Chapter One: A Long Way From Home

From the entrance of the fiendish pavilion a silent witness watched as the man she once loved lay at sword tip on the ground, the handle held by the man her heart now belonged to. Whatever the outcome, a part of her would die today. Are there any true winners when fighting these powers? It's easy to discard these turned warriors as human, to demonise their existence and end their misery without a wink, a thought or a tear. In the end whoever this tainted creature was, once it was just a man or woman who had the misfortune to stray too far out of ignorance, guilt or sadness. The lure is just too great for us mere mortals. Once a father, a mother, a brother or sister. It's easy to freeze our emotions for these malignant beings when their face is an unknown one, their history not ours and their existence diminished to a passing event.

"Oh, brother, how did it come to this?" A lone tear ran down the young knight's cheek, more clouding his vision. "Speak to me once more, friend, for I long to hear that wisdom again. Pray, tell me, everything will be fine."
The creature grinned its wicked smile and its answer drove an icy and poisonous dagger in the knight's heart. "I ought to thank you, brother." The bloated shell stressed a lot of hatred and sarcasm in that last word before he continued. "Your betrayal threw me in the arms of the true gods, opened my eyes for the true powers. The truth: your treachery and hers made me embrace the pure forces of this world." It threw a baleful glance at the woman in the entrance who did not return the gaze but guilt-ridden averted her eyes from her former lover. "How does it feel to know what you really are? How does it.." The knight never gave the creature to finish its last sentence as the sword finally drove through the layers of pus, fat and flesh until it pierced its windpipe.

Instantly a change trespassed in the eye: it turned back to that sorrowful pearl the young knight had come to know. It is known that true redemption lies beneath that black veil of death. It is said that the last breath of the deceased hold truths and words to console or warn their beloved. Whatever monster he had become, now it were the words of a broken man, hackled by spasms of pain and gurgles of the nearing end. "And what can I tell you? My brother? My killer? What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you. I guess I forgive you. I'm glad you stood in my way." A few more pathetic spasms and its eye turned upward, the nightmare no more. Whatever solace his last words would be in the years to come to the young knight, it made the entire situation worse at that moment. Tired of fighting, of losing and of the pain life gives us all, the once proud knight wept bitter tears for his fallen brother, memories fouling his attempts to regain his composure. How did it come to this?

Chapter Two: Prologue to Destiny

A strong wind swept through the high grasses, the blades of green and flowers rustling in the quiet noon sun. The air was warm and smelled as spring ought to be: holding strongly unto that promise of summer with reborn youthful lands and soothing the threat of winter for its denizens. The sun had almost finished its descent, now doubting at the threshold of the horizon, colouring the sky and scarce clouds in every kind of orange. A tranquil and serene landscape only disturbed by the passing presence of a single knight and his retinue. Astride his strong and proud warhorse, Simon Gastinois, kin to the ducal family of Gisoreux, had temporary abandoned his ancestral forests in search for that which all knights who come of age, coveted but only a select few gained. Here in the flat and devoid of human life lands of Quenelles, Nicolas Pinsson had built his home out of wood and stone. A motte and bailey erected against the horizon, dominating the landscape from afar. Though he was barely nearing his thirtieth spring, Nicolas had chosen a hermit’s life for reasons unknown to all safe himself. Though the tongues of the envious credited his self-imposed solitude to a disfiguring wound which thereby hindered his skill, most agreed that he had become tired of the hundreds  -maybe thousands- requests of every lord, high and low, to train his son in the noble arts of swordplay. Indeed most called the young swordmaster to be the reborn Landuin, that impressive was his skill with the blade, some even whispered that the noble and still untainted blood of Mousillon ran through his veins, descended directly of the fairest of the companions, claiming him to be the rightful heir of duchy. Whatever his reasons, Nicolas had fled the crowded halls of kings and dukes to this remote land of peace and seclusion.  

Simon was more than an average fair lad, bright green eyes that shone as two perfect emeralds and long soft auburn hair which playfully whirled in the wind. Leanly built, his body hid his true strength. As a true chivalrous knight his mind was as pure as his physique, spiked with haughty grandeur -as befitted a youth-, and which had brought him here. However the epitome of the knightly ideal he was, his skill with the blade was decent at best and not up to the standard the young knight’s mind was fixed on. Though he passed his errand with flying colours, he would not take pride in the accomplishment and immediately left the keep of his beloved father in search for a mentor which could guide his hand to perfection. True legends carve their own words in the stone of time. Simon had ever lived and trained by these words of wisdom of his father. A true hero isn’t born but is a sacrifice: he must be ready to abandon his family and loved ones for the greater good, be prepared to lose them by the hand of the wicked and survive all which could be thrown at him in his path. In his mind Simon was more than ready than to take up that banner and become the paragon the land so dearly wished for but if he were too vanquish his relentless foe his skill with the blade needed to be invincible.

Only a few hundred yards to cross and he would finally meet the fabled knight which had perfected the king’s hand, exercised with the great heroes of his youth and became the youngest guardian to be honoured to sip from the grail since Louis the Rash. His legacy was vast in spite of his young years: indeed it was widely known he looked no more than twenty cycles young and his vigour remained still at its peak. Simon was excited to take the next step: there was no doubt in that youthful head that Nicolas would be inflamed by his desire, struck as it were by his bright destiny and would agree where others had failed. Surely the Lady would inspire the weapon master to recognise his potential. 

Finally the small company crossed the wooden gate of the makeshift wall of tree trunks about seven feet high. Fleetly it crossed Simon’s mind to pause and wonder about this provisional defences at best. Surely a legend can afford better? If not the king than some great lord of the land would support this great warrior? Or has She forbidden him luxury so not to poison his mind with trivial and earthly matter? Inside the gate a second surprise made the young knight wonder: it was indeed an odd sight to see not serfs but the refined hands of a noble take the reins of the horses. Silently these sons of other lords took their horses and led them to the stable to be groomed. Baffled Simon saw these knights do other simple tasks and maintenance around the small fort which he never before had seen handled by blood of a lord. They weren’t even mere knights of low stature: indeed the young knight recognised several of liveries as renowned warriors of every corner of Bretonnia. Why are these men wasting time and breath on meaningless chores? Doesn’t Nicolas have any commoners in employ? Or don’t these fine examples of chivalry have some servants to chop wood, clean the stables or even cook? Dismayed Simon saw a knight stirring a bowl of stew, made from small game. By the descending darkness he could distinguish several other buildings as makeshift as the walls where other important camp business was concluded. A small wall of stacked stones lined a deep well with their fresh water supply.

From the steep dug stairs, made from hardened ground, leading to the top of the hill where the young knight presumed the keep would be, he nimbly emerged. Nicolas was a rugged man with sharp and bright eyes peering underneath his bushy brows. His long, dark and unkempt hair covered his neck to his shoulders. Completely covering his chin and surrounding his mouth, a wild beard had grown since a couple of months. His muscular body betrayed to be capable of great feats of strength and endurance. In spite of his legendary skill with the sword, he didn’t look as nimble and agile the stories had made him look. A man built as a mountain takes a lot of time to turn.

While the living saint was still overlooking the scene, Simon addressed his hero in the words which he had been rehearsing in his mind for the entire journey. “Lord Pinsson, I humbly beg an audience with you. My name is Simon Gastinois, cousin to the ducal family of Gisoreux, blooded at the Battle of Ypres, satisfactorily fulfilling my errant in valour and glory in said field. Your renown has me riding this far to search for the fabled knight who single-handedly slew the Wyrm of Winternight and is called Landuin reborn by all. “ Anxiously and his heart thumping wild, Simon awaited his reply. His hand felt clammy in his gauntlets.
Those discerning eyes of the chivalrous incarnated had fixed on the young knight from the moment he addressed him, stern but with certain patience towards the youth. As soon as he had finished, his practised reply rolled of his tongue. It were the exact words he used every time: for indeed there had been no doubt to the why of the sudden visit of Simon. “Gisoreux is a long way for tale and hope, young one, even longer will your return be. I am sorry but I do not accept students anymore. I know what brought you here, hopes held high, just like the five others I receive every fortnight. Whether they were born high or low nobility, it makes no difference to me: every single one thinks they are chosen to be tutored by me. Return home, young warrior, fulfil your duty to your land and kin and leave the tales of legends to those who are damned to perform them.” Nicolas turned and walked once again up the stairs, his shoulders tense, his hands clasped behind his back.
Somewhere hidden in his eager mind Simon had taken in account to be refused but the sudden and abruptness of the answer stunned him. Irritation born out of his young years took over as he sped up the stairs. The slowly mounting legend did not even turn around but kept his solemn pace. Nor did he challenge his burden with words but remained silent until Simon spoke to him, flushed and ireful.“That’s all you have to say? You, sir, have barely laid your eyes on me for a heartbeat and you judged me already?”
“As I tried to explain before, there is no difference between those that bother me in my solitude.” Nicolas made eye contact for a second before returning his attention to the stairs. In that small second Simon saw no arrogance and disrespect but gentle and somewhat tired eyes. They were certainly not the eyes of a man who had faced a demon of the abyss and lived to tell the tale. “Every time they arrive with the same haughty manner, heart stoned with their own greatness and virtue. Every time they get angered at my response, trying to challenge my experience and wisdom. Every time they haste their way from here not a bell later. Forgive me then that I lack the patience to answer each and every one of you at length.”
“Even so, sir, it is custom to at least offer a fellow knight a warm bed and hot food for the evening at this hour.” It was a cheap shot to question the man’s chivalry. Cheap and unworthy but by now disillusion and anger had become his ill advisors.
Nicolas merely flinched a sad smile as he replied. “All of you also seem to think a man of my position should be holed up in a keep, dispensing wisdom  to travellers. Once again I apologise, my young friend, but this is no fort but a chapel which I once built myself with nothing but my own hands and wit. I can offer you refuge for the night but nothing more.” Simon stopped in his tracks as Nicolas pushed the two heavy doors open. Beyond stood no more than several wooden benches, facing the altar in the middle. In a far corner there lay the armour and shield Bretonnia had come to revere just as the ducal and royal ones: indeed the grail supported by a red rose on a black and white divide was a celebrated sight in every city and battlefield across the land. It was mind numbing to see that proud red rose so weathered and worn on his badly-kempt armour, dented as it was by misuse and partially as the paint chipped off his shield. Pinsson’s eyes followed his younger peer’s to the corner and his sad half-smile returned. “Let it never be said that a life of devotion and piety is an unrewarding one.” One last stern look before he closed the doors fixed the youth’s eyes. “But it certainly takes its toll.” 

When night falls in those lands, it quickly drains the last warmth to return to its hibernation. Huddled around the campfire, Simon drew his blanket close. He was welcome to rest safely and warm in the chapel but his proud mind forbade his tired body. His two squires remained his two silent guardians with their dull eyes. Didn’t they care their master had been refused so quickly and definitely? If so their hearts are a closed book to my mind. The young knight sighed out of weariness, because of the cold and because of his sense of helplessness. Simon buried his face in his crossed arms as the starry sky wheeled overhead. In the depths of nowhere they seem ever more radiant, countless in an endless dance, too complicated for man’s mind. Long fiery tears scarred that sky as the world of the gods looked down on their progeny. He had travelled many a mile to become that legend he had made himself believe in. In his best dreams he had imagined the long and heartening ballads the bard and minstrels of every court would have composed and sung. In fact the past month he seemed ready to face everything and anything as his confidence roared as a mighty lion.  Roar it might but when challenged it was but a mouse. His heart was heavy now as his anger subsided by more powerful and lingering emotions: shame and sadness. Challenge his honour? What in Lady’s name had he been thinking? This was a man who had stood alone in the face of every peril man has ever faced in his young life and every single time he emerged victorious, his bravery and sword having cleared the path to the legends.
“Don’t worry, son, the worst has passed.” The sudden voice startled the train of thought of Simon as he turned his head to look upon the one who addressed him. The night obscured the stranger’s features but the knight’s heraldry betrayed him to be family to the castellan of Mont Vernoux but his specific heraldry rang no bell. “Mind if I join you?” The unknown knight sat down near the fire, not waiting for a reply from Simon. A silence ensued as the man warmed his hands by the fireplace. By the flickering light of flame Simon could now discern a man of middle age, no distinct features, a knight as any other. From the corner of his eye he noticed Simon was looking at him. “The name is Jean de Garlande. It be a surprise if you’ve heard of me.” Indeed, the name of the knight brought no  memory forth. Simon  awaited patiently for Jean to continue. “Been here ever since my sixteenth winter when the world was still bright and adventurous. Lured here by the promise to be taught by the world’s greatest living knight. Just like you. I heard him say nay and be done with it. Trust me, lad, the rejection is the worst part. When you are on your way home, you’ll see your bright future and the adventure ahead once more.”
“Did you, sir?”
The question seemed to pain him as his face darkened. “That’s a keen question, lad. As sharp as a sword’s blade and just as potent. A fair warning: keep it to yourself. Most of us here are sensitive to it.” The knight sighed and continued. “Slighted honour and all that. To answer: no, I didn’t. But I don’t blame Nicolas for it: he has ever treated each and one of us as equals, a pleasant man if you get to know him instead that of the distant knight that he has to wear as a second skin. Our society raises us to be paragons of virtue and masters of war, stressing the part for heroics and noble deeds. They force us to look to the sky and the men that reside there. But, lad, they hold no obligations towards us for anything. That’s why we linger here, I guess. If we can’t become that warrior, we reside in his company, trying to bask in his glory. One day Nicolas -willingly or not- shall lead us to our destiny or death in a battle that will shake the ages. And we will have a part to play in it. At the moment our lives might not be worth much but we cling to that promise now.” The knight sighed as his eyes dissected the layers of the fireplace. “Best be on your way, lad...”
“Simon. Call me Simon, please.”“Simon. Leave this place on the morrow and lead a good life back home. It’s the best any of us can do.” Jean rose to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his tabard. “You know, Simon, it might not be much but it is my home and duty here.”
The knight left the youth to his thoughts. Silence once again returned to the campfire, his two guardians already lying beneath their blankets. A guardian. The man has his own personal guard, devoted and loyal to him even when he had rejected them. A man bereft of his purpose searches a new one, a consolation. Being here gives them that in a world that would otherwise mock them for their foolishness and naive beliefs. Riding alongside a legend makes them feel part of it. This conclusion amazed Simon: knights who willingly subsided their pride and ego to follow a man to which they had no real tie or bond. A man who they deem more worthy to follow then their own father or liege. Nicolas inspires these men to a greatness which is the hardest of all: laying aside any personal glory in favour for another which erases their own name in history. His thoughts wandered and reflected on what lay home for him: a father with no real interest in his second son and a stepmother which revered her own clutch more. To sum up: a lifetime in service of his older brother. His sibling was dear to him but in some way the two never really had connected. Martin had ever reached for that which lay within his grasp, satisfied by his promised bounty while Simon was left to reach for higher goals. So I reached out to the sky, only to surrender. 

The sun woke the young knight as it slowly crawled over the wooden palisade. The fresh morning air was loaded by the spring’s dew. The smell of baked bread still lingered over the encampment even as most had disappeared into the hungry mouths of the early birds. It couldn’t be later then the seventh bell of the morrow but still there was already a lot of activity. The knights of yesterday had already resumed their self-imposed duties to gather food and make small repairs to the compound. The rhythmic drum of steel against steel even betrayed the presence of a fort smithy. After he had refreshed himself with the cool water from the well, one of his silent squires handed him his breakfast: the bread, alas, had cooled off already in the morrow cold but the salted beef and lard more than made up for it. His father had always stressed the need for decent food before attempting a long journey and indeed the simple but refilling grub heartened Simon for his decisions to come. His two companions had already readied their gear and horses, acting on their impression that their business was concluded here. After wiping off the last lard of his plate Simon addressed them. “Jacques, Clement, you’ll be alone homebound. I have decided to remain here.”
If there was any consternation or surprise in the hearts of the two, they clearly hid them well as they silently looked towards their young master. Finally Clement, ever the smarter one, pushed his disinterest enough away to ask the logical question. “What shall we tell your father, young sir? He won’t be pleased that we be leaving you here.”
“Tell my honourable father that I may have found a purpose here between this group of knights. He’ll understand and won’t be aggrieved. If you see my brother, tell him I’ll be fine and if there ever arises the need for my sword that he can still count on him. I’m not abandoning my family nor duty, I’m just rendering my services to those in greater need for an extra hand. Now leave here and return my words home.”
His two companions didn’t utter any  objections but returned to their apathy. Not even a flicker of sadness over my refusal to return home. Have I been that bad to the lowborn? Apparently they can’t even spare feigned loyalty for me. I have been a fool and not just to those two. With a weary mind Simon looked up to the chapel. 

The bitter night had left a lingering cold in the chapel. By the morning’s light, shining through the stained glass, Simon could now better see the room. The foundation was made by a pattern of natural stones, the walls and roof were no more  than crudely-cut trunks of pine safe for the eastern wall  -with the stained glass window- which functioned as a support for the entire building. That part of the wall seemed much older, its age betrayed by the crumbling edges. The upper part had been restored more recently with fresh stone but no master hand had a part in that. Fairly new tapestries tried in vain to cover the impermanent nature of the building. The benches only strengthened that belief, being no more than a board nailed to tree trunks as legs. The stained glass of the eastern wall depicted a kneeling figure in armour before a king of old though the colours had faded through years of being ignoring for Simon to recognise. In a whole the chapel looked as provisionary as  the rest of the encampment yet Nicolas has dwelt here for more years then at the courts of dukes and the king. The only striking feature was the altar, though simplistic in nature and equally weathered as the stone wall. It was made of marble, the colour worn and stained with dark earth, every support was a turned away knight in prayer, carrying a mourning bed on their most inner shoulder. The bed was lined with lilies and banners announcing the deeds of the knight all revolving one particular battle. Try as he might, the young knight could not recognise which battle was displayed. On top of the altar lay one single piece of armour, a piece of a battered breastplate, rust settling in its grooves.

Of course Nicolas himself was in deep prayer, kneeling before one of the benches, eyes to the ground. If he noticed the entry of Simon, he did not show. As silent as possible Simon moved over to the closest bench and kneeled as well. He had ever been raised to be a devoted man to the Lady as both his father and stepmother are fiercely religious, bordering the edge of fanaticism. Before he could hail Her Nicolas’s monotone voice interrupted. “Don’t waste your breath on empty promises. Feigning adherence won’t make me favour you. Please, don’t sully this place of worship with your own selfish interests.”
Though the unmindful words cut a path deep in his honour, this time he remained calm and replied gracefully. “Then my place is here for I wish nothing else but to honour Her with my naked devotion and simple virtue. We might not have started off the right foot but trust me when I say I’m here with nothing but religious reasons. Furthermore, I owe you an apology for any slight I might have caused yesterday. It was foolish off me to question your integrity and it was a wrong born from anger. Forgive the foolish words of an ever more foolish youth.”
His dignified reply surprised the older knight who nodded slightly and returned the gesture. “Then it seems I owe you the same: for no reason I questioned your reasons for being here and for that I am sorry. It seems these days you can’t predict any-one.” A light smile brightened his otherwise so stern face. 
A serene silence returned to the chapel as the two knights returned to their worship. In his mind Simon felt relieved that Nicolas held no grudge and was even a bit proud to have turned the argument against him by acting chivalrous. Even so it seemed as if Nicolas didn’t mind his presence here. Who knows? Maybe someday he’ll even give me a full smile. Maybe one blessed day he’ll give me a few remarks about my skill. And maybe, maybe he’ll allow me to fight alongside him one beautiful day. As he caught himself not being pious, he returned to his prayer. Humbly he asked the deity for wisdom and her blessing for this new path he was about to walk.

Chapter Three: All For One  

It took a long while before the young knight became accustomed to camp life. The luxury of having servants working for one is often overviewed. Weeks passed before Simon finally started to get the hang of repairing cloth or his hands to get used to an axe. Slowly he settled in a daily routine of waking at the first rays of sun, pray until the self-appointed cook, a cynic old knight by the name of Charles de Crenan, had finished making breakfast and he divided the remainder of the day over several chores for the common good of the fort, maintaining and repairing his armour and clothes and sparring with the other knights. It surprised Simon that most of them were fairly skilled in duel and horsemanship. Likewise Jean de Garlande may not have been the greatest of warriors but Simon liked him nonetheless: his wisdom was unrivalled and his tales entertained the others many a night by the campfire. Every once in a while he saw his own reflection of a few month ago as a new youth rode down to their camp to introduce himself to Nicolas to no avail of course. The only way to notice the passing of time in the camp was when Nicolas sometimes startled them by setting off, unnoticed and without a warning, to answer an invitation of this or that neighbouring lord. Though the living legend often visited the courts of the high nobility, he never lingered for more than a day and never joined in a joust for his own personal reasons. 

During the last month of spring as the days grew longer and the weather became increasingly more fair, he even got to know the man behind the legend. As Jean had mentioned, Nicolas was an amiable man who treated every single last of them as his peer. Even so; each time they got a chance to talk, Simon could not help but notice the tempered tone in his voice. Something was bothering him, this much was clear and if the others knew what they weren’t sharing, just like they wouldn’t tell him the meaning of his self-constructed chapel and to who it is devoted. Though Nicolas’ life had been eventful up to now –Simon knew all the tales by heart as did any young noble-, his adventures to this day had been void of any sadness or regrets so Simon could not discern what was bothering the legendary knight.  

“Do you know that this hill was once the site of a great battle between the corrupted of the false gods and our own forefathers?” Simon was sitting at the edge of the hill overlooking the plains when Nicolas asked him that question. Intrigued the young one quickly shook his head. “Where Louis the Young knighted the Repanse de Lyonesse? Indeed the muffled screams of the wounded still dominated the battlefield as she found herself facing her one and only love -albeit its personification of it. Tales tell of the radiant light she beamed over the plains as his sword touched her shoulders ever so lightly. The same light, I imagine, as Landuin carried in his heart as he rode in the presence of his peers. The Lady inspired them to true remembrance. Places like these are forgotten while the true heroes are the dead that made the legend worth to withstand time. I arrived here on my travels to see the chapel where once her bodily remains had been interred, cast asunder by time. Her remains were returned to a bigger tomb in Lyonesse but I discovered the grave that held many of her soldiers. Forgotten by all. I remember wondering whether every hero had such forgotten graves of corpses. The dead that are scattered around them and they died for a cause not their own. And still they don’t hold grudges. I think, that what makes a true hero, is not the great deeds sung in many ballads, but being a man who commands unquestioning love from those that follow him or her, even into death.”
“Do you believe yourself to be capable of such feats, sir?” Simon contained his curiosity as to the why he had given such a lecture.
Nicolas sighed but he did not wave the question away. “I know in my heart the Lady has made plans for me long before I was even born. The Repanse for instance learned of her calling at our land’s direst moment. I can tell you, young friend, that even knowing the will of our goddess doesn’t change that uncertainty takes root. Under the reign of pressure and nerves, she almost made a fatal mistake what now turned out into her greatest victory. If she had doubted and chosen poorly, we wouldn’t even be here discussing her. It is not easy to accept that there are plans over which you don’t have any control. Your life, a puppet in the hands of the mighty. Are you to be famous or scolded for your mistakes? People expect me to perform miracles every battle, every joust they bet me to win and swipe every lady off her feet. But when it comes down to it, I too can die on the other side of a sword, I too can feel pain when unhorsed and ladies still can choose to ignore me. I don’t feel chosen nor any more special than any other knight. Am I capable of being a hero this land needs? I don’t know.” He cast his eyes down.
“Milord, are you alright?”
“No.” The resolution behind that one simple word startled Simon. “I feel myself to be a prisoner of fate which I didn’t even get to decide. Sometimes drowning under pressure, pushing me ever under. You know: every noble I meet wants to defeat me in a duel, their lords want me to lead their army and train their sons to become me and the noble ladies of this land expect me to treat them as a goddess or worse. Afterwards there is no room for gratitude: no, I just played my part in this theatre. The only ones who truly are grateful for the aid I render, are the lowborn.” A silence lingered as Nicolas was struggling his own mind.
Simon decided to change the subject. “Is that why there are no commoners here?”
The question took him away from his doubts. “Yes, it’s the only restriction I have for staying here. I won’t let them have to give up everything back home to fulfil the whims and wishes of their masters.” Another silence ensued as the two men saw the grassy plains being tormented in the wind. Afterwards Nicolas smiled and said. “You are the first not to try to strengthen my resolve by advising me to stand tall, remain proud and take heart in the plans of the Lady.” Nicolas turned and vanished into the chapel, leaving his young peer to his thoughts. 

Once adapted to the life in the camp, Simon quickly rose up into the silent hierarchy of the knights. Even without the teachings of Nicolas, Simon’s skill with the blade surged by duelling and listening to the other knights. Finally it far surpassed the most skilled and even Nicolas came to admire his victories on the sparring field, standing on the top of his hill, with silent approval. It turned out Simon also had a keen sense for organisation and command as he successfully reshaped the camp to efficiency. The first among peers Simon came to be respected by the other and older knights. The nights were filled with the tales of Jean and the conversations with Nicolas. The latter seemed to open up more to his younger comrade, confiding in him. Slowly a bond grew between the personal guard of the living saint, a bond that exists only between those that live and serve together. Simon was proud to call them his ‘brothers’ as they meant more to him than his family back home.  

The days of the year passed, a summer of sweat and an unrelenting bitter winter of scarce game, practically unnoticed by the young knight, until the one year anniversary of his arrival of the camp arrived.
Simon had just stopped paying his respects to Her when Nicolas interrupted. “It’s been only a year and yet I see great changes. That annoying little tyke has sprouted to become a most agreeable young man.” Indeed, Simon had grown, his shoulders even defying his old armour. That youthful spark in his eyes had been replaced by the stern gaze of adulthood. Hours ride from the nearest castle, he had become used to his hair and beard being unkempt and untidy.“
Nonsense, I am still that charming lad that arrived here. It is you who has changed as time has dulled your thoughts, old man.” Simon jokingly replied. This was also true: although the burden of destiny still tried to crush the knight, his temper had bettered over the months. Occasionally Nicolas had joined his guard of peers on their hunts and campfires, startling them at first but entertaining them later on with his own stories and knowledge of game. The band of brothers had noticed who had been mainly responsible for lifting the man’s spirits and were grateful for it, strengthening the bonds between the men.
“Even so, my friend: it is odd how time can soothe wounds and change minds. Maybe it has dulled mine but the result will be the same. You have learned much over this past year. On your own, relying on your own wit and skill. Your advances are impressive, especially since they are mostly self-taught and born out of talent.”
“Talent? I could barely lift a sword before I arrived here.”
“Let me finish. It is easy to blindly follow the words of a man whose hairs are grey and arms weak. In the end you know only a style which is not your own, which might not even suit you. No matter how well you’ve copied his moves, how many times you shall wield a blade or how great a warrior your teacher is, your skill with the sword will be flawed. That flaw can’t be corrected, not without a certain degree of talent. Even before I fled here, I rejected many a noble son because they lacked that. Your incessant sparring and learning of the others has increased your skill to a talent which I can help you perfect. If you’re still searching for my aid, I’m willing to teach you perfection.”
The offer shook Simon because he had put the apprenticeship long past him, wishing for no more than staying here with his adopted family and friends. Even so, his ambition now reared its head: the opportunity was too great. Yet his loyalty to the others won. “Why me? Why not one of the brothers?”
“They can’t.” Nicolas defiantly replied.
Headstrong as he was, Simon was not satisfied. “Why?”
“Because they don’t have the right will, skill or the age. Because you remind me of a youth I once knew with the same determination and the same amiable demeanour. More so; you make me feel like a humble human once more, your greatest gift to me, instead of the walking paragon of chivalry everyone else sees. A gift I intend to repay in the knowledge you seek.”
“You owe me nothing of such kind. This past year I have learnt more from you than my sixteen cycles before from anyone. For one I have consented in letting my desire not drive others.”
“Be that as it may, my offer still stands.”
“Then I’ll accept it. Lady knows, I’m more then up to it.” Simon jokingly added.
The sarcasm was lost on Nicolas that moment and he warned Simon. “Arrogance is the first step to greatness but drive it too far and at the end of that road you’ll find oblivion.” A disturbed look flickered across the grail knight’s face as he recognised the disbelief of the youth. “Trust me, I know the depths that can only be reached by ambition and zeal.  The wrong methods are still wrong even for all the right reasons. Now, these are my rules: first none of this leaves our trust. Agreed?”
“Agreed. No-one shall know.”
“ Second, we’ll have a weekly hunt just us two. A hunt to others, a lesson for us.”
“Just weekly? Won’t that hinder learning any technique you pass on to me?”
“Of course not, you shall be practising those in your daily exercises with the others with me as a silent overseer.”
“I shan’t disappoint you, trust me.”
“I’m sure you won’t but it still is a leap in the dark for both of us.”
Simon recognised the voice of doubt. “I’m sure you shall not fail me.”
“It is not you who I fear to disappoint.” 

Thus it had been agreed and thus it happened. Progress was slow, testifying to the difficulty of the tasks Nicolas set the young warrior. Over the months Nicolas shared many wisdoms and truths about the noble art of the blade.
“To be able to maintain a dance of swords, every swirl, thrust and feint must be efficient, saving your breath.”
“Balance is the key to any fight: use it and you’ll shall open the door to victory, lose it and you shall forever stand before a locked and cold door.”
“Many of the world’s monsters can withstand an awesome amount of pain before they start to weaken, more then you and I anyway: by gauging its every move and thus prepare your own to be lethal, one can survive such an encounter.”
“The elves have an inbred battle calm which makes them more capable in a duel. Stay focussed and train yourself to become an elf during battle. Even so our bodies are more hardened and fit for battle: our endurance makes us more resistant to pain. Be assured in the knowledge that what we don’t have, we can learn but what we do have, they can’t ever achieve.”
“Fighting the powers of corruption is worse than any other battle: every spawn of their horror-soaked world is a long and wearying nightmare in itself, one has to conquer your voice of fear every single time before being able to subdue your angst long enough to destroy it.” 

Three years had passed since Simon had ventured from the forests of Gisoreux and a strong friendship had grown between the two noble knights, born out of mutual respect and founded on their same love for their land. The skill of the adolescent with the blade had become as impressive and legendary as his mentor. Though the young knight’s swordplay was challenging to him, it did not rival his duel with the sword. As a master he knew his pupil’s every moves and abilities, turning it against him with the aid of his vast experience. Simon had no choice but to accept the seniority of his friend and instructor, even though it was a slight disappointment to him. Jokingly between the two of them they chalked it up to the extra boon of sipping from the grail. Despite their best attempts to cover his progress, it soon became clear to the other knights from which wind Simon’s improvement blew. Their hunting parties with just them two had already been a point of discussion and curiosity amongst their peers but when the young’s knight advancements became apparent, the truth was quickly discerned. Even so it did not change their undying respect for their appointed leader nor did jealousy turn the camp sour for his young charge. In fact Simon quickly became the camp’s leader based on the trust Nicolas invested in him. If there were those who coveted the young one’s position, they did not reveal so. Only once did the small brotherhood ride forth during those years in line behind their two captains. The arrival of the great champion of the land heartened the army who faced that green scourge of old. The waves of the greenskinned were beaten down, overturned, rallied and all but wiped out before the wrath of Bretonnia’s sons, a victory to rival the remembrance. Simon found himself in the thick of the fighting, piercing the brutish ranks of orc and their smaller kin, and finally defeated their warlord in an epic duel. His star was rising, his tale of legend born in that battle. Even so it marked the end of his youth. An urge was building momentum, a vocation that deeply burned passion into his blood: the Lady had her eyes on that promising knight, her calling an ethereal kiss that crossed the borders of the two worlds.  

One day, not long after that fabled battle, the mind of Simon was made up: his departure as swift and determined as his blade. The brothers would miss him but accepted his decision. Nicolas merely smiled: his approval -and more important his blessing- expressed in that trademark smile of his. Accounting the travels and adventures of the questing Simon is not a part of this tale as they feature in many a ballad and this tale is about their friendship. Far and wide his deeds and renown with the longsword travelled, strengthening the spirits of nobles and winning the hearts of fair damsels. His search lasted for a bit more than two years after which he returned home triumphant.

Chapter Four: One For All

Finally he reached the border of those grasslands he knew so well. Waist-high they still stood, bent but recognisable under a fine layer of snow. From that place he should have been able to see the lone hill, rising from the horizon, tipped by a stone speck but a grey haze clouded any vision of the fort. Anxious he had spurred his horse into a trot, hooves leaving small clods of snow behind. The walls seemed smaller somehow but they brought joy to his heart nonetheless. The gate was closed to shield the compound from the wind but they were quickly opened as he pound on the cold wood. The man opening was no stranger to Simon at least: the black cloth hiding the scar which had closed his left eye permanently during their last battle together could only belong to Aubert, a sulky bear of a man but with a great sense of humour. His hair however had slightly greyed over the years, adding more weight to the ending of his middle age.
Aubert however didn’t seem to have recognised the heraldry of one of his former brothers and Simon decided to test his mettle. In his most haughty voice, borrowed from his youth, he questioned the poor frozen warden. “I can’t believe they have a one-eyed man standing sentry over this place. Makes me wonder whether the deaf man can actually blow the horn or where the mute messenger hides.”
“I may have but one eye, ye spawn, but it sees more than the running brain of a cocky...” The aged knight seemed to be in no mood for another admirer but when he studied the rugged face and coat-of-arms some more, it dawned on him. “By the Lady’s great, Simon! That’d be you? Never expected you to tell a decent joke, lad. Come on in, come on. I’ll have some-one groom and take care of ye horse. Get inside the warm commons, the lads will want to hear about yer return.”
“Can’t say no to that, old friend.”

 Indeed the overwhelming warmth of a roaring fireplace greeted his entry. Conversations numbed and heads turned to see the one to entry. First some then others started to recognise their wayward brother. Familiar voices and face rose to greet him and congratulate him. Instantly he was guided to the middle of the room where one cleared a comfortable chair next to the fire for him, his cloak taken from him to dry as well near the hearth. Most of them pulled close some chairs and after their salutations had seized, they let the kid recuperate his breath. Simon smiled as he recognised most of his brothers, some were new to him but his legacy made him no stranger to them.“It’s good to be home at last, brothers.” Simon started as he overlooked their faces, flushed by the warmth and happiness.
“Good to have you back. Been a time, lad. Your stories have travelled long and far even to these remote parts. Nicolas even send minstrels here to make sure we heard about your new deeds.” Jorge de Baille-Mal answered, a wide smile adorning his sleek face. “Nothing like hearing them for real though.”
Simon laughed, giddy with joy. “Lady spare me! You’ll hear them all, be sure of it, until you can hear no more. I owe that much to you. But for now let me warm myself while I hear the news.”
Jean de Garlande stood next to the fireplace, looking down upon Simon. “You know this place: change isn’t prone to visit much but it seems there will some in near future.”
“Is that so?” Curiosity rose as he understood the hinted weight of his words to come.
“Nicolas has returned home.” Jean casually said while he studied his friend’s face.
“Home?” The surprise was not feigned: for indeed, the young knight ever expected Nicolas to remain there at the chapel with his heart true to the place. “You mean Pinsson Keep? In Couronne?”
“Yes, his dad passed away when the leaves started to drop. The king graciously nominated Nicolas as sovereign lord of Pinsson Keep and its estate.”
“Indeed.” Heymon, whose hairs had lost all colour and whose eyes –Simon regretfully noticed- seemed to have lost all potency, interrupted Jean before he could continue. “He left two moons ago to make arrangements.”
“Don’t try to convince me he abandoned you lot here.”
“Don’t be silly.” Jean replied. “Part of the arrangements are a permanent home for the brotherhood in his keep. All of us.”
“And the chapel? His devotion? Don’t try to tell me he forgotten about his self-appointed duty.”
“Of course not.” Vincent grunted, a silent but brooding knight with considerable skill with the blade. “Other concerns pressured him.”
“Concerns?” Simon incredulously said as he knew that Nicolas had actually tried to escape those by fleeing here. An awkward silence ensued as the brothers hesitated to reply, trying to avoid his eyes. “Jean, please tell me.”
Jean seemed unhappy to be addressed but his loyalty towards Simon did not falter. “About a year ago Nicolas rode to Bordeleaux to attend the yearly game tournament at the request of the duke itself. The stakes were the hand of his beautiful daughter, Agnés, in marriage.”
Simon interrupted as it dawned on him. “He jousted for her hand? Why?”
“Love at first sight, Simon. Mutual actually. There was no stopping Nicolas of course: one by one the other suitors fell before his lance and sword. They are to be wed when the spring rains have ended.”

A long silence followed as Simon sat speechless. Marry? Why hasn’t this crossed my mind before? One day or the other it was bound to happen. Somehow I seemed to have forgotten that Nicolas is human too. Finally he regained his resolve. “Why did I not see this coming?” The young knight thought for a moment before he continued. “Why didn’t you say so directly?”
“Nicolas probably wanted to tell you himself, my friend. He’s overjoyed with her and it shows.”Simon laughed as he added. “Odd, he never seemed that kind of man. Tense and honour-bound, I’d expected him to rest here until the Lady threw him his destiny. No, I never imagined him sitting beside a castle hearth with a kid on his knee and his love behind him.”
The group of brothers laughed in reply. The initial shock disappeared and Simon felt happy for the two. Descriptions of Agnés made her seem a true lady with the appropriate manners when she had visited the fort right during an autumn storm. Defiant to the weather she talked to all of them with extreme politeness and patience. In fact it was she who suggested to give this group of homeless knights a place in her father’s keep for the time being. Of course then Nicolas’ father regretfully perished a few months later and he was able to ferry them all to their new home at the coast of Couronne. Throughout the evening many stories were shared, a hot meal and drink heartening Simon. One by one the others surrendered to their sleep while outside the wind and snow gained momentum. A brand new and sparkling white tapestry will be waiting tomorrow. A new beginning for us all. It seems a perfect moment to marry when the past is covered by purity. 

Simon awoke still in the comfortable chair that morning a warm breakfast awaiting. The commons had already been cleared by the knights who returned to their duties. A bright blue sky greeted Simon, oblivious to the tempest weather of that night. As predicted a carpet of snow had turned the landscape in one great plain of snow. Meanwhile it seemed that most of the activities of the brothers included clearing the wooden houses from all that was gathered here over the years which was incredibly much. An encampment gathers a lot of gear and objects which might not have a direct use for but one still keeps for the future. Most of his trusted friends were preparing the impending leaving while others were shovelling snow to clear the compound. “It doesn’t harm to be prepared.” Jean said to Simon when he helped him lift a heavy barrel of furs unto a wagon. Simon quickly started helping out with clearing the buildings. It felt odd to him to move the furniture and utensils now that he had just come home but in a way it seemed a fitting start of a new chapter. 

Nicolas returned in high spirits not a week later with several other men to help the last proceedings. His good mood even soared as he was surprised by Simon. He hadn’t changed much over the two years but his eyes burned with a bright and cosy fire, fuelled by life and optimism. He had lost the beard though which underlined his smile even more. Simon couldn’t help him but laugh as Nicolas threw his arms around him.“Finally.” He said to his younger peer. “Finally. It’s been so long. It amazed me how used I had become to your arrogant face. Tell me all, tell me everything! Or better yet, wait until we are reunited with my love. I trust these lot already broke the news to you?”
“They made it sound as if you had died, brother, but I’m glad to see that you have fallen skywards. I am sorry to hear about your old man though.”
“After she died, my father has never been the same. When the mind is not willing, the body quickly follows. It wanders and trails off in the distance, the light dousing as it can’t remember anymore. It was peaceful in the end and I’m happy for it. The Lady’s last merciful kiss, what more can a man want?”
“Not much, it seems. Tell me, does she let you stay up late?”
Nicolas laughed and let him go. “It’s so good to you again, friend. By the Lady’s blessing, I’m proud to see that holy fire burning your eyes. Tell me: have you already adapted your shield and armour?” Nicolas quickly inspected his young friend and chuckled as he noticed the weathered and torn clothes. “That hasty to return to our blessed lot, were you? No matter we’ll sort that when we get to Entrevilles.” His train of thought however suddenly trailed off.
When Simon followed his eyes, he saw what doused the flames a little. The snow-covered chapel defied the blue sky as it glistened in the morning sun. “I wondered about that, you know.”“It wasn’t easy but it was inevitable. Though this place has served as a great refuge of devotion and solitude, it is no place for a lady of high standing. I’ll build something more permanent here, I promised myself. It’ll ever be my home away from home. Praytell, do you want a room with a view over the sea or do you prefer to be awakened by the morning sun?”

Pinsson Keep had a proud and long history as the foremost important city keep protecting the estuary of the river Mans on the most northern shore of Couronne. Situated on an extending peninsula it commanded a great and important view of the seas. Over the ages it had been fortified and expanded from one keep to a labyrinth of a citadel with a sturdy stone wall encircling the city of Entrevilles. The agreeable warm coastal wind had taken care of most of the snow, allowing the castle’s high towers and sturdy defences to show themselves. The salty smell of the sea greeted them along with the north wind. Simon could easily imagine himself call this city and the castle home. The banners still hung half-way until the new lord was appointed in the ceremony of the next week. Later Simon remembered them and wondered whether they had been a sign for things to come.

The city was bristling with activity for the great ceremony which even the king himself would attend. It seemed as if every citizen had hung out banners bearing the family sigils, small flags of Couronne and the king’s heraldry. The stone streets were swept time and time again until the cobbles gleamed into the sun. All betrayed an eagerness of his soon-to-be loyal subjects to warmly welcome him home and start his reign on the best of terms. Many commoners stopped to greet the small procession of carts and knights and Nicolas graciously replied that greeting all the while beaming with pride and happiness.  Simon had chosen for the room on the seaside of the castle. Its long and restless deep waters fascinated him as he looked out the window. His room was comfortable and big, even more so then his ancestral home in Gisoreux. Though not teeming in luxury, it commanded a cosy presence with a finely-decorated mantelpiece over the hearth as its main feature. It’s been a while since I have even seen a bed, let alone ever sleep in a double one. I wonder whether I’ll even be able to sleep without my saddle as a pillow and the hard ground to rock me to sleep.
“It used to be my own.” Nicolas had entered the room unnoticed and stood aside his friend, overlooking the vast expanse of water. “It holds the most awesome view in the entire castle bar none. I thought off moving down here with Agnés but deep down I felt you should have it. It belongs to the brash and restless.”
“I’ll never get tired of the view, I can guarantee you that.”
Nicolas smiled as he nodded. “I know you won’t: I know I never did. Even the plains of grass reminded me of that sea but it’s not even close to comparison. There is not a force greater than that off the sea, my friend, ranging from the soothing and lazy waves on a tranquil summer afternoon to the awe-inspiring mighty autumn storms when the wind and rains ceaselessly try to batter the walls of this keep into submission.”
“So... When do I get to meet the one that has so stolen your heart so deftly and sudden?”
“Soon, I hope. Though she won’t be travelling north until a few days before the wedding along with the ducal family. The duke insisted on this formality, I think he wants to keep her to himself.” Nicolas laughed at his own joke but then noticed Simon’s pensiveness. “What’s bothering you, Simon?”
The young knight frowned but had no answer for him. “I don’t know. All these changes... After She blessed me with the grail, I went home to find the brothers and you, expecting to linger there for many a year until fate called us. But now I find myself somewhere else, surrounded by walls and luxury I did not expect, with servants I have no need of. It’s confusing me, I guess. It seems as if my world changed from the moment I put my lips to the cup. In many ways it did but apparently not how I suspected.” Simon paused as he drunk deep the salty air. “Don’t mind me, brother, I’m sure it’ll be just a short while before I forget our previous lives.”
Nicolas smile felt reassuring to his former student. “All grown up, my little upstart. If there is anything, don’t hesitate to come running.”
And his friend left him alone to garden his thoughts. Grown up indeed but I never noticed I was in the process. A new start, new responsibilities. Simon berated himself. One can’t keep on hiding in a private fort forever, the time of adventure and recklessness has come and gone. My hand holds the quill to write the next part of my life and so far I find myself in a comfortable world. His face turned sour as his nagging feeling kept bothering him. This all seems wrong. But why? They all say that they are beside me now... Then why do I feel so alone? 

Simon had never seen the king before. A tall but gaunt man yet his advanced years had taken away much of his strength. His reign had been blessed with relative peace and his rule was already regarded by scholars and nobles alike as inspired and progressive. Once a testimony of the code of chivalry, now his abilities seemed to rely on his experience and excellent orator skills. Blessed with a powerful and sharp voice, he can hold the attention of thousands who hang on his every word. The speech in which he remembered the old castellan, thereby approving his noble rule over the fief, repeated the responsibilities and privileges of any lord and blessed Nicolas’ succession to his new position as a lord of this land, was as if written by the great bards of old. Simon had stood next to his former tutor as was his wish and had experienced the ceremony at first hand. Now he was wandering through the gardens looking blissful solitude from the crowd. I shall remember this day forever: not its majesty, nor the fact it involved my best and trusted friend but because today I saw a man beam pure royalty and command respect. He may be old and nearing death’s shroud but if age would look so kindly down on me when I near my sixties, I’d be grateful indeed. His son has big shoes to fill. It can’t be easy to have to stand in the shoes of a man that great that his shadow will  ever loom over you. Even when he’ll be gone, his account will remain, threatening to engulf him forevermore thus dooming his reign to oblivion. Nicolas holds that man in the greatest of respects and I believe I see why: not his legendary skills, nor his way with words but how his presence ever dominates a scene, blinding lesser men into loving him and follow him to whatever end. He is what Nicolas wants to be: a true hero.  

Days passed as life settled back to normal in the castle and the city. Nicolas proved to an inexperienced but just lord but he still needed a lot of time and advice to come to a suitable decision. Simon and the other knights of the chapel didn’t see him much those first few weeks after the ceremony. Even so, they themselves were busy with adapting to their new life: with much of the work now divided amongst the serfs, they had much more time on their hands. Boredom is a serious threat to any brotherhood of peers so Simon tried his best to keep them busy hunting, duelling and travelling throughout the fief. In spite of these measures tension sometimes grew too high and arguments were carried too far. Every need and wish fulfilled, they found themselves without a real sense of purpose when their leader seemed safe behind the walls of solid stone and too busy governing to have to protect him in the field. The personal bodyguard of Nicolas needed a new role and it was hard to find one.

Unable to vent his concerns to the busy Nicolas, he turned to Jean. He found him sitting in silent study of an ancient text about calligraphy in the library. De Garlande looked up from the manual as he approached his table. “You seem troubled, brother.”
“I guess you haven’t heard of the latest dispute between Vincent and Jorge.”
“Ah yes. The loyalist versus the doubter. What happened?”
“The usual: Vincent bored of this monotone life casually remarked that Nicolas was quick to abandon us when chance presented itself. He even insinuated that his devotion to the chapel had been faked all along.”
“Jorge did not take that well, I bet. Ever loyal but this long silence from our former leader has even made him doubt.”
“And doubt leads to aggression. He hit our brother in the face though I can’t blame him for once. I fear their discussion is causing a rift in our brotherhood between two factions, Jean.”
“And with all great changes behind us, we have no new ones to look forward to which makes us all tense and questioning our duties here. To who lies our loyalty now, we wonder? To Nicolas whose head is buried in matters of governing or to our land which could use any help we can give it? Or to surmise: stay here or abandon the cause we embraced for years. It’s a hard decision, one I’ve pondered myself before stumbling upon this extended library. In the end there is no clear answer, I’m afraid.”
“Thus we are stuck in inactivity. Unless we take matters in our own hand, we’ll have to bother Nicolas with this, Jean. He may never wanted this brotherhood but Lady knows he considers himself a part of it as well and the brotherhood will listen to him.”
“Listen to me for what?” Nicolas voice surprised the both of them. He looked weary and grim. “That one brother raises his hand against another? Don’t worry, I heard. In fact from the moment my sergeant reported the matter, I dropped everything else and went to talk to the instigators. And now I know what has been troubling my companions of old.”
“Nicolas, I’m sorry: we should have...”
“Doesn’t matter, friends, what done is done. In mounting the steps I had an idea how to temporary divert their attention.” Nicolas announced this with a certain degree of pride as he walked towards a shelf. He chose a book and showed its worn back to them: it read Laws of state: the noble decrees and enforcement. “This book mentioned a tradition of yore: it’s a title which these days is barely used anymore, partly forgotten safe for these tomes. Wandering sheriffs. Since I’m unable to travel the land myself as my attention is needed here at this time, my counsellors advised me to find another suitable solution. So, I’m willing to entitle those willing with powers to travel through my fiefs and its many villages and enforcing the law thus replacing local petty eye-for-an-eye laws that exist right now. I know it’s not the most honourable of work but it’ll have to suffice for now until my ultimate plan can be completed.” When mentioning his ultimate plan, a brief but oh so recognisable smile adorned his face.
“Ultimate plan, brother? What are you planning?”
“All in due time, Simon. For now confide in me. I entrust you with the task to send those willing to my chambers where I’ll instruct them in their new duties.” His friend sighed as if he suddenly remembered something and turned. “I’m sorry but I have other matters to attend to now.” 

The solution in combination with the promise of something more in the future was sufficient for the time being. Once again peace returned to the castle and before long the snows finally completely melted, the ground thawed and the spring showers had passed. The date was now approaching quickly and Simon caught himself to occasionally wonder what a special woman Agnés de Bordeleaux really had to be to ensnare his brother so much. When her coach finally had arrived, Simon found himself standing in the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of the betrothed. As tradition wanted however she was completely veiled until the exact day. The ducal family had received its own wing in the castle to accommodate them so there wouldn’t be much chance to talk to her neither. This somehow frustrated the young companion of Nicolas who felt he had the right to at least talk to her once. I have to make sure Nicolas has chosen wisely at least. As a friend and closest thing to a brother, it is my duty to protect him from harm, even from his own mistakes. Any attempts however failed.