Whoa. No excuse. I hope to update more regularly from now on.
Blood Stigma
Chapter 10: Reminiscence
In the following months Albel grew like a weed, up but not out. He gained that sort of gawky figure that was all arms and legs and no meat, which wasn't helped by his diminishing appetite. His father repeatedly tried to shove food down his throat but Albel couldn't seem to find the motivation to eat it.
After Albel's embarrassment in his first skirmish Glou did not let him onto the battlefield for a number of months. Albel would not let on but he wasn't too keen on revisiting the field of his humiliation. He began waking up a little later in the day to practice and would quit before he was really exhausted. The half-hearted swings of his sword didn't seem to give him the kind of pleasure and vindication that it once had, and he began to grow careless, careless enough to injure himself in practice. The wound on his torso wasn't serious enough to merit serious medical attention but the pain kept him awake at night and he barely slept.
Sometimes Albel gave up trying to sleep and crept out at night to sit outside in the snow, distracting his body with the cold. Tonight, however, he noticed the soft light of candles seeping under his door. He stepped out of his chamber to see his father sitting at the table with a bottle of rum at is right hand, forehead supported by his palm.
Glou raised his head at his son's entrance, and motioned for Albel to take a seat. Albel was uncomfortable with the unfamiliar scene but complied.
"Your mother died fourteen years ago tonight."
That would explain it. With recent events passing as they had, Albel had forgotten his own birthday. It seems that his father had as well, Albel thought bitterly, instead opting to mourn his dead wife.
Glou did not wait for a reply and spoke anyway. "I know it's silly to do this every year. Completely meaningless. I just feel that I have to."
Albel couldn't even begin to think of what he was supposed to say at a time like this. Give his father a comforting pat on the pack? Offer sympathy? Say something trite like, 'I'm here, father?' Albel shifted and planted his feet on the floor as if to get up and leave.
"Don't." Something about the way Glou said that made Albel stay. "I know I sound like a drunk old man right now but... you'll understand eventually. When you're older, and married."
Albel swallowed. "I don't want a wife."
Glou laughed, soft and brief. "I guess you're too young now to be thinking of that sort of thing. Trust me: you'll want a woman in time. There's more to life than victory and battles."
There were words in his mouth that Albel couldn't find the breath to let out. He said nothing.
"Ah, go back to bed. I've got nothing important to say anyway." Glou looked back at his flask and took a large swig.
Albel jumped at the chance to leave, even if it meant he would not be able to go out into the snow. He went back to his chamber and shut the door with a click before throwing himself onto his bed for another night of sleeplessness. He rolled onto his side and curled towards the wall, the pain from his bandaged wound nearly forgotten.
Around dawn, sheer exhaustion brought him to sleep.