Five Truths
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Summary: Five truths about each of the Dragoons of Endiness.
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His mother never wanted him in the army.
She begged Servi not to let him. She said it was too dangerous. She said the men were too rough, too uncouth, and, somewhat more cannily, that any advancement that came his way would be seen as favoritism, that they would never respect him.
When news of his father's death reached them, she thought that it might have put an end to the matter.
He joined the very next day. A private. First infantry.
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By the time Lavitz became a knight, most of the romance had gone out of the idea.
However, there still existed a tradition that all knights of Basil must be knighted in person by the king. The fact that the king still wasn't shaving yet did nothing to dim the supernova of pride that burst in Lavitz's chest when that sword point touched his shoulders.
In all honesty, he didn't know what to think of the new king. He was young. He had a good head for policy on his shoulders. All in all, Lavitz thought that he was someone he could serve, as his father had served Carlos before him, and serve gladly.
The exact moment where he found himself willing to honestly swear life and limb to the service to King Albert came mere moments later.
King Albert sent him a quirked, nervous smile as his chancellor began rattling off the long pronouncement of Lavitz's new title and lands, his hands resting on the hilt of the sword he'd used to knight him, which stood point first on the flagstones.
Lavitz blinked, startled, the long, sonorous tones of the chancellor droning in his ears, as the king actually rolled his eyes.
The court forever remembered Lavitz's ascent to knighthood as the one where the knight in question started snickering halfway through the ceremony.
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His friendship with the king was always something of a puzzlement to Lavitz, though he never questioned the strength of the friendship itself.
All in all, he thought Albert was rather lonely.
And a beast with a javelin.
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Lavitz was a good soul. Not a father to his men, as Servi was, but what could best be described as the world's stoutest big brother. He followed orders to the letter, and carried them out to the best of his ability.
Nothing he could have done would have prevented the outcome at the ford when the Sandorans fell upon them. Nothing he could have done could have prevented what befell his men.
That being said, it never occurred to him to question the reports given by the hooded councilor that led to his men being there in the first place.
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In the end, all it came down to was his king, on his knees, with a knife at his throat.
There was no other choice he could have made. It was simple.
In Mayfil, the demon wrapped long fingers around his throat and dug its spurs into his back and whispered What would you permit me, were I to allow you to see them again?
There was no choice to be made. Not really. The path was clear.
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