Her father’s smile was gentle. “You are not the first warrior to fall into this trap, my beloved daughter. It has claimed many a brave and noble knight who have done our nation great service in times of war, only to fall prey to folly when those knights resort to such furious techniques when assaulted within the political cauldron we call Erovering, our home.” He gently kissed her forehead. “I have had more than one friend fall into blood-debt and banishment for such folly, men who were beyond reproach, who you could trust to guard your back without question, no matter how hot the cauldron of war did boil.”
Her father sighed. "I shudder to think of the perils you faced in those realms of madness and dream that you were forced to endure. I can only think it must have been something like my most fearsome engagements, and I grieve for the scars it has left upon your soul."
Her father's gaze turned distant and sad, staring off at sights that seemed far beyond the confines of his daughter's bedroom. “I will tell you my secret hope, Jess. It is that with time and love, the wounds that have caused you such grief for so long, can at last be healed.” Her father gently stroked her cheek. “Do you see, my child? The lessons of Highrock are past us both. We now embrace a different type of struggle. It requires a different approach, and different tools than what was used for the direct savage conflicts you and I have both trained so earnestly to master during our formative years. And there is no shame in the noble deeds you have accomplished, my Jessica. But sometimes, battle wisdom can slip into battle madness, for there is only so much pressure a mind can endure. And perhaps, my child, this is fate's way of saying that you have done enough, more than enough in the service of Highrock, in taking on the mad duties of doomed Delvers, and that it is for others to now take the vanguard.”
He gently kissed her forehead. “It is time to beat your blades into plowshares, my child.”
Jess squeezed her eyes tight, shaking with shame. “Mother,” she whispered, “she absolutely hates me.”
"I know the fierceness of your mother's temper, my child. I know it all too well." Her father chuckled gently, ruefully. "I too have played the drunken, belligerent fool a time or two before my war wounds closed, and I was fully myself once more. And I was a very fortunate man to have your mother by my side. Even though she demanded a discipline from me that I struggled to bring to the fore, it was to my own benefit that I allowed her to guide me, to teach me some of her own art and wisdom, difficult as those lessons were."
Arthur took a deep breath, gently squeezing his daughter's supine shoulder, even as he gazed thoughtfully out her windows, to the forests and fields beyond. “What you have to understand, my Jess, is that your mother is afraid. She is afraid for you, and afraid for our family.” Her father kissed her forehead then. “But do not despair, my child. We will get through this. You will attend finishing school as a proper young lady when your mother feels you have… healed sufficiently to be up to the task. The Court will see the proper and sweet young woman you are, guilty of nothing more than wounds of the psyche and soul from terrible battles fought on behalf of the college you have studied at faithfully, and in the rescue of vassals to whom our protection is owed.”
Her father nodded reassuringly. “Humbled, tender, of good heart and warm cheer, I don’t see how they could do otherwise than love you as I do. You will show them it is safety and love that you seek, that the dance of steel is one you are long past, and are now ready for a gentler, more peaceful life. Is that not so, my love?”
His gentle words, his love and understanding, pulled at Jess’s heartstrings as deeply as her mother's fierce disappointment in her had lanced her soul. The combination was more than she could bear and she found herself shaking with emotion she was desperate to contain, clinging to her father fiercely, if carefully. She would have promised the man she adored above all others anything then, anything at all, to be worthy of his warm loving smile once more.
“Jessica.” Twilight only spoke that one word, yet it rippled through her, vibrating and resonating so deeply that, like a terrible northern gale, it froze her sorrow into icy resolve, frigid and fierce, roaring across ancient steppes in far off lands frozen in winter’s deadly grip.
Jess gasped, suddenly aware that she was about to promise her father anything. To swear she would never touch another blade all her life. She bit her lip fiercely, surprised to taste the hot coppery tang of blood flood her mouth.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I promise not to run away, Father. Not now, at least. Even though I can't bear the thought of Mother gazing at me with such despair, crushing me to nothing."
Her father grew still, and Jess felt a sudden wave of anxiety wash through her. "Yes, Father. I will even attend this Royal Ladies Academy, even though it makes a mockery of all that I ever was, ever trained to be. Once honored as a knight, now but a pathetic broken wretch of a daughter. In Mother's eyes, at least."
Jess feared she had gone too far, but her father simply sighed and nodded. "Very good, my Jessica. Very good." He pulled away, smiling. "You see, my love? Not so hard. And why would it be? As intelligent and agile as my fine daughter is, I have no doubt you will be the envy of many, and catch a worthy young lord's eye, once you master the arts of womanly grace with the same admirable zeal with which you applied yourself to… other pursuits." He nodded matter-of-factly. "And I trust you will not be going out of your way to acquire new armaments?"
Jess blinked, breathed, and nodded slowly. "Don't worry, Father. As long as I live under this roof, I won't seek any new armaments, save that which you and Mother deem me worthy of having.”
Her father gave a satisfied nod at that. “Excellent, my child. Do not worry, we will get through this. You shall see.” He gave her a wink then. “Fret not, my little lamb. It will all work out.”
“I hope so, Father, I truly do hope so.” As much as Jess wanted to lie back down and close her eyes, and sink back into sleep with her father’s gentle words soothing her heart, Twilight's brilliant sapphire gaze reminded her of another promise she had made.
“Father?” Jess spoke tentatively, afraid that one over-eager request could send her father flying into the same near incoherent fury her mother had been in, confronting Jess with the horrific folly she had committed, perhaps with devastating repercussions that they had only begun to feel resonate through their House.
“Yes, my child?” Her father’s voice was gentle, like his gaze, as he stroked her hair, as if she were a wild animal, in danger of fleeing at any moment.
Jess took a shuddering breath. “You know how troubled my dreams once were.”
He nodded his understanding, gesturing for her to continue.
“Father, please tell me that you don’t mind if I reclaim my mithril artifacts and other gear in my dreams? So that I may feel their strength and assurance resonate through me, so that I may sleep more peacefully, knowing that I still have the means to defend myself, at least in the realm of dreams?”
Her father chuckled softly, kissing his daughter's brow. "My child, I remember only too well the screams that would echo through our great house, when the nightmares hit you without mercy. If it eases your heart, by all means, reclaim your gear." He winked then. "But only in the realm of dreams, my Jess. You must promise me, child, you will not seek to reclaim your artifacts in the waking world. Not for a long time, at least. Perhaps years, my love, and only if peril is at our doorstep, or your mother feels you are ready to accept their burden once more. For now, you may only reclaim them in the realm of dreams. Agreed?"
Jess nodded. “Thank you, Father. I will sleep easier tonight knowing that in my sleep, at least, I will be well protected from the nightmares that would otherwise see me as vulnerable prey.”
Her father gave her a measured look before at last nodding. “Very well, Jess. I am putting my trust in you. I do hope you won’t let me down.”
Jess lowered her gaze. “I don’t ever want to let you down again, Father. I don’t think my heart could take both my parents l
ooking at me as if I were a raving beast, best put out of its misery.”
Her father gently lifted Jess's chin, gazing with heartfelt concern into her daughter’s eyes. “Your mother is upset, furious at the folly that has befallen us, terrified for your sake and our family’s. But not for one moment does she think of you as a broken war hound, my beloved. She understands, underneath her frustration, that you are just a child who was trained too hard, pushed too far, forged to be the deadliest of weapons, all in preparation for a war I pray never comes, thrust into a role no young woman should have to endure, whatever Eloquin might think.”
Her father's knowing stare caused Jess's heart to hammer.
All this time. All this time and he knew just how she was being trained. Knew what it meant to be a Squire of War. Perhaps even knew that she was being groomed to lead the vanguard, spearhead massive charges into the heart of Velheim's forces, having trained with desperate intensity and ferocity, just so she would have a prayer of surviving that first, terrible engagement, only to be expected to do it again and again. And how she had reveled in the thrill of it. The challenge of it. Had loved that training, fierce and hard, as much as she had anything in her life. And it was only at that moment that Jess appreciated that once her gifts had become apparent, she never really had a choice but to do just that; to embrace the most savage aspects of herself, fierce and terrible, reveling in the blood of raiders and slavers, training for the chaos of wars to come, for that was her only path to survival.
And when the heady rush of bloodthirst and battle would pass, she and her fellow Squires having wiped yet another band of slavers off the face of Dawn, then and only then could she allow grief to flood through her, when all her foes were corpses upon the ground. And so understanding Eloquin would be then, according them all the same privileges as any soldier on crusade, wine and brandy fit for the king's hall always made available after those engagements, and when all the Squires and Knight Aspirants lost themselves in lust and wine for days on end, to push away the horrors endured, no one at Highrock dared to say a word.
And the thought that somehow her father understood, understood just how fast and hard she had grown up, even in her first year at Highrock, filled her now with a curious shame. Yet never had he castigated her, having himself led thousands of young troops through the horrors of war. Who better to understand their torments than he? And always the rulers of Erovering honored the sacrifices of the vanguard, leading the charges of war, forever braving the front lines. Her father had allowed Jess to live a double life of sorts, never saying a word.
Her father, who had once been the king's right hand man. Of course he understood the deadly role his onetime battle brother, currently planning the campaign against Velheim even now, had planned for Arthur's daughter in the war to come. Understood and accepted it with the same pragmatism as he had everything else. Yet as Jess had been Eloquin's prized pupil, the general training his Squires of War at the king's request, what choice did her father have, save to accept it? To say nothing and save face for all, just as he spared poor Apple the humiliation of her own bastard birth.
Arthur could not change the nature of the king's deeds, to his wife or his oldest daughter. All he could do was love and comfort the children born to his house, to nurture and take care of them, as best he may.
Jess sighed, heart heavy for both her and her father's sake, even as he gently smiled, as if they had not just peered into each other's souls, speaking on. “It was not enough for you to endure the rigors of a Squire of War. The burden of being one of Eloquin's chosen. You were then thrust into realms of nightmare fit to drive even the most hardened warrior insane, and yet you survived. Survived strong and fierce, even after repeated exposure to those lands of endless horror, whatever the bards might say. Yet it took a toll on you, my child, and only now do we realize how severe the injuries were.”
"How bad are my injuries then, Father?" Jess asked, heart in her throat. Arthur sighed and looked away.
"It is nothing to be ashamed of, my child, so forgive my analogy. But if you were to take the gentlest, sweetest puppy, and train it fiercely and savagely to be a hound of war, a hunter, a killer, then that is what it will become. And if you then unleash it in battle, it becomes a war hound in truth, its training becoming utterly ingrained. It is a matter of life and death. It becomes what it must."
Her father's eyes were grave. "As have you. And just as it would be utter folly to take that same hound that fought so well, killing its master's enemies in the heat of combat, and expect it to know how to behave in a garden full of children who might tug its ears and push down the master's child, so too it was utter folly for us to bring you home and not expect you to act with the same fierce savagery the moment you detect a perceived threat, for such has been ingrained in every fiber of your being by General Eloquin and his fellow instructors, commanded by the king himself to forge the deadliest and most ruthless elite fighting force Erovering has ever seen."
Her father gently stroked her daughter's cheek. "And that is what I will argue before the Council, the more publicly known points at least, should it ever come up. No man would dare to casually mock the knight or son of a knight that was a graduate of Highrock Academy. All know they are trained for one thing, and one thing above all else. To destroy Erovering's foes with all force and fury." Her father cracked a bitter smile. "And we know what else you were trained for, don't we, my Jess? We know just how brutal your schooling really was, the weapon you were being forged into. Yet there are some things we must not say allowed, not even at Council.”
Arthur squeezed her shoulder. "You and Malek have both taken the path of the sword, which you have quite handily mastered. Hence, the crossed blade pins you are required to wear with your uniform, and are encouraged to wear with all your attire, so all understand what your social obligation is. And the price for crossing you. It is not for you to be troubled by the byzantine politics of our kingdom. Rather, your job is to defend it from all enemies beyond our borders."
Her father sighed. "Yet, for all that, being a female, other roles are perhaps unfairly demanded of you and those girls who also chose the path of the sword. Burdens that your shieldbrother Malek is spared the burden of. Which puts you and your battle sisters in a very unique position. And no one has taken the time to properly acclimatize you to your new roles, or to assure that old ingrained reflexes do not come to the fore at inappropriate times. Do you understand what I'm saying, my child?"
Jess nodded. "I'm a half-mad war hound that was trained to be a half-mad war hound, to slaughter my master's enemies without a second thought." Jess sighed. "Then master brought me home, and I butchered my master's guests, because that's how I was taught to respond to any perceived threat. Even if it was just horseplay between friends, or something to that effect."
Her father gave a bemused nod. "Close enough. Except you, my beautiful daughter, are no war hound, but rather a complex human being capable of self-reflection. And thus, unlike that poor hound which all too often must be given a quick death if he was too proficient at serving his master during times of war, you can be retrained. Retrained to see the world in a different light. To respond to perceive difficulties… differently than you now do, and to develop different, gentler methods of dealing with life’s challenges.”
Jess cracked a bitter smile. “In other words, not to see horrible ghosts where there might only be a noble rake who merely seeks to deflower a naïve girl, and not to run off and start butchering said noble rake in a berserker’s fury when I do see fearsome specters that haunt my heart, specters which might not even be real, but simply ghosts of my own worries blown out of proportion.”
Her father laughed, despite the gravity of their conversation. "You see, my daughter? Your mother's harsh words aside, Eloquin accepts no fools. You are an intelligent young woman, able to perceive your own folly, and learn from it."
Jess grimaced. "If only I hadn't been so stupid. I don't know why I chased that impulse. Why I chase
all my impulses. It always feels so right to do so. And so often, it seems that it was exactly the right move. But now? Now I feel such doubt. And such loathing for my folly, to think that maybe I… maybe I killed innocent men. Maybe Kipu is just a vile cad, and I was looking for ghosts of betrayal that were not even there." Jess gave a bitter shake of her head. "I'm sorry, Father. I truly am so very, very sorry."
Her father consoled her as best he could, stroking her hair with his soothing touch. "Don't worry, my dear. I think we might have an ally in Verona. She is a mother herself, and knows what it's like to fear for one's child." Her father sighed gently. "You did have good instincts before all the madness started, saving our produce sales, and perhaps your foolish father's life as well, from a couple of maliciously inclined factors and traders over the years." Jess took solace in the warmth of the approving smile she could feel, even burying her head under her pillow, suddenly hit with the shame of recalling that she had done so much more than simply accuse those maliciously inclined merchants of foul play, deep as they were in the pockets of lords seeking her father's downfall. Bloody memories fiercely pushed away over the last three years. Bodies long buried in unmarked graves. The real reason why her father now engaged in almost no trade, save for the selling of excess crops and Jess's own greenhouse herbs, and now only through diOnni factors, the one duke Jess knew would never betray them.
Curiously, her father forbore to remind her of those violent, bloody days, justified as she had thought herself after the fact. Guilt-ridden though, just as she was now, having imbibed more than one potion over the last few years to help her forget the blood upon her soul. Memories she could no longer push away. Truly, a half-mad berserker was as apt a description of her as Delver or Squire could ever be.
Her father's smile was strangely gentle. "I would like to think that perhaps you were right. At least in that maybe your… hostility had merit. Perhaps Kipu is a sour fellow. Perhaps there is evidence or rumors that he is one to take advantage of women of high virtue. And Jess? Whatever your mother fears, no man can take the high road when four of his armored guardsmen bared steel against his liege lord's daughter, no matter the words exchanged. Particularly when two of those four men were here without permission, which broke covenant between guest and host, all by itself. Indeed, I shall be sure to have that noted, should Kipu dare to start rumors or raise formal objection to his treatment here, at the next Lords Council."
Paladin's Oath Page 58
