Danough Trema
4th of Winter, 513 AV
Syliras.
The Thread is titled. |
It was a little disappointing, but even a Knight accepts that there are moments when he is alone, as alone as a Svefra straggler. That was all right: perhaps Eyris wanted to teach him something about solitude or meditation or some such thing. He had absolute faith in the gods.
It was true that sometimes he felt tested. Sometimes, like right now he felt disappointed when things weren't going his way. He might be a knight, but he was still a man and part of him wondered why he wasn't currently more popular. Not that he desired to be surrounded by lackeys and sycophants, but he was surprised that no one wanted to even go for a ride with him. To be honest-- and by Tyveth he was always honest-- it stung a little.
He went over and groomed his favorite Tiaden steed, the one he called "Quicksilver." Some chimes passed as he tended to the horse, then he donned his armor and went out for a ride. He had begun today thinking he just wanted a simple pastoral ride, but now he realized that his mood had changed and that he needed to let off some steam. He had a squire bring him his lance. Perhaps a bit of practice would make him feel better.
In one way it did: he always enjoyed improving himself. Even Eyris would be proud of the effort he was displaying in working on his body and soul. But he pondered on his decisions of late, and while none could find fault with him, he realizing he wasn't doing enough to improve his mind. He wasn't doing anything to improve it, come to think of it. Yes he had all the technical prowess needed for his current rank, but if he wanted to be a Sergeant or Stewart he would have to start seriously considering his social skills. He needed on his leadership, his oratory and public speaking, perhaps a bit of singing and storytelling. He wasn't actually sure, but he realized there was a lack in him. And he had to be honest-- Tyveth would have it no other way-- maybe the reason he was lonely when it came to women was the very fact that he was so concerned with his body that he wasn't much of a talker. He could drink and dance, but he couldn't tell jokes or talk about politics or religion or even give a woman a bit of flattery and seduction. He was the strong silent type, and that was both his blessing and his curse.
He pondered on all this while throwing his lance at the various dummy targets set up on the field. He kept throwing the lance for a good bell or two, until his left arm hurt and his shoulder blade ached from the strain, but it was his mind that was for once getting a decent workout. He had never really spent any time pondering his inner nature before, never really questioned his own philosophies and decisions, and he was not sure he liked every answer that he found. It was tough to admit, but he was a Syliran Knight, not some saint without flaws. He was just a man, maybe one better at riding or fighting than most, but still with the same emotions as anyone else.
To the world he presented a happy and content face, always chivalrous and tractable. But he would never be the leader he wanted to be if he didn't first learn how to govern himself, and the only way to do that was first take stock of himself honestly. Even the parts he didn't want to acknowledge. And it was a very hard thing to do. But now he understood why Eyris had set it up so that he was alone. He prayed to Yahal for the strength to forgive the Sera who had slighted him-- a tiny little anecdote barely worth mentioning, but he realized that as long as he tried to shut the memory off and deny it, it would rankle at him. It was very difficult reliving such memories, and while he gave it a good go, after a while he needed to stop thinking, so he just focused on his breath and focused on lance-throwing, using the martial techniques that all knights learned to remain cool on the battlefield to now remain cool while memories bubbled up that were agitating him.
He was a grown man, and a Syliran Knight, but thinking of the Sera who had rejected him, he felt an overwhelming urge to toss himself off his horse and just curl up in a ball on the ground, crying.
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by Danough Trema on December 2nd, 2013, 7:50 am 