by far his favorite moment: the surreal tranquility, the lazy whistling of the wind that past above the castles spires and towers, the distant songs of unfettered birds and the soft lapping of the fountain.
This was his only moment of peace.
He wasn't restrained by traditions or obligations, no longer being stuffed underneath ceremonial clothing or being critiqued by his father who expected so much of him.
His father, Validar had incredible pressure on his shoulders before Robin's birth. Plegia had been waiting for the return of Grima for a century and generation by generation, the holy family had brought nothing but disappointment, till Robin was born with the long sought for mark of Grima on his hand. Tragedy almost befell Plegia when his mother tried to escape with him as an infant.
Robin never knew how she truly died, but the ones who were charged to chase her in the middle of that fated night told him she was still weak from giving birth to him and her run during a cold desert night made her fatally ill.
Robin had no memories of her, nor any portraits. He only had her soft traits and silvery blond hair in heritage.
She was just a name barely spoken about between the walls of his palace.
"Yesterday, you said something about the dragonstones and the fact that I could probably use them..." said Robin to his father as they were back in the Hall, sponging their sweat off.
Validar plunged the loaf into the water bowl a servant brought them a few moments ago.
"Yes you could use them to boost your magic abilities or use them to replace tomes altogether."
"Will I be to channel different types of magic through it?" asked Robin, curious, since tomes were infused with a single type of magic which the caster could absorb then launch. The actual content of tomes were for studying and to refine the use of the tome's magic.
But if a dragonstone could liberate raw magic that he could shape into any element he wanted to, it would be revolutionary.
"Would you be able to", corrected the man, rising a finger as a warning. "It's a theory I came about quite recently. And we don't have a dragonstone in our possession. That's why I am planning to pilgrim to the Vent'am Shrine, next week."
Robin fished for fresh clothes that were piled on a bench and he rose an eyebrow.
"Isn't that a minor shrine? Wait... isn't that the one where an old Earth dragon was buried?"
"With all of his belongings..."
"So there "might" be a dragonstone in there. Are you sure you want to desecrate a sacred ground... just for suppositions?"
His Validar was silent and the look in his eyes grave. Robin gulped and played the hem of the tunic he just put on.
"Plegia is doing small raids on Ylisse, we cannot outright march to the Ylissean capitol with our army in shambles, but such a day will come", added his father, a dark undertone in his voice. "This will be the day the Ylisseans will believe the rumors that Grima has truly returned among us and they will target you."
It's true that Ylisse heard of Grima's return in flesh and blood, but the same buzz surrounded the sacred bloodline every time a new member was born and for the halidom it'd be impossible to say if Robin's birth was the legit Grima's reincarnation... or at least Robin hoped it was...
His father sighed and he beckoned his son to leave the Hall with him. The servants lined the walls of the corridors prostrated themselves at the High Hierophant's arrival.
"Are they already suspecting it is true, that I am Grima?" enquired Robin "There are rumors of spies wandering around Plegia and even in the Grimleal. They might have noticed that the Grimleal behaves differently than when you were at the head."
"I doubt they would infiltrate the Grimleal, nor will they be able to get in contact with you.
Robin thought of all the people he knew, which wasn't much. His father, Aversa, a personal instructor, that he barely saw these days, and the close circle of hierophants that was re-elected every five years.
"Would infiltrating the circle of hierophants be possible for a spy?"
Validar huffed with a smirk on his face.
"I would love to see them try! Those Ylissean won't ever be able to set foot in the clergy with their inability in occult magic. And on top of that, I took the Cardinal Secretary of State's position. No un-fellblooded can touch you.
It was Robin's time to smirk.
"I'll tell Aversa to pack her things then."
He cringed as Validar had gripped the nape of his neck.
"Your words are meant to be the truth, you should never lower yourself to useless tales. Got it?" He was pleased to see his son's nod. "But it's true, Aversa had tried to get closer to you lately. I shall have a word with her."
He parted way with his father at the chapel as they did every day. The small chapel was silent and peaceful, with drapes of golden light cascading from the high clerestory windows, moths of dusts floating.
...silent...
It was at this moment that he realized that his life would become more and more like this. Eerily silent and filled with solitude. His father wishing to reduce Aversa's presence in the portrait was proof of that.
Sighing, Robin dropped to his knees in front of the altar.
Mesmerized by the tears of ink that dripped from his pen, Robin couldn't bring himself to bring the blurry words in his mind onto paper. Inspiration had long since flowed out of him, which was a given considering the number of pages he had written in the span of two years.
The pen dropped into the ink pot with a tiny splash and Robin grunted, resting his head against the backrest of his chair. After rubbing the exhaustion from his bleary eyes he glanced at the rolls of papyrus strewn across his desk. It was close to nine hundred pages after the copyists are done putting it in book form. But he had to do more than a thousand pages, more than what his father and ancestors did. Writing religious scriptures were a tradition and obligation since the Fell dragon was vanquished. The purpose of Grima has to be carried by those in whom the Fell blood flowed. As Grima reincarnated, the expectations were much higher with him. He mustn't disappoint. Once his long book would be finished, the copies will be sent in the largest temple in every plegian city, to be hollered at the mass and venerated as the Word of Grima.
Stress made him even less inspired. He had talked about every subject and even tried to decipher his nuts great-great grandmother's book for new ideas, but nothing. He had already approached the subject of the Apocalypse Grima would bring and how that Death was only temporary. The Fell Dragon would collect the souls of every being on Earth, sinners as well and carry them far above the World while its mighty wings beat down the unholy soil that Humanity had committed such atrocities upon. Grima's breath of ice and fire would shape the new World. Fresh and untarnished.
Those servants of Naga praised they were fixing the World by defending their morals and ideologies at the tip of bloody swords. It has never worked. Even though they had a century to demonstrate it.
They can't fix this broken world. They needed to be born again. But who would be born must first destroy a world.
He wondered what such a world would look like. A world were skirmishes a thing of the past. One without boundaries... one where he could be free?
His fingers danced around his pen.
A/N
It took slightly longer than I thought it would for this chapter. I had to research about the routine of religious figures.
I managed to cite Hermann Hesse, yeah! *achievement!*
And I wrote about a third of it tipsy *points at my dad* that's his fault. He thought it was a good idea to "celebrate" the end of the semester and he gave me a rhum-punch.
See ya