The Red Yarn- It meant something different to each of them. Yet it served as a constant reminder of the journey they had shared.
Owen wore it around his wrist as a bracelet, secured with a simple knot. The men at Giantkiller teased him to no end, thinking it was from his sweetheart back home, but he just ignored the taunts. It was easier than explaining, and the soldiers didn't push him; it was clear that the squire who returned to them, having lost his horse, his friends, and his innocence in the depths of the Scanran wilderness, was different than the boy who had left. But as they watched him bound into the mess after another long morning of dawn watch, even the most stalwart, world-weary soldier had to hide a smile at his unquenchable enthusiasm. Many things had changed, yes; but it was good to know that some things couldn't be beaten away, not by war or punishments or threat of death by flying, and that some spirits could never be fully broken.
It was his badge, that which distinguished him among his peers. Sergeants had armbands, mages their colored robes. Owen had his piece of yarn. But it meant more to him than any honor or title the King might bestow; it meant more to him than his shield. Because that was what he thought it would cost. He had been willing to give up his dreams of knighthood, all that had sustained him in the years since his mother's death, without a second glance or a breath of regret- that single moment taught him more about himself than all of the last seven years together. Kel said that he was growing up. And it was scary, having to make the hard decisions, more scary even than tilting lessons, or Wyldon's face the first time he caught his daughter and squire kissing in a dark corner of the kennels. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being grown up, even if it did mean getting the chance to fight bandits and go adventuring. But he knew he was ready, and that's what set him apart from the crowd. He had been a soldier, a squire, a message runner and a scout, but now, at last, he was a man.
It was his keepsake, a token by which to remember. To remember that one hunted bandits to protect potential victims rather than to seek retribution for old wounds, ones that no amount of deaths could ever heal. To remember that he could put his faith in his instincts, whether they told him to dodge left or to follow his heart rather than his orders. And most of all, to remember the look of approval he had seen flash across his knightmaster's face as he stood defiantly on the bank, ready to defend his friends with his last breath if necessary. Secretly, Owen respected Lord Wyldon more than any other man he knew; more than any other person, really, save Kel and his mother who had died fighting. He had admired his Lord's bravery from the first time he set eyes on the scars which marred the classic features, and a grudging respect continued to grow as each year passed. Now, seeing that same respect mirrored back at him through eyes that were often cold, often distant, at times concerned but rarely ever pleased, Owen knew he had achieved that which he had strived for without fail through the endless rides and countless lessons. He had made his knightmaster proud, earned his regard and esteem as a soldier; and for the first time, it taught him to hope that he might someday win the same approval as a son.
To Owen, it was the strength he needed to face the unknown path before him. The Chamber doors loomed, harsh, unyielding. Faint whispers of the men and women they had lost swam before his eyes as he took that final step inside. But he took it, without hesitation; he was ready.
Four pieces of yarn; four separate people. One journey that wound them inexorably into one another's lives.
Wow, my first story ever completed. Let me know if you think one of the four is particularly weak, and I'll work on it a bit more. Thanks for reading!