Parchment piled ever higher as the sun reached its apex and there was no end in sight. The old knight allowed himself a stretch and a sigh. He was beginning to think that taking on the mantle of Interim Captain of Dawn was a mistake. Granted, it hadn't exactly been his choice in the first place. Dejan had only very reluctantly accepted the responsibility. The reasoning of the sanctum masters was sound but his reservations remained. He knew there was no point in worrying over it anymore.
It was only temporary, Dejan would not have assented had he sensed otherwise. Thus did his thoughts turn towards the young Pursuant, Helena. He'd seen little of her since their meeting at the Wreath nearly two months ago. Truthfully, Dejan was worried; he wasn't the only one. Concern from other brothers and sisters had been expressed. The older knight advocated for patience, time was needed to heal any wound. There however seemed to be little progress.
Inaction at this point would stray into the realm of negligence.
Dejan grunted at the stiffness in his bones as he slowly stood from his seat. With a cynical look at the reports stacked on his desk, he headed out from his office. There was much bustle within the Monastery as most were going about their daily training or tasks. Some were already heading to the mess hall, keen on claiming the best portions.
He did not bother to ask Helena's whereabouts, knowing that she would be at the training grounds. He found her soon after, looking not only exhausted from training but everything else. "I believe even your wooden companion requires a respite, Syr," remarked the old knight in way of greeting.
The staccato strikes resounded throughout the training yard.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
Helena's eyes were singular in the focus, her limbs taught with muscles hard at work. Brow bright with sweat that gleamed with the high noon sun. Her practice sword, kept on edge at the training dummies neck. Her breath was labored. Her hands, their ebon skin still marred by the scars of her own wild flame, trembled as they worked to hold on to her weapon.
She drew in a long breath, her limbs pulled back the sword and her foot stepped back to guard.
I believe eve nyour wooden companion requires respite, Syr,
Her eyes narrowed, their gaze flit, sharp, to the elder knight. Challenge there in the darkness of her look. A daring carried in the spread of her shoulders, in the flex of her fingers. Realization came a slow breath later.
Helena's body eased. "Captain Dejan," she said as her sword came down, and she tucked it under arm. She bowed to her superior, as she still tempered her breath. "Just keeping ready, Syr," she announced, and rose from her bow.
Dejan nearly winced at the mention of his new, and hopefully temporary title. Syr Brambleshell noted there would be a period of adjustment, clearly it was still ongoing. Ideally a true replacement would be appointed before he needed to fully adapt. The current state of his young peer suggested that they were getting further away from such a day. As much as the knight wished to shed himself of this responsibility, he had no intention of rushing Helena until she was prepared. For now, he was far more concerned about his former student's state of mind.
Keeping ready for what I wonder, but gave no voice to thought. He doubted that Helena even knew what she was preparing for. The young knight's gaze was troubling and yet Dejan did not worry as there was fire there as well. It was that ever-powerful drive to combat injustice wherever it reared its ugly head. Dejan knew how easy it was to become jaded in this business, far easier than many of the Order cared to admit.
"I commend your intent but preparation for preparation's sake can be dangerous," he explained. The knight knew his words could be seen as patronizing but they came from a place of concern. "Focusing too hard on what's to come can leave one blind to the present and all that surrounds you."
The Pursuant's expression turned pensive as if considering matters of great moment before his gaze found Helena once more. "Master Leclair received a personal request from Belgrave. I'd intended to send some squires but on further consideration, a more senior presence may be better. Also, my old bones haven't taken to all this desk work just yet. Shall we stretch our legs?"
"Belgrave, Syr?" she knew little of the place. Along the Byftra's southern forks, where the great Spine turned to foothills, and its toothy crags seemed so distant. "Can hardly see the Eldyr tree from there," she said absently.
Her eyes could see the distance that spanned across that far away landscape. The rise and fall of the hills. The sea of green that was the old forest. The Woods of the Vale.
How long had it been since she had ventured so far? From the grounds of their Monastery. Months. A year. She wanted to frown. Her brow knit together. But her lips only pursed some. Stayed stiff.
"I would be honored to accompany you, Syr," she stated. "What If I may ask, Syr, is the request?"
"She'll still be able to see you," assured the older knight. He couldn't help but wonder if the offhand comment was a sign of a greater anxiety. Dejan however decided it was better to not press the issue. Instead the interim captain held a momentary pensive look before turning his attention back to Helena. "I haven't much in the way of specifics. From my understanding the local merchants have requested mediation."
Dejan as he stated previously had initially intended to send a pair of squires. He wouldn't have necessarily expected them to resolve matters on their own but could have shed light on the situation in Belgrave. A seemingly simple task but one that provided valuable experience. There were other opportunities, too many in fact; the stacks of parchments on his desk was testament to this fact.
"See to your preparations. We'll set off for Belgrave in a bell's time." There were a few matters to which Dejan needed to attend before leaving the Monastery.
Not long after, Dejan found Helena waiting for him at Astenvale's entrance. A pang of nostalgia suddenly struck the older knight. "I'm reminded of our first mission when you were still but a squire. It was that fiasco in the March was it not?"
"The Marchlords and the Magpie," Helena recalled fondly. A youthful smile curled the corner of her lips. "Wonder if old Melani still haunts the borders of Blinde Hold,"
The old witch had befriended an Ur Spirit. And the Marchlords had wanted a head. Proof that the pest that assailed their lands along their eastern border, along that line that touched the boundaries of the Wyld, had been taken care of.
"Do you recall the look on Lord Byrton's face when we returned?" Her eyes narrowed with mischief. "All we had to show for our quest was three feathers,"
"That crone's seen a hundred winters at least and is likely to see another fifty more," replied the old knight with a grunt. There was something timeless about the witch despite her apparently advanced age. She had looked at Dejan like he was nothing more than a spring flower. A time when duty did not weigh so heavy. What he would've given to be seen in such a way again.
"Far messier than I would've liked." There was a hint of admonishment but none was truly directed at Helena. The duo had simply been placed in difficult circumstances to start. "Well the clean path and the correct one are not always the same." He found this truth to be increasingly salient over the years. The life of a knight was one with dirt under the fingers. Faith in the core tenets of the Order helped keep some pointed in the right direction, while others relied on their brothers and sisters for guidance.
He motioned to Helena that it was time to mount up and set off. The process of which had become slightly more complicated for the one-armed knight. His steed knelt, allowing the large knight to swing a leg over easily. He could mount up without the extra aid if needed but it wasn't always a dignified affair. Dejan wasn't as well attuned to animals as many of his other peers of the Wyld. Yet horse and rider had been through much together, and that was enough.
"I take it from your reaction earlier, that you haven't visited Belgrave previously?"
Helena sat atop her stead, adjusted her weight in the saddle, as her cape fell behind her. "No Syr, I have not," she admitted. Wheeled her mount about, and set the beast to motion with click of tongue, and motion of leg.
Rocinante huffed, and nod before it set forward. Pack laden for the long journey before them.
"Been farther out west though, into the Reach proper, as it were," she seemed to defend herself. Realized her folly. Sat in the quiet clip-clop cadence of their horses' hooves as the Monastery rolled by, and they neared its perimeter. Where there home came to an end. "Have you been, Syr?" She asked. "To Belgrave?"
"Indeed I have. More than a few times at that. I could barely recognize it the last time I visited. Used to be nothing more than a small hamlet with barely two dozen calling it home," the older knight explained. Dejan couldn't say he was entirely surprised as the town was naturally positioned to deal with travelers and merchants. The townsfolk had done an exceedingly good job of growing Belgrave to what is was today. "Prosperity, unfortunately, has a habit of acting as a lodestone to the avaricious."
This was not the first time that the town had requested for assistance and was unlikely to be the last. "The missive did not sound urgent so it's likely to be nothing more than a simple dispute." Dejan was however well aware that even the most basic disagreements could turn bloody at the drop of a hat. Hopefully it would not come to that, especially considering Helena's current state.
Dejan let silence hang between them as they slowly made their way out of the Monastery's protection and into the Wilds. "The west," he muttered to himself, echoing Helena's earlier words. "Did you happen to stumble upon Nenya's Cloister? It's another of Master Brambleshell's secrets. Different from the Wreath, but enlightening nonetheless." He paused, deep in thought for a moment. "No, I think reassuring may be more apt."
How deeply she agreed with Dejan's words. How often she had seen it. Again and again. Until it was almost too hard to hold on to hope anymore.
When their efforts born boons to the small. The large and hungry would come to take. With steel. With coin. Land hard worked. Land restored. Bought up by gold to be ploughed into desolation once more. Over worked. Over wielded. Till not but dust did remain.
How it fueled her fiery heart. How it fed the hungry wolf inside of her.
She let out a breath.
... Nothing more than a simple dispute.
"We can only hope," the young pursuant replied.
The world about them turned green. Turned strong and wyld with its deep roots and ageless stone.
"The Cloister?" she echoed. Searched through the stacks of her memory. How long had it been since she had laid eyes upon that place. "I was but a girl last I was there, Syr," she confessed as their mounts went on with their steady walk. "Freshly come down from the Spine,"
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