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like this chapter. Disclaimer: Characters depicted in the story aren't
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To Become a Knight
"Is that him?"
"Yes, the Fraulein boy. Don't come near him. He's dangerous."
"I heard he beat up the butcher's son just this morning."
"His mother must be very disappointed with how he has turned out."
"I think his father is the one at fault, leaving them when they need him the most."
Percival clenched his bandaged fists and stopped in front of the group of gossiping women. He gave them a dark glare which quickly silenced them. Why can't people stop talking about them and just mind their own business? He didn't start the fight anyway. The other boy did when he started insulting his father.
He watched as the women hurriedly dispersed to do their duties, as if finally remembering that they should continue preparing for the village festival. He tore his dark gaze from the women, as he slipped his hands in the pockets of his faded blue pants, and continued on his way to the fields. He passed by the tables put together in the middle of the village. A feast will be placed there, an offering to their goddess Sadie.
The light breeze ruffled his soft black hair as he neared the windmills at the far end of the village. It was yet another boring day in Iksay, even though there was a festival going on. Well, save for the exercise he got from the butcher's son that morning. He made a mental note to thank Baldy for the activity, after he recuperated from the beating, that is.
He noticed the villagers practically scamper away from his path as he walked. He knew he wasn't very well-liked in the village, his short temper made sure of that. It was entirely his father's fault anyway. He has been gone for months and he never even wrote to them. He made his mother suffer and do all the work while that irresponsible father of his was out there doing only Sadie knows what.
Feh! Thinking about his father makes his head hurt. Percival stopped in front of his father's fields and scanned the area. The vegetables were ready for picking. His mother told him to gather their produce and bring them back home so that she could sell them in a nearby city. He bent and started to do his errand.
He never liked farming. Planting seeds and growing them didn't interest him at all, but it seems that he had no choice since he's living in a remote village like Iksay. He wanted something else, something that required more than just bending and waiting. Something like. . . ranching. Yes! Horses are his passion. Taking care of horses and breeding them is definitely far more interesting than a bunch of vegetables.
He straightened up, excitement lighting up his eyes. He will leave the village and try his luck in a city. A rancher he will become!
"Er, pardon me, young man." Percival looked up at the stranger who was suddenly standing beside him. He never heard him coming and winced over his lack of concentration. Damn, his instincts were off. What if it had been the butcher's son and he wanted to get even with him? He could have been beaten black and blue! He swore that he'll never daydream again.
"What do you want?" The dark-haired boy glared at the man as he recognized him. It was the same man who roughly hauled him off Baldy this morning. Percival's dark glare ran over the stranger from head to toe, a look meant to insult, but the stranger seemed not to mind. He appeared to have come from a distant country from his unfamiliar red and white apparel. He looked annoyingly arrogant in, Percival's thinking.
"One of your. . . er. . . friends directed me to you when I asked for a Fraulein." The red haired man answered with a friendly smile, yet his eyes were guarded. "May I see your mother?"
"Why?" He asked, his dark eyes narrowed. "If you're planning to tell her what happened this morning, I already beat you to it."
"No, it's of a more important matter." The seriousness in the man's voice triggered an unwelcome alarm in Percival. Why he would suddenly feel uneasy, he did not know. Gathering the produce in his arms, he turned to walk back toward the village.
"Follow me."
* * *
Silence filled the Fraulein household. Percival stood in a corner of the small dining room, his fists clenched on his sides. He felt as if the room was closing in on him, suffocating him. What he heard can't possibly be true. He looked at his mother, who sat across the red-haired man called Camus. She was white as a sheet, most probably feeling what he's feeling now.
"He wanted me to give you this." Camus continued, placing a small bronze key on the table in front of him. Both mother and son merely looked at the object, as if afraid of even touching it.
"H-How did this come to pass?" His mother asked. Although the Matilda Knight already told them the whole story, they wanted to hear it again. Needed to hear it again- until it fully penetrates them.
"He joined a group of bandits called the Keepers of the Flame and attacked a small village called Milit." Patiently, Camus retold the story. He completely understood what the remaining Frauleins were feeling. He has seen this same grief before when one of his knights fell, and he personally delivered the news to his lamenting family. It was a very unpleasant situation. "Some comrades of mine from the Dunan Republic were also there. We were able to defeat the false Flame Champion and his men. Some survived, the others weren't so lucky."
"B-But why did he join those bandits?" The woman started to cry. "He was just a farmer! He can't even fight!" Percival watched as his mother finally broke down and cried. He wanted to go to her and comfort her, to remind her that she wasn't the only one who lost a loved one. Damn, he wanted to cry along with her.
But he can't. He must remain strong. One of them should.
"I will present no excuses for what I have done. It was my sword that felled your husband." Camus continued. "I'm sorry."
Silence. That was to be expected. Camus shifted his gaze from the mother to her son. He expected the boy to explode any minute now. From what he has gathered, the Fraulein boy had a fierce temper, but he isn't displaying any of that now. Why?
Camus looked up when he heard the front door close. Percival left.
* * *
Percival sat on a high branch of a large Pasania tree near his father's fields and stared in space, paying no heed to the beautiful picture the sunset created. He has always gone to that exact same spot to alleviate whatever problem that came to him, it was his sacred place. The soft cool breeze of the fields has always soothed his mind from his troubles. But not today.
Today, he just felt numb. His father won't be coming back to them. He never will.
Numbness is good; he realized as he lowered his head and closed his eyes. It can stop him from feeling the pain their loss can bring. It can make him stronger, tougher; for emotions could only weaken a person, just a sign of vulnerability. It will break him if he let it. In a situation like this, he must remain strong, for both him and his mother. It was the only way for them to endure this ordeal.
"It's all right to cry once in a while." Percival almost fell off the tree branch when Camus suddenly spoke. The boy visibly tensed as his gray eyes scanned the area below him and settled on the Red Knight standing on his left, he then sighed. What in Sadie's name is he still doing here?
"Go away." The boy redirected his gaze ahead of him. Camus recognized the look in his eyes before he turned away. There was no emotion whatsoever, only hollowness, which will eventually lead to indifference. Not a very good sign.
The boy cannot become like that. Camus will not let him. His conscience, which he thought has gotten tired of him and ran away, had suddenly sneaked up back to him, devising a peculiar punishment. Atonement. He will commit himself into helping this family, especially the boy. Camus won't let his spirit break.
"Your mother wasn't the only one who lost a loved one." The knight said softly as he leaned back to the massive tree trunk, slipping his arms inside his pockets. "You might think that keeping your tears, your pain inside is a good idea. And then after a while, you'll start thinking that's how it's supposed to be." Silence met his words, and Camus knew that the boy was listening to him. "But it isn't."
"Do you know the saddest thing that can happen to a person?" He continued when Percival still didn't say anything. "When he starts not feeling anything anymore. . . when he becomes a mere empty shell of a man." There was silence again, longer this time; the only sound heard in the field was the soft whisper of the breeze.
"It is better to become a man without a soul than to become a man who succumbs to his emotions, exposing him to vulnerability." Percival suddenly spoke up, much to Camus' surprise. He was beginning to think that the Fraulein boy would sulk the whole afternoon away.
"No, that would merely be putting up a barrier to protect yourself from these sufferings. That would mean you are afraid of facing your pain and your grief." He answered. Was he really talking to an eleven year old boy? Camus wondered. His thinking seemed far too advanced for his age.
"Emotions weaken you."
"Emotions strengthen you." Camus sighed. "It is only when you fully experience and accept these weaknesses, as you call it, will you be able to move on."
"What's the use?" Percival scoffed. "I don't care anymore."
"You should." Camus replied. "For your mother."
"What's it to you anyway?!" Percival finally snapped and jumped down from the branch. Camus straightened up from the tree when he sensed that Percival would finally react to him. He stood up, with his hands on his sides. "You were the one who killed my father! Why should you care if anything happens to us?!" He gave the Red Knight a hard shove.
"You're angry. That's good."
"I'm not angry!" Percival shouted as he landed a solid punch on Camus' middle. The Red Knight didn't even budge. Why the hell was he psychoanalyzing him? "I told you! I don't care!" In angry frustration, Percival started to throw hard punches at the knight. He wanted the older man to feel his pain, wanted to inflict some on him, even physically. "I DON'T CARE!"
Camus stood still as the boy continued to hit him hard. He waited until Percival exhausted himself from the feat, his blows finally weakening. When the boy stepped away from him with his head bowed, Camus realized that he was quietly shedding tears.
They stayed there, rooted to the spot for a while, one waiting patiently for the other to rid himself of his anguish.
The sun has finally set. Percival took a deep breath as he quieted down.
"Come on." Camus quietly said after a while. "Let's go back." Percival nodded without looking at the knight and led the way back to the village.
Geez, that kid sure knows how to fight. Camus winced, secretly rubbing his sore abdomen and sides, as he followed Percival to his home. He was sure as hell he will bruise in the morning.
To Become a Knight
"Is that him?"
"Yes, the Fraulein boy. Don't come near him. He's dangerous."
"I heard he beat up the butcher's son just this morning."
"His mother must be very disappointed with how he has turned out."
"I think his father is the one at fault, leaving them when they need him the most."
Percival clenched his bandaged fists and stopped in front of the group of gossiping women. He gave them a dark glare which quickly silenced them. Why can't people stop talking about them and just mind their own business? He didn't start the fight anyway. The other boy did when he started insulting his father.
He watched as the women hurriedly dispersed to do their duties, as if finally remembering that they should continue preparing for the village festival. He tore his dark gaze from the women, as he slipped his hands in the pockets of his faded blue pants, and continued on his way to the fields. He passed by the tables put together in the middle of the village. A feast will be placed there, an offering to their goddess Sadie.
The light breeze ruffled his soft black hair as he neared the windmills at the far end of the village. It was yet another boring day in Iksay, even though there was a festival going on. Well, save for the exercise he got from the butcher's son that morning. He made a mental note to thank Baldy for the activity, after he recuperated from the beating, that is.
He noticed the villagers practically scamper away from his path as he walked. He knew he wasn't very well-liked in the village, his short temper made sure of that. It was entirely his father's fault anyway. He has been gone for months and he never even wrote to them. He made his mother suffer and do all the work while that irresponsible father of his was out there doing only Sadie knows what.
Feh! Thinking about his father makes his head hurt. Percival stopped in front of his father's fields and scanned the area. The vegetables were ready for picking. His mother told him to gather their produce and bring them back home so that she could sell them in a nearby city. He bent and started to do his errand.
He never liked farming. Planting seeds and growing them didn't interest him at all, but it seems that he had no choice since he's living in a remote village like Iksay. He wanted something else, something that required more than just bending and waiting. Something like. . . ranching. Yes! Horses are his passion. Taking care of horses and breeding them is definitely far more interesting than a bunch of vegetables.
He straightened up, excitement lighting up his eyes. He will leave the village and try his luck in a city. A rancher he will become!
"Er, pardon me, young man." Percival looked up at the stranger who was suddenly standing beside him. He never heard him coming and winced over his lack of concentration. Damn, his instincts were off. What if it had been the butcher's son and he wanted to get even with him? He could have been beaten black and blue! He swore that he'll never daydream again.
"What do you want?" The dark-haired boy glared at the man as he recognized him. It was the same man who roughly hauled him off Baldy this morning. Percival's dark glare ran over the stranger from head to toe, a look meant to insult, but the stranger seemed not to mind. He appeared to have come from a distant country from his unfamiliar red and white apparel. He looked annoyingly arrogant in, Percival's thinking.
"One of your. . . er. . . friends directed me to you when I asked for a Fraulein." The red haired man answered with a friendly smile, yet his eyes were guarded. "May I see your mother?"
"Why?" He asked, his dark eyes narrowed. "If you're planning to tell her what happened this morning, I already beat you to it."
"No, it's of a more important matter." The seriousness in the man's voice triggered an unwelcome alarm in Percival. Why he would suddenly feel uneasy, he did not know. Gathering the produce in his arms, he turned to walk back toward the village.
"Follow me."
* * *
Silence filled the Fraulein household. Percival stood in a corner of the small dining room, his fists clenched on his sides. He felt as if the room was closing in on him, suffocating him. What he heard can't possibly be true. He looked at his mother, who sat across the red-haired man called Camus. She was white as a sheet, most probably feeling what he's feeling now.
"He wanted me to give you this." Camus continued, placing a small bronze key on the table in front of him. Both mother and son merely looked at the object, as if afraid of even touching it.
"H-How did this come to pass?" His mother asked. Although the Matilda Knight already told them the whole story, they wanted to hear it again. Needed to hear it again- until it fully penetrates them.
"He joined a group of bandits called the Keepers of the Flame and attacked a small village called Milit." Patiently, Camus retold the story. He completely understood what the remaining Frauleins were feeling. He has seen this same grief before when one of his knights fell, and he personally delivered the news to his lamenting family. It was a very unpleasant situation. "Some comrades of mine from the Dunan Republic were also there. We were able to defeat the false Flame Champion and his men. Some survived, the others weren't so lucky."
"B-But why did he join those bandits?" The woman started to cry. "He was just a farmer! He can't even fight!" Percival watched as his mother finally broke down and cried. He wanted to go to her and comfort her, to remind her that she wasn't the only one who lost a loved one. Damn, he wanted to cry along with her.
But he can't. He must remain strong. One of them should.
"I will present no excuses for what I have done. It was my sword that felled your husband." Camus continued. "I'm sorry."
Silence. That was to be expected. Camus shifted his gaze from the mother to her son. He expected the boy to explode any minute now. From what he has gathered, the Fraulein boy had a fierce temper, but he isn't displaying any of that now. Why?
Camus looked up when he heard the front door close. Percival left.
* * *
Percival sat on a high branch of a large Pasania tree near his father's fields and stared in space, paying no heed to the beautiful picture the sunset created. He has always gone to that exact same spot to alleviate whatever problem that came to him, it was his sacred place. The soft cool breeze of the fields has always soothed his mind from his troubles. But not today.
Today, he just felt numb. His father won't be coming back to them. He never will.
Numbness is good; he realized as he lowered his head and closed his eyes. It can stop him from feeling the pain their loss can bring. It can make him stronger, tougher; for emotions could only weaken a person, just a sign of vulnerability. It will break him if he let it. In a situation like this, he must remain strong, for both him and his mother. It was the only way for them to endure this ordeal.
"It's all right to cry once in a while." Percival almost fell off the tree branch when Camus suddenly spoke. The boy visibly tensed as his gray eyes scanned the area below him and settled on the Red Knight standing on his left, he then sighed. What in Sadie's name is he still doing here?
"Go away." The boy redirected his gaze ahead of him. Camus recognized the look in his eyes before he turned away. There was no emotion whatsoever, only hollowness, which will eventually lead to indifference. Not a very good sign.
The boy cannot become like that. Camus will not let him. His conscience, which he thought has gotten tired of him and ran away, had suddenly sneaked up back to him, devising a peculiar punishment. Atonement. He will commit himself into helping this family, especially the boy. Camus won't let his spirit break.
"Your mother wasn't the only one who lost a loved one." The knight said softly as he leaned back to the massive tree trunk, slipping his arms inside his pockets. "You might think that keeping your tears, your pain inside is a good idea. And then after a while, you'll start thinking that's how it's supposed to be." Silence met his words, and Camus knew that the boy was listening to him. "But it isn't."
"Do you know the saddest thing that can happen to a person?" He continued when Percival still didn't say anything. "When he starts not feeling anything anymore. . . when he becomes a mere empty shell of a man." There was silence again, longer this time; the only sound heard in the field was the soft whisper of the breeze.
"It is better to become a man without a soul than to become a man who succumbs to his emotions, exposing him to vulnerability." Percival suddenly spoke up, much to Camus' surprise. He was beginning to think that the Fraulein boy would sulk the whole afternoon away.
"No, that would merely be putting up a barrier to protect yourself from these sufferings. That would mean you are afraid of facing your pain and your grief." He answered. Was he really talking to an eleven year old boy? Camus wondered. His thinking seemed far too advanced for his age.
"Emotions weaken you."
"Emotions strengthen you." Camus sighed. "It is only when you fully experience and accept these weaknesses, as you call it, will you be able to move on."
"What's the use?" Percival scoffed. "I don't care anymore."
"You should." Camus replied. "For your mother."
"What's it to you anyway?!" Percival finally snapped and jumped down from the branch. Camus straightened up from the tree when he sensed that Percival would finally react to him. He stood up, with his hands on his sides. "You were the one who killed my father! Why should you care if anything happens to us?!" He gave the Red Knight a hard shove.
"You're angry. That's good."
"I'm not angry!" Percival shouted as he landed a solid punch on Camus' middle. The Red Knight didn't even budge. Why the hell was he psychoanalyzing him? "I told you! I don't care!" In angry frustration, Percival started to throw hard punches at the knight. He wanted the older man to feel his pain, wanted to inflict some on him, even physically. "I DON'T CARE!"
Camus stood still as the boy continued to hit him hard. He waited until Percival exhausted himself from the feat, his blows finally weakening. When the boy stepped away from him with his head bowed, Camus realized that he was quietly shedding tears.
They stayed there, rooted to the spot for a while, one waiting patiently for the other to rid himself of his anguish.
The sun has finally set. Percival took a deep breath as he quieted down.
"Come on." Camus quietly said after a while. "Let's go back." Percival nodded without looking at the knight and led the way back to the village.
Geez, that kid sure knows how to fight. Camus winced, secretly rubbing his sore abdomen and sides, as he followed Percival to his home. He was sure as hell he will bruise in the morning.