[log] Early morning talk in the stables
Who: Percival and Seed
When: at some point this week, in the morning
Where: the stables
What: checking out the horses. Philosophical differences, arguing, and more.
Seed had woken up at dawn, like he often did, the habits of so many years spent in military campaigns kicking in automatically - he still couldn’t believe how Camus managed to sleep in the mornings. The Matilda knight had told him it was a privilege he had earned with his rank…but that was something Seed never got the hang of.
Except some mornings… like the ones that were heavy with snow.
When all is white, there is an unnatural stillness to the world.
Even the air is different, like a heavy blanket, the snow piled up on the tent making it pitch dark even after the sun has risen.
Those mornings, he would sleep in.
At least until Culgan woke up and decided to get moving. That’s when cold air swept over his skin and the only option left was to bundle up and get going, hoping the first morning watch had dug a trench in front of the tent’s opening.
Digging your way out after a snowstorm was never a good way to start a morning.
But at least it was something to do.
Here, in Budehuc, he had nothing to do.
Mornings stretched on, the expanse of time before breakfast endless, then the hours before lunch driving him mad. But he stayed and waited and hoped… like a bloody nostalgic woman… he’d mutter under his breath sometimes.
But he couldn’t return to Highland with Jillia, and without Culgan.
He had to come here eventually, didn’t he?
The sun had barely risen, the first few rays of light dancing along the windowsills, and Seed was talking in the castle’s courtyard when he remembered Percival’s invitation. It would be something to pass the time…
Finally having a goal in mind, finally having a way to occupy some of his time, he made his way to the stables…
With the days warming bit by bit, it was easier to be up in the morning in order to spend time in the stable, and even riding. Percival had taken to waiting until finished with his morning routine to armor up, finding it much easier to get things done without gauntlets, bracers, greaves, and so forth in the way. He was already in the stable that morning, greeting Midnight with a nose-rub and quiet, cooing words that only the horse could have heard.
Seed pushed open the stable door and barged in, as he was fond of doing, a smile on his face as though he expected people to be waiting for him. He wasn’t sure if he should have come, after all, Percival had only invited him in passing, and Culgan had explained to him that in some tribes to the east, idly inviting someone was simply a mark of politeness, not of real intent.
But Seed had never taken that seriously. He had learned at a young age that if you wanted something, you had to take the opportunity as it came, you had to impose yourself.
“Good morning Percival”, he called out in the stables, hoping the figure in the fourth stall was indeed the man he had met a few days earlier, “I came to keep you company!”
"Hm?" Percival poked his head back out and smiled. "Ah, Seed. Good morning. Goodness, I didn't expect a visit, but you're welcome to do so. I don't often get people to talk to while I'm feeding and brushing this old soldier." He patted Midnight heartily on the neck. The bay gelding looked to be just waking up himself, still blinking a little and not taken aback by an unfamiliar person approaching.
Seed made his way down the stables, looking at the horses, and stepped in to the stall with Percival. He laughed, reaching out to pat Midnight’s rump, then looked at the other man over the horse’s broad back. “So that’s Midnight? I expected a black stallion, to be honest.”
"I freely admit that I'm not all that clever when it comes to naming horses," Percival said wryly, meeting his gaze and smirking. "Dark bay is close enough to black anyway. Yes, this is he - my constant companion, occasional bane, and all around decent fellow." He scratched Midnight's withers where his mane flipped in different directions at the base of his neck.
Seed idly ran his calloused right hand over Midnight’s back. “I miss my horse”, he supplied, as he took in the gelding’s appearance, smiling. He was smaller than Seed’s own horse, and darker, of course, but the feel of the short, coarse hair of his coat bristling against his fingers took him back to a time that was perhaps more dangerous, and more complicated, but so much happier. “Midnight looks like a fast one”, he uttered, almost to himself, “Bataille was a heavy warhorse… a beautiful white stallion. But in the end, his bravery was for nothing. He stayed behind in the stables, and the cavalry general made his last stand on foot.”
Percival could certainly read that look in the other man's eyes, knowing it well. Horsemen always understood each other. "Oh yes, he's quite fast," he bragged a little as he turned to go and fill the feed bucket, seeing as Midnight was in good hands. "He and I together are renowned for our speed. Most of our calvary are light, we don't need heavy horse when our opponents are...well, grassland tribes on foot." He spoke while he fetched the grain and filled the bucket, at which the horse stepped over to the other side of the stall to eat. Percival came around him, beside Seed, and smiled kindly. "Bataille must have been majestic."
Seed couldn’t hide the pride in his voice as he answered Camus: “Bataille was a powerful destrier… he was about 17 hands tall, and strong. You should have seen him charge in battle, toppling the other horses…” His hands had, of their own accord, found an itchy spot behind the horse’s ear, and he was scratching it, seemingly appreciating the moment as much as the horse did.
“Culgan is”, there was always that moment of hesitation, when he forced himself to correct his tenses, to get used to the idea that his friend was gone and that he was probably holding on to vain hope, “Culgan was in charge of the light cavalry. Archers, but also fighters in leather armor. I was leading the heavy armored knights. Bataille had to carry a lot more than myself, although I heard Zexen armors are even heavier than ours…”
Moving around comfortably behind Seed, Percival took up a brush and set to gently brushing down the horse while he ate and enjoyed the attention. "It sounds fantastic," he admitted. "My only experience with the charge of heavy horse is reading about it in novels. Midnight is a fine charger, but it's easy to plow through a field of..." He hesitated. Conflicts like that with the Six Clans were long over, and it seemed crass to bring it up now. "...foot soldiers," he finished. "Though, charging through ranks of heavily-armored Harmonian soldiers was a challenge. Both a thrill and a fright."
He came nearly elbow-to-elbow with Seed as he combed his horse. "You've seen me in full armor, on patrol," he noted. "I don't notice its weight anymore, really. It just is."
“Armor is like a second skin”, the Highland general agreed, as he turned towards Percival, looking at the other man going through the familiar motions and feeling strangely empty without a curry comb in his hand. “It’s strange to leave it behind in my room. It’s like I’m forgetting a part of myself, just like a hand or a leg. It’s a strange handicap no one else can see. What I’d give to be sleeping rolled up in a blanket near a dying fire, dreaming of the clash of sword and the smell of sweat… there’s nothing like that sound… the sound of two armies breaking against each other like waves on the beach. That’s what a heavy armored cavalry’s charge is like.” He patted the gelding’s strong neck, feeling the muscles under the skin, and peered at the contents of Midnight’s trough. “You should add some wine to that, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the special attention. Bataille just loved wine in his oats.”
Percival listened in silence, letting the words paint a picture in his mind while his hand rhythmically carried out its routine. "Funny," he remarked after a bit, his tone thoughtful. "Even though I've been through my share of clashes...I don't wish for it. I've felt idle, over the past year being stationed here, and yet I don't want to be called to that kind of action anytime soon." He tried to chuckle it away. "Perhaps because it would mean that the peace has failed and hard times are upon us again. The Tinto border clashes were enough, and even those have died down." He glanced at Seed, and then Midnight's head bent over the grain. "Perhaps, but Kathy spoils him rotten already. I try to save treats like that for after he's had a hard time of it, and really deserves it."
“I’ve had a sword in my hand for the past ten years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And it was no empty bravado. Seed lived for battle, for campaigns, for pushing far and wide the glory of his beloved homeland. There was something awe-inspiring, and perhaps a little humbling, about living every day as if it could be your last, of feeling so much, so strongly, so fast. “We’re born warriors, in Highland. Don’t you miss it, that rush you get before a battle? Your blood pounding in your ears as you charge? The satisfaction of unhorsing your opponent, of feeling the powerful muscles of your warhorse flexing against your thighs as you fight as one?”
The motion of the curry comb stilled briefly. "No...I can't say I do," Percival admitted. "I've never been one to have any feelings during battle, except to accomplish the goal and come through alive. I neither hate it nor love it...I simply do it." He glanced toward Seed and tried to smile, though he didn't understand the Highlander's point of view at all. "Battle is only one facet of knighthood. Which is why we knights have always thought ourselves better than the warlike clans, like the Lizards, who seem to thirst for battle in a way I can't understand."
“Simply… do it?” Seed queried, a look on incomprehension flickering briefly on his features, “You’ve devoted your life to something you simply do? Without fire? Without passion? Battle isn’t just a goal to accomplish, it’s something beautiful and so much… more than we are. When you’re on your horse and you’re not yourself anymore, you’re a wolf, you’re the wrath of a country you love than more life itself.” He paused, then, his hands flat against the horse’s side, feeling the warmth of the animal, the life, battles fought what seemed like a lifetime ago playing out in his mind’s eye… “There’s nobility in war. There’s greatness. Being warlike does not make a country less than another. Peace is filled with daily compromise and a slew of little humiliations. Why swallow a toad for breakfast when you can stand tall and make your own rules?”
Percival shook his head slowly, a sad smile awakening on his lips. "I wish I had your passion, Seed. I don't know where mine went...whether it faded with age or I left it on the field when Midnight crushed my ribs last winter. You speak so eloquently of things...of things I might have read about once upon a time. The only things I remember of battle is dirt and dust in my teeth, blood on my face, aches and pains, unrelenting frustration and...nothing remotely passing joy." He turned away and resumed brushing, feeling the creeping fingers of doubt coming over him again. So much for banishing them. "I wonder if that's why I challenged that Lizard to a duel...though naturally I lost it..."
It seemed only natural to Seed to reach out, like he often did when his men lost faith, when they lost hope, when the war became too heavy a burden for them to bear. He reached out, grasping Percival’s shoulder, his brown eyes intent on the other man’s face. “Don’t ever lose track of what you love and what you fight for. A knight without passion is just a butcher. It’s not dirt and dust in your teeth, it’s the taste of a challenge. It’s not just blood on your face, it’s the blood of the enemy, it’s one more victory. It’s not just aches and pains, it’s the physical proof of your devotion.”
"And if I believe in none of that?" Percival appreciated the touch, and the fiery gaze, but the words sounded so hollow to him. "Does that mean I have no business being a knight any longer? Or are we simply two different men from different worlds, so to speak...with different philosophies born from different circumstances..."
“Don’t bloody use that different circumstances excuse on me”, Seed interjected. He was used to this, to this disbelief, to this strange nameless sort of feeling, half-sorrow half-resignation. He had rallied his army through a losing war, he had sent men to die with hope in their hearts… it was easy to slip into old habits. “What it means”, he stated simply, his hand sliding across Percival’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck, like he used to do with his scared young squire, on the eve of difficult battles, “Is that you need to believe again. Everybody loses their way at some point. It doesn’t mean it can’t be found ever again. Hell, look at me. I lost everything, and I'm here telling you, who has everything, to believe.”
Percival shuddered visibly, his breath catching in his throat. "Please," he said quietly, trying to control himself so he wouldn't flinch or strike, "don't touch me that way." His hand went up to brush Seed's hand away from his neck like he would a buzzing fly. "It's an easy thing to say, but harder to make happen. I've known for some time that I've lost my way...having 'everything' means nothing when I don't know who I am." His dark eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you become so astute? Have people been saying things about me, or something?"
“Are you calling me stupid?” A word, and Seed’s infamous temper flared bright, a temper as red as his hair, his mother used to say, that’s something he can’t deny getting from me. His hands flew to his waist, and he bent forward a little, his brown eyes narrowing dangerously. “Because you’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of bloody Harmonia and I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and stupid not to notice. I hate this place, and this life, and this country, and these people but I don’t lie to their faces about it like you’re doing to me.”
Letting out a frustrated sound, half-way between a sigh and a growl, Seed continued: “You know who you are, you just don’t wanna accept it. Just like you come up with some hackneyed explanation of why killing coldly and rationally is better than being from a warlike passionate clan. It’s not. It’s disgusting, that’s what it is.” His voice lowered, and Seed’s tone became menacing: “And next time you swat at me like that for no apparent reason, you can discuss that weird phobia of yours with my blade. Are you a man or a schoolgirl? Did daddy not love you enough? If it’s not too good for my men when they’re having a bad day, it’s not too good for you.”
Percival's brow knit with a combination of anger, outrage, and confusion. "My father was killed by Grassland bandits when I was a child, I'll thank you to leave him out of it," he snapped. "You don't know me at all, to say such things. You know absolutely nothing of my life or this land to be making such sweeping proclamations." Midnight was finished with his breakfast and peering back at his master as if to ask why the brushing had stopped, but Percival still stood there, staring down Seed. "And for your information, I don't kill in cold blood either. I've barely drawn my sword in the last three or four years, a handful of skirmishes excepted. I like peace, Seed, I like not being at war. I want the people of Zexen to feel safe and go about their lives, not have to fear whether some day it will be their turn to be burned like Iksay. If that means merely being a polished figurehead in a suit of armor, then that's my lot in life."
“Your lot in life? You sound like you’re an old man looking back. I’m sure you can’t be much older than I am.” Seed shot back. “And I don’t need to know the particulars of your life, I don’t even care about the particulars. I’ve lead enough men to be able to figure you out. You’re unsatisfied. You’re unsatisfied because you’re dishonest with yourself. And this is making you weak. So you like peace. Do you love it? Do you love it so much that the very thought of dying for it brings you joy? Where is your passion?”
As Seed continued, he realized that what infuriated him the most wasn’t Percival’s defeatist attitude, but the fact that he had everything Seed wished he had, and yet stood there like an emotionless lump. “You have a country. You have your captain. Your fellow knights. Everybody loves you here. What the hell more do you need? Do you know what I’d give to have what you have?”
"I don't know!" The force of Percival's shout startled even him - and Midnight, who tossed his head unhappily. Seeing that, Percival turned away in frustration and threw the curry comb at the back wall as hard as he could. "I don't know," he said again, more quietly. "I shouldn't feel this way, you're right - but I do. I reached my life's goal before I was even twenty-five, now I'm thirty-two and stuck in a rut. You can have everything of mine, I would give it gladly if I could!" He leaned against the side wall of the stall, his elbows on the top edge and his arms dangling over. He had been right, at the first - Seed was frighteningly insightful for someone who barely knew him. Even Percival's own friends hadn't been able to scratch the surface of his troubles.
“I’m not buying it for a second, I know you know!” Seed shouted back, not one to be out-screamed under any circumstances. Where Culgan was cold and calculating anger, Seed was loud and ardent. His indignation burned bright, but was short-lived. So when he saw Percival slump on the side of the stall, he stopped short. It was sobering, but still infuriating, to know that people had problems, even in this ridiculous little Eden of a castle. And just like he had yanked blubbering soldiers off the floor of his tent, he grabbed a fistful of Percival’s shirt… and pulled. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Even I know what it's about, and I don’t even know you.”
His first instinct was to smack the hand away again, or launch himself at Seed, but Percival stood his ground, determined to be the better man - to be better than Borus at keeping his temper. Even so, he bristled with anger to the point where his hair might have stood up even more on end. "Then perhaps you can tell me what it's about, if you're so much more enlightened than I am!" he seethed right in Seed's face, keeping his fists at his sides for now.
After that comment Seed, incongruously, started laughing right under Percival’s nose. “Well, it’s the first time this didn’t work! Culgan taught me that little trick back when we were breaking in recruits and it always did wonders.” Seemingly oblivious to Percival’s anger, he reached out and thumped him on the shoulder playfully. “Maybe it’s time to look around you again. Like you’re seeing things for the first time. And figure out what you really love and what you really want. I became a general at 26 and you don’t see me in a rut! Well, technically, I also died at 26, but hey, some things can’t be helped!”
Percival blinked at him in astonishment. "You were...joking?" he breathed, still not quite letting go of his anger. "I don't find it very funny! Not when you were so...so right about everything else!" He backed away until his back hit the wall, at which point he buried his face in his hands. "Goddess...I didn't ask for this." He let a bit of silence stretch between them, breaking it only to laugh humorlessly. "You're the same age as I was at the end of the war...when I asked for a year off to rebuild Iksay. By the end of that year I chafed to return to knighthood, because I couldn't stand the thought of retiring there and settling down. Anything but that."
“That’s how you bluff. You need a little truth to make it seem real”, Seed explained reasonably, perhaps simply to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. “Do you think I asked to end up in this little rundown town? I belong in the ruins of the castle at L’Renouille, with Culgan. My bones should have been picked clean by worms by now. That’s what I’d ask for. But we don’t choose the cards we’re given, we just need to play our hand the best we can. I don’t give up. I’d lie and cheat and struggle with a pair of threes.”
He saw in Percival the shadow his men, breaking down during the retreat, thinking that their lives were over, that there was no need to fight anymore. He saw in Percival… himself. But surrendering wasn’t a way to live life. Life was a constant struggle… a constant exhilarating struggle. Seed pondered catching Percival in a headlock -that often worked- but decided that he might fight back and spook the horses. So he settled for dropping his left hand on Percival’s shoulder, a little wary of the other man’s reaction, and nudging him slightly. “You have four aces and you’re not even trying. C’mon, stop being a pansy”, somehow, his voice didn’t seem insulting, it was almost… friendly, “You’re a knight. Behave like one.”
It was too early in the morning for the fight in Percival to last very long. He was already tired of it, and Seed's admonition was much gentler than he expected - or he might have gotten angry at being told to behave like a knight. "I am trying," he said softly, straightening up from the wall. "It isn't as simple as you make it sound. I wish I could see things like you do, Seed. You firmly believe everything you say, don't you?" He shook his head, and then went to retrieve the brush from where it landed in the straw and resume combing Midnight. "I don't suppose you would like to help me? This isn't going very fast, if we keep interrupting his grooming just to argue."
“If I didn’t, I’d have finished off the job that the liberation army started. Hoping against hope is a powerful motivator. My Queen is here now, and if Culgan… when Culgan comes, we’ll return to Highland and set things right. I’ll raise an army for Highland. I’ll see her blue skies again before I die.” Seed couldn’t say whether he really believed his own words, believed that it would come to pass, but whether or not he did, he had decided that he would die trying.
“Might not be as simple as I make it sound, but it’s a hell of a lot simpler than you make it sounds, that’s for sure”, he quipped as Percival picked up the brush, then visibly perked up at the knight’s offer, a boyish grin appearing on his face. “Of course I’ll help.”
Percival handed him the curry comb and went to get another brush to work on Midnight's tail. Because of their status and how seldom they rode to battle, the knights usually kept their steeds' tails long and luxurious as if for parade. "As I understand it, Seed...Dunan has been a stable country for around twenty-five years. An entire generation has passed since you were there. Such a goal may be...harder to accomplish than it sounds. But...I suppose I can imagine how it must feel. If I were stranded far from Zexen and so far in the future, I would probably want to ride to see if the windmills still spun over Iksay, even were it part of Harmonia by then." He gave Seed a light smile. "For what it's worth, I didn't call you stupid. You're actually quite sharp. You read people well."
Seed snorted. “I’ve been here for two months and even I know there was a rebellion a few years go. That’s nowhere near 25 years of uninterrupted peace. They failed, but I’ll succeed, because I have the Queen with me, and Highland in my heart. We’re not Dunan’s vassals. Highlanders bow to no one.” Without even looking at the horse, he started to brush Midnight efficiently and methodically, falling effortlessly into a pattern he had used on so many steeds throughout his life in the army.
He listened to the Zexen knight explain himself, and nodded quietly. His perfunctory years of schooling had always been a sore spot for him, having to rub elbows with the aristocrats, the well bred, the intelligentsia of Highland, and often feeling uncouth and rude, as if he was nothing more than a farmboy wielding a sword he couldn’t afford.
“I’m not an educated man, and I know it, Percival. But I make up for it in other ways.”
"Education isn't all it's cracked up to be," Percival said plainly, going to work on Midnight's tail. "If I wanted to learn anything about places beyond the Zexen border, I had to look it up myself, and often there wasn't time. So you'll forgive me if I do lack a greater understanding of your homeland and points east." He shook his head slowly. "If that is your wish...then so be it. At the moment, I have no right to even begin to advise you whether or not it's a good idea." Percival paused, and then added, "...he doesn't usually stand still for anyone else but me. Or Kathy."
“I don’t remember most of what I should have learned in school. I used to sit by the window, when I was in class, and daydream about being a knight”, Seed frowned, his hand never stilling on Midnight’s coat, “It took a long time for my father to accept it. He wanted his only son to tend the farm. But I didn’t love working the fields… and I didn’t want to spend my life doing something I didn’t love.” The Highland general laughed, mischief in his brown eyes, “He hoped I’d knock up and marry the neighbor’s daughter, so that I’d stay. But I didn’t love her either. Highland was always my woman.”
Percival chuckled very slightly. "I suppose I can understand that yearning. As I said...my father died when I was very young, so my mother raised me alone. She always wanted me to follow my heart, though, so when I said I wanted to become a knight, she let me go even if it meant leaving home and almost never coming back." He leaned closer to Seed as if to share a joke. "In that we're alike - I don't want to spend my life working the fields either. I am terrible at anything resembling farming."
“Nothing would have kept me in those fields either. I think I had to become Captain before my father decided to talk to me again. Luckily my oldest sister married a strapping young fellow who took over the farm and…” Seed stopped short, and he paused in his work, giving Midnight an idle pat, seeking comfort from the horses as much as he was giving it. “In the end he’s the one who died defending my family. Culgan and I were trying to rally the armies to prepare a retrenchment towards the capital at the time. Maybe all Highland farmers have a knight’s soul after all.”
"It is said that a farmer defending his homestead is more valiant than a knight paid to march off to a distant war," Percival said wisely, and a little sadly. "Such was my father's fate. Believe me, the day I stood in the town square and watched cadres of Lizard Clan warriors come over the hills, all I could think was 'not again.' But I didn't die that day...and I protected my mother. I guess knighthood was good for something, after all."
“We have a saying like that in Highland, but it’s about a squire defending a dying horse. The idea’s the same, though.” Seed mused, wondering how long his brother-in-law had held out, if he had been surprised, unaware in the fields, if his sisters had fought as well. There were no survivors to tell the tale. “I lived through a few Matilda raids myself, when I was a boy.”
Percival nodded, either having heard that variation or completely agreeing with it. "Ah...yes, things were far less peaceful around here when I was a boy," he noted. "Like Budehuc itself, Iksay is closer to the border than the cities of Zexen, and thus felt the brunt of Grassland bandits and any spillover from scuffles between the knights and the clans. I wanted to become a knight so things like that wouldn't happen to innocent farmfolk... little did I know until I was well into training, exactly why the nobles in their cushy cities didn't fret for fear of bandits and Lizards." There was a slight note of disgust to his voice, if one listened closely.
Seed stayed silent at that, finished off one flank, then moved to the other side of the horse, rubbing Midnight’s nose before going back to work, mulling things over. He suddenly stopped mid-stroke, and leaned on the horse’s back, turning his gaze towards Percival. “Is that why you looked like someone kicked your puppy earlier? Or is there more? Because that’s easy to fix.”
Percival raised his head and blinked at Seed. "I...kicked my puppy?" He made a face. "Did I really?" Shaking it off, he resumed combing the bits of straw out of Midnight's tail. "I've come to terms with Zexen politics. I may not like it, but the Knights serve the people, not the Council. As long as I hold to that, and follow my captain, the rest sort of rolls off my back. Believe me," he added in an undertone, "whatever uncertainties are in my life have nothing to do with Zexen politics."
That comment brought forth another guffaw from Seed. “No, you didn’t kick your puppy, but you surely looked like someone did!” With another laugh, he bent down, coaxing Midnight into lifting his leg and showing off his shoes. “Nice job on the horseshoes. You’ve got a competent blacksmith. Nothing’s worse than split hooves.” Naturally, as it the topics were somehow related in his mind, he continued talking about Percival’s problems. It was nice to focus on someone else’s issues for a change. “Then if the politics aren’t it, what is it? I mean, after being screamed at I think I have a stake in this mess now.”
Percival came around and gave Midnight a distracting pat on the neck. He had been about to check the horse's shoes himself, but he didn't begrudge Seed the work so long as Midnight was all right with it. "I just had him re-shod about a month ago, at Brass Castle. He threw a shoe on the cobblestones, so I had them all checked and refit." The further question made him sigh and look away. "It is...what I said. I just turned thirty-two, and I feel like my life is in a rut. But I joined the castle guard to have something to do, a set routine. These things don't change overnight, in time I'm sure it will all get better." He wanted to say that he didn't know Seed well enough yet to trust him with anything else, but he said nothing. He didn't even tell Borus such things, he considered them private.
“Ha! Combating rut with routine? That’s like tossing a lit match in a fire to drown it.” Down went one of Midnight’s leg, up went another. “Really nice work. If I ever own a horse again”, his voiced seemed wistful when he talked of a horse of his own, “I’ll know who to go to. I think what you need is excitement. Parading around on your horse in a castle where nothing happens doesn’t seem like it would help any. You’re too young to act like a tired of colonel just waiting to fall off his horse dead one day.”
Percival idly curried the horse's mane while Seed made his inspection. "Excitement...?" Like challenging a Lizard champion to a duel, he thought. "I suppose...you do have a point. I've always taken comfort in routine but...that was back when things were so unsettled. I wonder." He glanced down at Seed and chuckled. "You, on the other hand, seem to live on pure excitement with a dash of alcohol."
“You’ve got that right!” Seed answered emphatically, although in this time and place, it seemed almost like a convenient lie. “I’ve lived a full life, where every day and every second counted. I hate life here, in this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, it’s so quiet and pointless. I hate waiting like a damn woman. But I have no choice. I can’t succeed in my plan without Culgan, I can’t carry this all on my own.”
"Well, if you wanted excitement...no, that wouldn't do." Percival smirked to himself. "I would have suggested plunging yourself into the flocks of women who follow me around Vinay or Brass Castle, but they're not all that exciting. Rather annoying, actually. You're welcome to them, though, if you ever travel there. Tell them you're a friend of mine and I'm sure you'll never want for company." He glanced Seed over briefly. "You're an attractive sort, they'll fall all over you."
“I have no need for women, thanks for asking”, Seed answered, removing a pebble wedged in the side of Midnight’s shoe, “Growing up with four sisters was enough squealing for three lifetimes. And if I did, there are places for that. Maybe not in this castle, but anywhere there’s a military presence…” Seed straightened, pushing crimson strand of hair away from his face and tucking them behind his ear, a puzzled look on his face. “Do you make a habit of telling other men they’re attractive? That’s kind of strange.”
Percival's eyes widened, startled, because he hadn't realized what he had said until now. "What? No! Oh...no, no, not like that! That wasn't what I meant," he insisted, flushing red in the cheeks. "I-I just...no, never mind." Seeing as Midnight was now fully groomed and inspected, fat and happy, Percival busied himself leading him out of the stall and down the aisle, to the paddock beside the stable. He intended just to turn the horse loose for the day, instead of riding. All the while he tried to think of a way to fix what he'd said, but it was too late now. Better just to forget and move on.
After being a source of irritation, Percival was turning out to be a source of endless mirth. He was sputtering, his face as red as Seed’s hair, then retreated to the end of the stables, obviously mortified. “There’s no need to look that embarrassed”, Seed called out between a few guffaws, “It’s not like you commented on my ass or anything. Now that’d be weird!”
"I would never!" Percival huffed over his shoulder as he led Midnight to the gate in the paddock fence and sent him through with a slap. The gelding took off running, clearly happy to able to cavort in the pasture with the stable's regular stock, as well as the horses belonging to the other knights. Percival latched the gate and turned to lean against it, expecting Seed to have come up behind him. "It was an idle comment, pay it no mind," he said, embarrassed.
Seed followed Percival as his laughter died down, hands stuffed in his pant pockets, and leaned sideways against the low fence, smiling as he looked over his shoulder to see Midnight running. “It’s a fine horse you have here”, he offered, cocking his head to the side, crimson hair falling in his eyes, “But I still think you need to reevaluate your routine here. So for a start, tonight, I’m taking you to the tavern. You look like someone who needs desperately to unwind.”
He pushed himself off the gate, his hands still in his pockets, and on the way out, nonchalantly tossed over his shoulder: “It’s not a request, it’s an order. I outrank you, remember?”
Percival straightened up and nearly protested, but he gave up and sighed, beginning to smile. "Very well. When I'm finished with patrol, I will meet you there. And there are only two here who can give me orders," he called out at Seed's retreating back. "You're not one of them, unless you somehow join the castle guard and get promoted ahead of me."
“Details, details”, shouted back Seed as he made his way towards the castle. “It still counts and you know it.”
Giggling under his breath, Percival remained leaning against the fence for a bit. Considering that they had almost come to blows, that could have turned out far worse. And he had no reason to turn down a drink.
When: at some point this week, in the morning
Where: the stables
What: checking out the horses. Philosophical differences, arguing, and more.
Seed had woken up at dawn, like he often did, the habits of so many years spent in military campaigns kicking in automatically - he still couldn’t believe how Camus managed to sleep in the mornings. The Matilda knight had told him it was a privilege he had earned with his rank…but that was something Seed never got the hang of.
Except some mornings… like the ones that were heavy with snow.
When all is white, there is an unnatural stillness to the world.
Even the air is different, like a heavy blanket, the snow piled up on the tent making it pitch dark even after the sun has risen.
Those mornings, he would sleep in.
At least until Culgan woke up and decided to get moving. That’s when cold air swept over his skin and the only option left was to bundle up and get going, hoping the first morning watch had dug a trench in front of the tent’s opening.
Digging your way out after a snowstorm was never a good way to start a morning.
But at least it was something to do.
Here, in Budehuc, he had nothing to do.
Mornings stretched on, the expanse of time before breakfast endless, then the hours before lunch driving him mad. But he stayed and waited and hoped… like a bloody nostalgic woman… he’d mutter under his breath sometimes.
But he couldn’t return to Highland with Jillia, and without Culgan.
He had to come here eventually, didn’t he?
The sun had barely risen, the first few rays of light dancing along the windowsills, and Seed was talking in the castle’s courtyard when he remembered Percival’s invitation. It would be something to pass the time…
Finally having a goal in mind, finally having a way to occupy some of his time, he made his way to the stables…
With the days warming bit by bit, it was easier to be up in the morning in order to spend time in the stable, and even riding. Percival had taken to waiting until finished with his morning routine to armor up, finding it much easier to get things done without gauntlets, bracers, greaves, and so forth in the way. He was already in the stable that morning, greeting Midnight with a nose-rub and quiet, cooing words that only the horse could have heard.
Seed pushed open the stable door and barged in, as he was fond of doing, a smile on his face as though he expected people to be waiting for him. He wasn’t sure if he should have come, after all, Percival had only invited him in passing, and Culgan had explained to him that in some tribes to the east, idly inviting someone was simply a mark of politeness, not of real intent.
But Seed had never taken that seriously. He had learned at a young age that if you wanted something, you had to take the opportunity as it came, you had to impose yourself.
“Good morning Percival”, he called out in the stables, hoping the figure in the fourth stall was indeed the man he had met a few days earlier, “I came to keep you company!”
"Hm?" Percival poked his head back out and smiled. "Ah, Seed. Good morning. Goodness, I didn't expect a visit, but you're welcome to do so. I don't often get people to talk to while I'm feeding and brushing this old soldier." He patted Midnight heartily on the neck. The bay gelding looked to be just waking up himself, still blinking a little and not taken aback by an unfamiliar person approaching.
Seed made his way down the stables, looking at the horses, and stepped in to the stall with Percival. He laughed, reaching out to pat Midnight’s rump, then looked at the other man over the horse’s broad back. “So that’s Midnight? I expected a black stallion, to be honest.”
"I freely admit that I'm not all that clever when it comes to naming horses," Percival said wryly, meeting his gaze and smirking. "Dark bay is close enough to black anyway. Yes, this is he - my constant companion, occasional bane, and all around decent fellow." He scratched Midnight's withers where his mane flipped in different directions at the base of his neck.
Seed idly ran his calloused right hand over Midnight’s back. “I miss my horse”, he supplied, as he took in the gelding’s appearance, smiling. He was smaller than Seed’s own horse, and darker, of course, but the feel of the short, coarse hair of his coat bristling against his fingers took him back to a time that was perhaps more dangerous, and more complicated, but so much happier. “Midnight looks like a fast one”, he uttered, almost to himself, “Bataille was a heavy warhorse… a beautiful white stallion. But in the end, his bravery was for nothing. He stayed behind in the stables, and the cavalry general made his last stand on foot.”
Percival could certainly read that look in the other man's eyes, knowing it well. Horsemen always understood each other. "Oh yes, he's quite fast," he bragged a little as he turned to go and fill the feed bucket, seeing as Midnight was in good hands. "He and I together are renowned for our speed. Most of our calvary are light, we don't need heavy horse when our opponents are...well, grassland tribes on foot." He spoke while he fetched the grain and filled the bucket, at which the horse stepped over to the other side of the stall to eat. Percival came around him, beside Seed, and smiled kindly. "Bataille must have been majestic."
Seed couldn’t hide the pride in his voice as he answered Camus: “Bataille was a powerful destrier… he was about 17 hands tall, and strong. You should have seen him charge in battle, toppling the other horses…” His hands had, of their own accord, found an itchy spot behind the horse’s ear, and he was scratching it, seemingly appreciating the moment as much as the horse did.
“Culgan is”, there was always that moment of hesitation, when he forced himself to correct his tenses, to get used to the idea that his friend was gone and that he was probably holding on to vain hope, “Culgan was in charge of the light cavalry. Archers, but also fighters in leather armor. I was leading the heavy armored knights. Bataille had to carry a lot more than myself, although I heard Zexen armors are even heavier than ours…”
Moving around comfortably behind Seed, Percival took up a brush and set to gently brushing down the horse while he ate and enjoyed the attention. "It sounds fantastic," he admitted. "My only experience with the charge of heavy horse is reading about it in novels. Midnight is a fine charger, but it's easy to plow through a field of..." He hesitated. Conflicts like that with the Six Clans were long over, and it seemed crass to bring it up now. "...foot soldiers," he finished. "Though, charging through ranks of heavily-armored Harmonian soldiers was a challenge. Both a thrill and a fright."
He came nearly elbow-to-elbow with Seed as he combed his horse. "You've seen me in full armor, on patrol," he noted. "I don't notice its weight anymore, really. It just is."
“Armor is like a second skin”, the Highland general agreed, as he turned towards Percival, looking at the other man going through the familiar motions and feeling strangely empty without a curry comb in his hand. “It’s strange to leave it behind in my room. It’s like I’m forgetting a part of myself, just like a hand or a leg. It’s a strange handicap no one else can see. What I’d give to be sleeping rolled up in a blanket near a dying fire, dreaming of the clash of sword and the smell of sweat… there’s nothing like that sound… the sound of two armies breaking against each other like waves on the beach. That’s what a heavy armored cavalry’s charge is like.” He patted the gelding’s strong neck, feeling the muscles under the skin, and peered at the contents of Midnight’s trough. “You should add some wine to that, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the special attention. Bataille just loved wine in his oats.”
Percival listened in silence, letting the words paint a picture in his mind while his hand rhythmically carried out its routine. "Funny," he remarked after a bit, his tone thoughtful. "Even though I've been through my share of clashes...I don't wish for it. I've felt idle, over the past year being stationed here, and yet I don't want to be called to that kind of action anytime soon." He tried to chuckle it away. "Perhaps because it would mean that the peace has failed and hard times are upon us again. The Tinto border clashes were enough, and even those have died down." He glanced at Seed, and then Midnight's head bent over the grain. "Perhaps, but Kathy spoils him rotten already. I try to save treats like that for after he's had a hard time of it, and really deserves it."
“I’ve had a sword in my hand for the past ten years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And it was no empty bravado. Seed lived for battle, for campaigns, for pushing far and wide the glory of his beloved homeland. There was something awe-inspiring, and perhaps a little humbling, about living every day as if it could be your last, of feeling so much, so strongly, so fast. “We’re born warriors, in Highland. Don’t you miss it, that rush you get before a battle? Your blood pounding in your ears as you charge? The satisfaction of unhorsing your opponent, of feeling the powerful muscles of your warhorse flexing against your thighs as you fight as one?”
The motion of the curry comb stilled briefly. "No...I can't say I do," Percival admitted. "I've never been one to have any feelings during battle, except to accomplish the goal and come through alive. I neither hate it nor love it...I simply do it." He glanced toward Seed and tried to smile, though he didn't understand the Highlander's point of view at all. "Battle is only one facet of knighthood. Which is why we knights have always thought ourselves better than the warlike clans, like the Lizards, who seem to thirst for battle in a way I can't understand."
“Simply… do it?” Seed queried, a look on incomprehension flickering briefly on his features, “You’ve devoted your life to something you simply do? Without fire? Without passion? Battle isn’t just a goal to accomplish, it’s something beautiful and so much… more than we are. When you’re on your horse and you’re not yourself anymore, you’re a wolf, you’re the wrath of a country you love than more life itself.” He paused, then, his hands flat against the horse’s side, feeling the warmth of the animal, the life, battles fought what seemed like a lifetime ago playing out in his mind’s eye… “There’s nobility in war. There’s greatness. Being warlike does not make a country less than another. Peace is filled with daily compromise and a slew of little humiliations. Why swallow a toad for breakfast when you can stand tall and make your own rules?”
Percival shook his head slowly, a sad smile awakening on his lips. "I wish I had your passion, Seed. I don't know where mine went...whether it faded with age or I left it on the field when Midnight crushed my ribs last winter. You speak so eloquently of things...of things I might have read about once upon a time. The only things I remember of battle is dirt and dust in my teeth, blood on my face, aches and pains, unrelenting frustration and...nothing remotely passing joy." He turned away and resumed brushing, feeling the creeping fingers of doubt coming over him again. So much for banishing them. "I wonder if that's why I challenged that Lizard to a duel...though naturally I lost it..."
It seemed only natural to Seed to reach out, like he often did when his men lost faith, when they lost hope, when the war became too heavy a burden for them to bear. He reached out, grasping Percival’s shoulder, his brown eyes intent on the other man’s face. “Don’t ever lose track of what you love and what you fight for. A knight without passion is just a butcher. It’s not dirt and dust in your teeth, it’s the taste of a challenge. It’s not just blood on your face, it’s the blood of the enemy, it’s one more victory. It’s not just aches and pains, it’s the physical proof of your devotion.”
"And if I believe in none of that?" Percival appreciated the touch, and the fiery gaze, but the words sounded so hollow to him. "Does that mean I have no business being a knight any longer? Or are we simply two different men from different worlds, so to speak...with different philosophies born from different circumstances..."
“Don’t bloody use that different circumstances excuse on me”, Seed interjected. He was used to this, to this disbelief, to this strange nameless sort of feeling, half-sorrow half-resignation. He had rallied his army through a losing war, he had sent men to die with hope in their hearts… it was easy to slip into old habits. “What it means”, he stated simply, his hand sliding across Percival’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck, like he used to do with his scared young squire, on the eve of difficult battles, “Is that you need to believe again. Everybody loses their way at some point. It doesn’t mean it can’t be found ever again. Hell, look at me. I lost everything, and I'm here telling you, who has everything, to believe.”
Percival shuddered visibly, his breath catching in his throat. "Please," he said quietly, trying to control himself so he wouldn't flinch or strike, "don't touch me that way." His hand went up to brush Seed's hand away from his neck like he would a buzzing fly. "It's an easy thing to say, but harder to make happen. I've known for some time that I've lost my way...having 'everything' means nothing when I don't know who I am." His dark eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you become so astute? Have people been saying things about me, or something?"
“Are you calling me stupid?” A word, and Seed’s infamous temper flared bright, a temper as red as his hair, his mother used to say, that’s something he can’t deny getting from me. His hands flew to his waist, and he bent forward a little, his brown eyes narrowing dangerously. “Because you’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of bloody Harmonia and I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and stupid not to notice. I hate this place, and this life, and this country, and these people but I don’t lie to their faces about it like you’re doing to me.”
Letting out a frustrated sound, half-way between a sigh and a growl, Seed continued: “You know who you are, you just don’t wanna accept it. Just like you come up with some hackneyed explanation of why killing coldly and rationally is better than being from a warlike passionate clan. It’s not. It’s disgusting, that’s what it is.” His voice lowered, and Seed’s tone became menacing: “And next time you swat at me like that for no apparent reason, you can discuss that weird phobia of yours with my blade. Are you a man or a schoolgirl? Did daddy not love you enough? If it’s not too good for my men when they’re having a bad day, it’s not too good for you.”
Percival's brow knit with a combination of anger, outrage, and confusion. "My father was killed by Grassland bandits when I was a child, I'll thank you to leave him out of it," he snapped. "You don't know me at all, to say such things. You know absolutely nothing of my life or this land to be making such sweeping proclamations." Midnight was finished with his breakfast and peering back at his master as if to ask why the brushing had stopped, but Percival still stood there, staring down Seed. "And for your information, I don't kill in cold blood either. I've barely drawn my sword in the last three or four years, a handful of skirmishes excepted. I like peace, Seed, I like not being at war. I want the people of Zexen to feel safe and go about their lives, not have to fear whether some day it will be their turn to be burned like Iksay. If that means merely being a polished figurehead in a suit of armor, then that's my lot in life."
“Your lot in life? You sound like you’re an old man looking back. I’m sure you can’t be much older than I am.” Seed shot back. “And I don’t need to know the particulars of your life, I don’t even care about the particulars. I’ve lead enough men to be able to figure you out. You’re unsatisfied. You’re unsatisfied because you’re dishonest with yourself. And this is making you weak. So you like peace. Do you love it? Do you love it so much that the very thought of dying for it brings you joy? Where is your passion?”
As Seed continued, he realized that what infuriated him the most wasn’t Percival’s defeatist attitude, but the fact that he had everything Seed wished he had, and yet stood there like an emotionless lump. “You have a country. You have your captain. Your fellow knights. Everybody loves you here. What the hell more do you need? Do you know what I’d give to have what you have?”
"I don't know!" The force of Percival's shout startled even him - and Midnight, who tossed his head unhappily. Seeing that, Percival turned away in frustration and threw the curry comb at the back wall as hard as he could. "I don't know," he said again, more quietly. "I shouldn't feel this way, you're right - but I do. I reached my life's goal before I was even twenty-five, now I'm thirty-two and stuck in a rut. You can have everything of mine, I would give it gladly if I could!" He leaned against the side wall of the stall, his elbows on the top edge and his arms dangling over. He had been right, at the first - Seed was frighteningly insightful for someone who barely knew him. Even Percival's own friends hadn't been able to scratch the surface of his troubles.
“I’m not buying it for a second, I know you know!” Seed shouted back, not one to be out-screamed under any circumstances. Where Culgan was cold and calculating anger, Seed was loud and ardent. His indignation burned bright, but was short-lived. So when he saw Percival slump on the side of the stall, he stopped short. It was sobering, but still infuriating, to know that people had problems, even in this ridiculous little Eden of a castle. And just like he had yanked blubbering soldiers off the floor of his tent, he grabbed a fistful of Percival’s shirt… and pulled. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Even I know what it's about, and I don’t even know you.”
His first instinct was to smack the hand away again, or launch himself at Seed, but Percival stood his ground, determined to be the better man - to be better than Borus at keeping his temper. Even so, he bristled with anger to the point where his hair might have stood up even more on end. "Then perhaps you can tell me what it's about, if you're so much more enlightened than I am!" he seethed right in Seed's face, keeping his fists at his sides for now.
After that comment Seed, incongruously, started laughing right under Percival’s nose. “Well, it’s the first time this didn’t work! Culgan taught me that little trick back when we were breaking in recruits and it always did wonders.” Seemingly oblivious to Percival’s anger, he reached out and thumped him on the shoulder playfully. “Maybe it’s time to look around you again. Like you’re seeing things for the first time. And figure out what you really love and what you really want. I became a general at 26 and you don’t see me in a rut! Well, technically, I also died at 26, but hey, some things can’t be helped!”
Percival blinked at him in astonishment. "You were...joking?" he breathed, still not quite letting go of his anger. "I don't find it very funny! Not when you were so...so right about everything else!" He backed away until his back hit the wall, at which point he buried his face in his hands. "Goddess...I didn't ask for this." He let a bit of silence stretch between them, breaking it only to laugh humorlessly. "You're the same age as I was at the end of the war...when I asked for a year off to rebuild Iksay. By the end of that year I chafed to return to knighthood, because I couldn't stand the thought of retiring there and settling down. Anything but that."
“That’s how you bluff. You need a little truth to make it seem real”, Seed explained reasonably, perhaps simply to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. “Do you think I asked to end up in this little rundown town? I belong in the ruins of the castle at L’Renouille, with Culgan. My bones should have been picked clean by worms by now. That’s what I’d ask for. But we don’t choose the cards we’re given, we just need to play our hand the best we can. I don’t give up. I’d lie and cheat and struggle with a pair of threes.”
He saw in Percival the shadow his men, breaking down during the retreat, thinking that their lives were over, that there was no need to fight anymore. He saw in Percival… himself. But surrendering wasn’t a way to live life. Life was a constant struggle… a constant exhilarating struggle. Seed pondered catching Percival in a headlock -that often worked- but decided that he might fight back and spook the horses. So he settled for dropping his left hand on Percival’s shoulder, a little wary of the other man’s reaction, and nudging him slightly. “You have four aces and you’re not even trying. C’mon, stop being a pansy”, somehow, his voice didn’t seem insulting, it was almost… friendly, “You’re a knight. Behave like one.”
It was too early in the morning for the fight in Percival to last very long. He was already tired of it, and Seed's admonition was much gentler than he expected - or he might have gotten angry at being told to behave like a knight. "I am trying," he said softly, straightening up from the wall. "It isn't as simple as you make it sound. I wish I could see things like you do, Seed. You firmly believe everything you say, don't you?" He shook his head, and then went to retrieve the brush from where it landed in the straw and resume combing Midnight. "I don't suppose you would like to help me? This isn't going very fast, if we keep interrupting his grooming just to argue."
“If I didn’t, I’d have finished off the job that the liberation army started. Hoping against hope is a powerful motivator. My Queen is here now, and if Culgan… when Culgan comes, we’ll return to Highland and set things right. I’ll raise an army for Highland. I’ll see her blue skies again before I die.” Seed couldn’t say whether he really believed his own words, believed that it would come to pass, but whether or not he did, he had decided that he would die trying.
“Might not be as simple as I make it sound, but it’s a hell of a lot simpler than you make it sounds, that’s for sure”, he quipped as Percival picked up the brush, then visibly perked up at the knight’s offer, a boyish grin appearing on his face. “Of course I’ll help.”
Percival handed him the curry comb and went to get another brush to work on Midnight's tail. Because of their status and how seldom they rode to battle, the knights usually kept their steeds' tails long and luxurious as if for parade. "As I understand it, Seed...Dunan has been a stable country for around twenty-five years. An entire generation has passed since you were there. Such a goal may be...harder to accomplish than it sounds. But...I suppose I can imagine how it must feel. If I were stranded far from Zexen and so far in the future, I would probably want to ride to see if the windmills still spun over Iksay, even were it part of Harmonia by then." He gave Seed a light smile. "For what it's worth, I didn't call you stupid. You're actually quite sharp. You read people well."
Seed snorted. “I’ve been here for two months and even I know there was a rebellion a few years go. That’s nowhere near 25 years of uninterrupted peace. They failed, but I’ll succeed, because I have the Queen with me, and Highland in my heart. We’re not Dunan’s vassals. Highlanders bow to no one.” Without even looking at the horse, he started to brush Midnight efficiently and methodically, falling effortlessly into a pattern he had used on so many steeds throughout his life in the army.
He listened to the Zexen knight explain himself, and nodded quietly. His perfunctory years of schooling had always been a sore spot for him, having to rub elbows with the aristocrats, the well bred, the intelligentsia of Highland, and often feeling uncouth and rude, as if he was nothing more than a farmboy wielding a sword he couldn’t afford.
“I’m not an educated man, and I know it, Percival. But I make up for it in other ways.”
"Education isn't all it's cracked up to be," Percival said plainly, going to work on Midnight's tail. "If I wanted to learn anything about places beyond the Zexen border, I had to look it up myself, and often there wasn't time. So you'll forgive me if I do lack a greater understanding of your homeland and points east." He shook his head slowly. "If that is your wish...then so be it. At the moment, I have no right to even begin to advise you whether or not it's a good idea." Percival paused, and then added, "...he doesn't usually stand still for anyone else but me. Or Kathy."
“I don’t remember most of what I should have learned in school. I used to sit by the window, when I was in class, and daydream about being a knight”, Seed frowned, his hand never stilling on Midnight’s coat, “It took a long time for my father to accept it. He wanted his only son to tend the farm. But I didn’t love working the fields… and I didn’t want to spend my life doing something I didn’t love.” The Highland general laughed, mischief in his brown eyes, “He hoped I’d knock up and marry the neighbor’s daughter, so that I’d stay. But I didn’t love her either. Highland was always my woman.”
Percival chuckled very slightly. "I suppose I can understand that yearning. As I said...my father died when I was very young, so my mother raised me alone. She always wanted me to follow my heart, though, so when I said I wanted to become a knight, she let me go even if it meant leaving home and almost never coming back." He leaned closer to Seed as if to share a joke. "In that we're alike - I don't want to spend my life working the fields either. I am terrible at anything resembling farming."
“Nothing would have kept me in those fields either. I think I had to become Captain before my father decided to talk to me again. Luckily my oldest sister married a strapping young fellow who took over the farm and…” Seed stopped short, and he paused in his work, giving Midnight an idle pat, seeking comfort from the horses as much as he was giving it. “In the end he’s the one who died defending my family. Culgan and I were trying to rally the armies to prepare a retrenchment towards the capital at the time. Maybe all Highland farmers have a knight’s soul after all.”
"It is said that a farmer defending his homestead is more valiant than a knight paid to march off to a distant war," Percival said wisely, and a little sadly. "Such was my father's fate. Believe me, the day I stood in the town square and watched cadres of Lizard Clan warriors come over the hills, all I could think was 'not again.' But I didn't die that day...and I protected my mother. I guess knighthood was good for something, after all."
“We have a saying like that in Highland, but it’s about a squire defending a dying horse. The idea’s the same, though.” Seed mused, wondering how long his brother-in-law had held out, if he had been surprised, unaware in the fields, if his sisters had fought as well. There were no survivors to tell the tale. “I lived through a few Matilda raids myself, when I was a boy.”
Percival nodded, either having heard that variation or completely agreeing with it. "Ah...yes, things were far less peaceful around here when I was a boy," he noted. "Like Budehuc itself, Iksay is closer to the border than the cities of Zexen, and thus felt the brunt of Grassland bandits and any spillover from scuffles between the knights and the clans. I wanted to become a knight so things like that wouldn't happen to innocent farmfolk... little did I know until I was well into training, exactly why the nobles in their cushy cities didn't fret for fear of bandits and Lizards." There was a slight note of disgust to his voice, if one listened closely.
Seed stayed silent at that, finished off one flank, then moved to the other side of the horse, rubbing Midnight’s nose before going back to work, mulling things over. He suddenly stopped mid-stroke, and leaned on the horse’s back, turning his gaze towards Percival. “Is that why you looked like someone kicked your puppy earlier? Or is there more? Because that’s easy to fix.”
Percival raised his head and blinked at Seed. "I...kicked my puppy?" He made a face. "Did I really?" Shaking it off, he resumed combing the bits of straw out of Midnight's tail. "I've come to terms with Zexen politics. I may not like it, but the Knights serve the people, not the Council. As long as I hold to that, and follow my captain, the rest sort of rolls off my back. Believe me," he added in an undertone, "whatever uncertainties are in my life have nothing to do with Zexen politics."
That comment brought forth another guffaw from Seed. “No, you didn’t kick your puppy, but you surely looked like someone did!” With another laugh, he bent down, coaxing Midnight into lifting his leg and showing off his shoes. “Nice job on the horseshoes. You’ve got a competent blacksmith. Nothing’s worse than split hooves.” Naturally, as it the topics were somehow related in his mind, he continued talking about Percival’s problems. It was nice to focus on someone else’s issues for a change. “Then if the politics aren’t it, what is it? I mean, after being screamed at I think I have a stake in this mess now.”
Percival came around and gave Midnight a distracting pat on the neck. He had been about to check the horse's shoes himself, but he didn't begrudge Seed the work so long as Midnight was all right with it. "I just had him re-shod about a month ago, at Brass Castle. He threw a shoe on the cobblestones, so I had them all checked and refit." The further question made him sigh and look away. "It is...what I said. I just turned thirty-two, and I feel like my life is in a rut. But I joined the castle guard to have something to do, a set routine. These things don't change overnight, in time I'm sure it will all get better." He wanted to say that he didn't know Seed well enough yet to trust him with anything else, but he said nothing. He didn't even tell Borus such things, he considered them private.
“Ha! Combating rut with routine? That’s like tossing a lit match in a fire to drown it.” Down went one of Midnight’s leg, up went another. “Really nice work. If I ever own a horse again”, his voiced seemed wistful when he talked of a horse of his own, “I’ll know who to go to. I think what you need is excitement. Parading around on your horse in a castle where nothing happens doesn’t seem like it would help any. You’re too young to act like a tired of colonel just waiting to fall off his horse dead one day.”
Percival idly curried the horse's mane while Seed made his inspection. "Excitement...?" Like challenging a Lizard champion to a duel, he thought. "I suppose...you do have a point. I've always taken comfort in routine but...that was back when things were so unsettled. I wonder." He glanced down at Seed and chuckled. "You, on the other hand, seem to live on pure excitement with a dash of alcohol."
“You’ve got that right!” Seed answered emphatically, although in this time and place, it seemed almost like a convenient lie. “I’ve lived a full life, where every day and every second counted. I hate life here, in this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, it’s so quiet and pointless. I hate waiting like a damn woman. But I have no choice. I can’t succeed in my plan without Culgan, I can’t carry this all on my own.”
"Well, if you wanted excitement...no, that wouldn't do." Percival smirked to himself. "I would have suggested plunging yourself into the flocks of women who follow me around Vinay or Brass Castle, but they're not all that exciting. Rather annoying, actually. You're welcome to them, though, if you ever travel there. Tell them you're a friend of mine and I'm sure you'll never want for company." He glanced Seed over briefly. "You're an attractive sort, they'll fall all over you."
“I have no need for women, thanks for asking”, Seed answered, removing a pebble wedged in the side of Midnight’s shoe, “Growing up with four sisters was enough squealing for three lifetimes. And if I did, there are places for that. Maybe not in this castle, but anywhere there’s a military presence…” Seed straightened, pushing crimson strand of hair away from his face and tucking them behind his ear, a puzzled look on his face. “Do you make a habit of telling other men they’re attractive? That’s kind of strange.”
Percival's eyes widened, startled, because he hadn't realized what he had said until now. "What? No! Oh...no, no, not like that! That wasn't what I meant," he insisted, flushing red in the cheeks. "I-I just...no, never mind." Seeing as Midnight was now fully groomed and inspected, fat and happy, Percival busied himself leading him out of the stall and down the aisle, to the paddock beside the stable. He intended just to turn the horse loose for the day, instead of riding. All the while he tried to think of a way to fix what he'd said, but it was too late now. Better just to forget and move on.
After being a source of irritation, Percival was turning out to be a source of endless mirth. He was sputtering, his face as red as Seed’s hair, then retreated to the end of the stables, obviously mortified. “There’s no need to look that embarrassed”, Seed called out between a few guffaws, “It’s not like you commented on my ass or anything. Now that’d be weird!”
"I would never!" Percival huffed over his shoulder as he led Midnight to the gate in the paddock fence and sent him through with a slap. The gelding took off running, clearly happy to able to cavort in the pasture with the stable's regular stock, as well as the horses belonging to the other knights. Percival latched the gate and turned to lean against it, expecting Seed to have come up behind him. "It was an idle comment, pay it no mind," he said, embarrassed.
Seed followed Percival as his laughter died down, hands stuffed in his pant pockets, and leaned sideways against the low fence, smiling as he looked over his shoulder to see Midnight running. “It’s a fine horse you have here”, he offered, cocking his head to the side, crimson hair falling in his eyes, “But I still think you need to reevaluate your routine here. So for a start, tonight, I’m taking you to the tavern. You look like someone who needs desperately to unwind.”
He pushed himself off the gate, his hands still in his pockets, and on the way out, nonchalantly tossed over his shoulder: “It’s not a request, it’s an order. I outrank you, remember?”
Percival straightened up and nearly protested, but he gave up and sighed, beginning to smile. "Very well. When I'm finished with patrol, I will meet you there. And there are only two here who can give me orders," he called out at Seed's retreating back. "You're not one of them, unless you somehow join the castle guard and get promoted ahead of me."
“Details, details”, shouted back Seed as he made his way towards the castle. “It still counts and you know it.”
Giggling under his breath, Percival remained leaning against the fence for a bit. Considering that they had almost come to blows, that could have turned out far worse. And he had no reason to turn down a drink.