Chapter XVIII: Forbidden desires.

The studying was as usual simply both of us in the princess’ room—and I made sure I told my unit leader, Horus, about this particular fact. I love to see the bloke cringe in jealousy. The good thing about the intensive training was that the time I spend with my unit was rather limited; therefore, Horus had little opportunity to annoy me. On the other hand, Wilson had spent much time talking—what he does best—to me during my breaks. I hated to admit it, but his company stopped bothering me after a while. Clive was also someone to keep friendly with. While he was around, our squad leader would be a little less disagreeable to me—apparently because Clive has enough authority to file a martial court complaint for military abuse, even if—is his name really Horus?—was his direct superior officer. I didn’t train directly under Clive per say, but at times; he’d watch my training with the weapon’s master and give me additional advice. Even though he was a bit of a lushington at times, he generally was wiser than he looked.

Studying with the princess became increasingly difficult. The proximity made me feel self-conscious and to have her watch over my shoulder as I sat as her work desk made it so that our bodies would sometimes connect. I could feel her hair; tickling my neck and the warmth of her breath. I had grown accustomed to her fruity scent—could recognize her perfume at a moment’s notice. My mind filled itself with forbidden fantasies, thoughts that I could not chase away. I could feel my heart violently pounding, my skin become feverishly flushed. This nervous response I believed was only caused by the fact that she was a woman and I a man—that it was an inevitable response to close physical contact between members of the opposite sex—or at least, I hoped it was. Nevertheless, those feelings were both precarious and otiose; we hailed from different worlds completely. She was a princess, and I a former thug. There could be no love between an elite member of a noble family and a bastard dog. Whatever it was, those thoughts had to be inhibited. Easier said than done… and to think that back then, I had no idea what “otiose” meant; though the noblemen’s jargon was seeping into my vocabulary from common exposure—anyhow, back to the story at hand.

The study session ended and she told me to escort her to the dining room. My “favourite” squad leader was waiting at the door.

- “Fair Elayne! I’ve come to escort you to the dining hall.” While he was talking to the young lady, his eyes were focused on me; a murderous glance. The princess seemed troubled by his presence.

- “I can take care of this, Henry; why not go ahead and tell everyone we will arrive shortly?” the man’s eyes widened and I could feel his restraint.

- “My name is Howard, Sir Kinsley for you, rookie. As the commander of the princess guard, it is my duty to ensure our fair beauty’s safety no matter where she is.” A politely hostile argument; so that really was how nobles argued: Euphemisms and metaphors.

- “Sir Leon brings a valid point Sir Kinsley, would you kindly inform my father of my upcoming arrival? We are within safe walls; Sir Leon will be sufficient protection.” I thought I saw the man cringe for a moment, but he ended up bowing to her.

- “Yes your highness.” The turned away and left without a word.

- “Got him trained like a lapdog, huh?” It was my clumsy attempt to lighten up my own mood.

- “Thank you, to be honest, his presence sometimes tests my patience. He courts me continuously but I am aware that his feelings are more of ambitions than care. I know I have no right to deem myself unfortunate, but most individuals who court me are just like Sir Kinsley. They want the social status that comes with me. I… am merely a condition to be met. It is ludicrous to feel blue over such benign matters, I am aware of this fact…” I believe I could understand her emotion… I felt it too, under different circumstances. A while ago, if you had asked me if nobles could feel, I would have said they were devoid or any signs of empathy, but this woman had been kind to be thus far—certainly not a heartless person; annoying as I sometimes thoughts she was.

- “How is it ludicrous? The manner of relevance here is not whether you deserve to be happy or sad; it’s whether you feel happy or sad. If emotions were so simple and controllable, I wouldn’t—” Instant silence.

- “You wouldn’t…?” The princess inquired.

- “I… Listen, what I meant to say is that whether you ought to feel blue or not is not a relevant question; the question we ought to address is what can we do about it?” She was pensive, tried to be as composed as she could, but her discomfort was obvious from the way she nibbled her lips.

- ”I do not know… most of the interactions I experience are very formal, devoid of sincerity…” Her gaze did not meet with mine and her arms folded as she spoke. She was closing up.

- “Then after this meeting, let’s have a chat. You need someone to talk to and I’ve got nothing better to do.” I had no idea why I was so intent on improving her mood, but I had reacted on impulse during the entire discussion—despite my usual cautious nature.

- “Sir Leon—“ I interrupted the young lady in the middle of her sentence.

- “Just call me Leon; let’s talk man to man…. Err… man to woman; no formalities.” I said that, but calling her by her first name could be interpreted as a sign of disrespect for all I knew.

- “Si—Leon, I accept your offer, you… may also use my first name”. The woman’s arms unfolded slowly and he hand extended toward me. A small moment of hesitation, and I clasp my hand onto her.

- “Then I will… Elayne.”

Chapter XVII: The eastern edge.

- “Wake up, pantywaist! Time to get sweaty!” I reached for my pillow and tried as best as I could to block my ears, but it was to no avail. The man barged in and my pillow was yanked off my hands. Days passed since I got my new toys and as promised, the princess made booked me for intensive training with the weapon’s master. The man was in his early fifties, greying hair and a lot of energy to dispense… enough energy to wake me up early in the morning for bloody training. I yawned and stared at him; very annoyed so.

- “What’s up, dolly; didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night?” What was with him getting on my arse so early in the morning? The guy says provoking people brings up their fighting spirit, or something to that extent, but I’ve been around him so often these past few weeks that I’ve gotten so weary from it that I didn’t have the will to get angry anymore. I yawned again and rolled my eyes as I spoke.

- “Keep on talking, I yawn when I’m interested.” I walked out of bed, wobbly so, getting dressed and thinking about buying door locket sometimes during the week.

- “Come; get your virgin arse out here! The princess requested I train you and that is what I intend to do!” I growled and finished dressing up. I reached for my training waster—a wooden replica of a long sword and motioned that I was ready. The weapon’s master threw another shorter waster into my hands.

- “Take it, I’ll explain as we get to the training grounds.” And so we walked there.

There were two training areas in the castle. One was on the first floor of the castle; a spacious nearly empty room meant to be used when the weather could not permit training outside. When the weather was good enough, we would train in the castle courtyard; an area delimited by a strong wooden fence—almost like a cage. Again, it was wide and devoid of anything but grass.

- “Now tell me, why the short waster? I’ve trained with a long sword up until now and I feel I’ve gotten the hang of handling it”. The grey-haired man poked my chest with his long waster and made me fall over.

- “And you’ll still use it, but I did notice you also bought an arming sword. Short weapons are very useful for very close combat, so I understand what you were thinking. Originally, I was going to train you with each single blade separately, but I thought I’d try something new. Are you familiar with the combat styles of the east?” I remember having heard of them but I didn’t remember any specifics. I kept quiet and he continued talking.

- “I fought in the East before in command of an invasion unit under the former king. The indigenes were under-armoured like you and without that burden; they fought at near demonic speed. During our first assault, we were overconfident and got pushed back. Even scrawny-looking men were threats to behold. They generally lacked shields, but I noticed a lot of them used two blades; one long and one short. They could alternate between all out offensive or use one of the blades for defence while the other one was used for attacking purposes. This combat style always struck me as interesting and I still remember their signature stance to this day. I thought it would be interesting to give that combat style a chance.” So the man would try to teach me a combat technique he himself had never mastered. In other words, I was a guinea pig.

- “How do I go about learning a technique with no proper basis for training? And these guys, if I remember correctly, use curved blades.” Rumours of these weapons gathered everywhere while the kingdom was attempting to conquer new lands to expand the kingdom’s dominion in the prior king’s reign. Hell, some military officer brought some of those weapons back with them. Now that I though about it, It hadn’t been very long since that war ended. The king was really old; over seventy years old until his death of old age brought an end to the hostilities. The current king was already getting old nineteen years ago; when he took the place of his father—who apparently did not agree much with the policies of his father considering he called the entirety of his troops back and demanded a peace treaty. A lot of wars occurred under his rule, but rumours state that the barons got pretty rich from the pillaging of lots of materials like silk and some types of metals and jewellery—while many men died for that. Now that I thought of it… perhaps Berstram’s period of war-mongering was issued by popular parliamentary vote. If the princess was right, then if you add all the facts together; Charles 1^st had a pretty defying stance against the parliament. My trail of thought was interrupted briefly by the thunderous voice of the weapons master.

- “We’ll do it the same way you mercenaries always do—learn from experience. Take both wasters in hand and try it out.”

I was not going to argue with a superior officer’s advice; considering that even though the training was harsh and bothersome, I had made up my mind about getting stronger. Besides, the sooner I beat him, the sooner I get to wash that smirk off his bloody face. He raised his two-handed long sword-shaped waster and prepared to parry my attacks.

I charged toward him, slashing outward with the long sword using my left arm, only to get blocked. I take this moment to spin on my foot and do a spin slash with as much velocity as possible. My opponent blocked but the impact forced him to step back. He counterattacks, swinging his blade at my side. I barely block it with the long sword but his fist flies at me, only to stop at a few inches from my face.

- “Too Naïve!” He flicked his finger on my forehead “Use your other blade; I know it doesn’t feel natural but just do it.” The man backed up and I our sparring session continued for a while—I couldn’t recall how long it had been, but these sessions usually lasted about an hour each. I also lost count of how many times I fell and kissed the earth. She and I got pretty intimate. Finally, I get up and I try a rising slash, which gets parried. I then quickly slash toward his opposite side with the arming sword which he barely blocks with his hilt. Finally, I bring the risen long sword down and it connects to his shoulder with a painful-sounding “thud!”.

- “You let me hit you… Why?” The man could have dodged to the left side, but he didn’t—or at least, he certainly had the skill and combat experience to do so.

- “Look behind you.” I turned around and I saw petite figure of the princess, escorted by Wilson, who was standing at the entrance of the training grounds.

- “Very well played, Sir Leon, you’ve much improved!” I looked up to the old man who winked at me and grinned

- “Well met, your highness, we were just finishing up.” He then turned toward me with the same eerie smile “she’s about your age, isn’t she?” Before I could fully decipher his insinuations, the woman called to me.

- “Sir Bristow told me that he saw you up and about with the weapon’s master, so I came to fetch you for your reading lessons.” I never get a moment of peace, do I?

- “I just got battered with a wooden stick, could I get a break?” Apparently, no.

- “I’m sorry, but no, we have to attend a parliament meeting afterwards, so we are a little short on time.” I resigned myself and followed her back to the castle and into her quarters. Parliamentary meeting huh? That sure ought to be boring.

The ramblings of a man.

“I suffered, so I can’t trust people”. I certainly heard this one a lot. Sometimes, it was a jerk that put the girl in an abusive relationship, and then she ends up thinking I’m just as much of a jerk as he is, sometimes it’s someone who has had difficult family relationships, and I get to pay because her parents treated her with too much discipline. Problem isI’m writing with a touch of frustration, a touch a cynicism.

People lie, people cheat, people hurt, it happens all of the time. I too have been betrayed, and I too have long thought like that. Trust is not an easy thing to regain when it has been lost, especially if this mistrust is against the human race in general… no to mention that the human race isn’t doing much to redeem itself often times.

However, the human race is made up of individuals, which you can pretty much plot on a normal distribution range. There are those conventional fools that make up for the majority of human race, there are those that are extreme in mistrust worthiness and there are also those in the better extreme, the ones we can trust. No person is without fault, no person is consistently unselfish, but a select few try hard to be well-intended.

Trust is something you earn, but one should likely keep in mind that it should be earnable. In other words, withholding trust to an extreme makes it impossible to make new positive encounters and interactions. I am not one to trust readily, but I’m one to give a chance.

When I meet someone who thinks he or she is mistrusting in nature, I can only disagree. Trust and mistrust is embedded in learning, operant conditioned from many negative encounters. Then, black and white thinking occurs and the individuals begins to rate the world as a hostile place. You begin to think that those that are very close to you at the moment are the good, trustworthy people, and you close up, soon shutting away your social needs. When those people you trust are away, you feel lonely, and while you begin to live your social life through proxies, such as television, literary or digital protagonists you identify with. Your need for social warmth and intimacy still is there, it’s just being largely repressed. You occupy yourself, you do lots of activities, stimulate yourself, but there is never a true feeling of satisfaction, merely temporary relief.

But in the end, intimacy is a human need, associated with heightened mood, lower instances of mental disorders and intellectual development even through adult age. It is also associated with general life success. Intimacy is a certain form of commitment, but differs very little from actual friendship. When getting intimate, you want to see your close friend/partner fulfilled intellectually, emotionally and professionally. In other words, it’s just a feeling of wanting to make someone happy. You want your friends to be happy, same applies here.

However, some people fear intimacy. The lay-person would say it’s because the person understands how big a deal commitment is, but psychologically speaking, fear of commitment is rarely a controlled response and does not have any positive effect on well being.

These are the feelings generally hoped to be avoided when fearing intimacy:

• Misunderstood
• Rejected
• Ridiculed
• Faced with the fact that you’re with the wrong person

Sadly, intimacy is not something that builds overnight and requires maintained conscious effort. Fear of intimacy is generally preserved by avoidance of it. A fear is a learned response, and extinction of this learning cannot occur without exposure to the feared stimuli. This applies to all fears. When exposed to intimacy that is rewarding, which required getting used to, someone will most certainly see improvements in him or herself. Unless schizoid, there is not way a given person would not feel a degree of loneliness without intimate relationship. It is one of mankind’s primary needs.

—

I’ve consulted a mental health professional today, not for this problem, mind you, but for my prolonged bad mood. I had been feeling relatively well of late, but that was because I had begun feeling positive about meeting an intimacy need. However, dysthymia is a fairly constant disorder, and generally doesn’t leave easily. One with this disorder also typically falls back into it when highly stressful events occur (I’ll miss these ups in my mood swings; I never felt so strong and competent). I did feel like I regressed in my healing progress from taking this too harshly, and I became pretty miserable from constant rumination of the recent events.

I don’t feel any shame in consulting a psychologist. I feel that my suicidal ideations are getting in the way of my studies and I’m doing something about it. The session lasted or an hour and it was mostly assessment though. He confirmed my dysthymia diagnosis but also asked me to wait two more weeks before he can decided it its double depression. That’s the DSM cut-off. He also wants the event to be further behind us before making a subsequent final diagnosis. He stated the few treatments available, but hearing I didn’t want medication, he asked me to come back two more session, where we could do Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. School psychologist, free, I’ll take it.

For some reason, my appetite lowered quite a bit, but I’m eating fine. I just need to force it down my throat. I can’t concentrate a lot, and I the thoughts are highly debilitating. I got a little lazy on my sanitary care, so I and now forcing myself into doing the necessary things. I also write a lot I occupy my mind constantly. I’d rather not stop to think. I almost never sleep at night, or rather, I spend my days lounging around, but not being able to rest properly. Everything just feels like it takes monumental effort to get done. A few days before, I just needed to talk to this girl, and I’d get the energy to work out a 12 pages project in a day. I admit I’m a bit irritable, and I’m back to my old self, again. I’ve lost interest in most things, and I’m quite unmotivated. I’m empty. I don,t have any other means of support, critical parents who tell me what I should think instead of listening, friends who think that drawing me picture will make it all better… I want to end it, but the methods coming up to my mind are a little too radical. I don’t want to live with these feelings anymore. I might go for the radical way if it doesn’t get better in the future…

A fox in love.

About a year and a half ago, my friend Vincent and I were chatting at Bonaventure station in the subway lines of Montreal; because my bus would arrive in an hour and he was courteous enough to offer me some company. We had come back from a party that I found excruciatingly boring due to the fact that most were way past their dunk limits. I, not being a drinker inevitably had to care for the sick. Generally intelligent individuals, these people became morons, after enough drinks. It wasn’t all bad, and most individuals would have found such a night memorable in some ways. However, I was sober, meaning the most currently intelligent person in the room by a long shot. The loud ambient noise and the social stimulation started to overwhelm me, so I ended up going outside for a walk in the beautiful snowy night. I soon stumbled upon a park and sat there for a while, daydreaming… or should I say evening-dreaming about how romantic this crystallized rain falling from the heavens appeared. It relaxed me, and my headache soon faded away. I returned unnoticed, and eventually, the night was called off, and unlike a typical Ontarian party, it did not stop at seven PM (No offense of Ontario citizens, I enjoy pulling their legs). This is when I left with Vincent and ended up talking at my station.

We were organizing a little dinner for both our birthdays combined; a funny tradition that has been going on for two years, since they were so close together in time. It started near the end of Cégep and we thought we’d do it again. This was the second time, we all were in university.

We talked about who we should invite, and Vincent told me about his personal friends. One of them, he mentioned was a Chinese girl who according to him, was more Québécois than your average so-called Quebec citizen. Another part of his description was that she growled with much evilness when playing cards. It made me laugh for being a completely random trait in a description. Then he stops and tells me in French: “You know, she reminds me of you a lot, I think you might get along pretty well”. I stare at him with my fatigued half-closed eyes, and I respond: “If you’re trying to play the date matcher with us, forget it, I don’t need a girl in my life”. Vincent teased me about being dishonest with myself, something I recall my best friend Jason also telling me repeatedly. We continued to chat, and I just went home.

After much preparation, the invitations had been sent, people had replied, and we were meeting at the restaurant. Lots of chatter, crazy presents such as the “dating for dummies” pocket manual and a huge Star Trek wooden poster, which I had to later carry in the streets for all eyes to see…. despite never having even watched a single Star Trek episode before.

I walked from table to table, trying to talk with a bit of everyone. Sitting at Vincent’s table was a very cute lady, which I assumed to be the young lady he taught me about. She seemed like a fun person, said a joke or two, and went back to sit at my table. Later, we walked outside. We decided to all go to an Irish pub, something I didn’t like, but that I brought up because I knew it would please most people. Walking outside on Ontario Street, one of my friends tried to subtly hit on her, which I didn’t mind, until he began talking about the hentai he was currently watching. I tried to poke him to stop him, but he went on. If there were other men after her, I knew he’d just knocked himself out of the competition. I was surprised however at how politely she listened to him, even though it was obvious that she wasn’t into that kind of thing. Something inside told me she had been around other geeks before, and that she was probably a bit of a geek herself. I started to talk to her, a little self conscious that she was a woman (and I have always been told I had an Asian fetish, though I still say it’s been blown way out of proportions). I could tell from our first encounter that she was a brilliant young woman, open-minded, and had a humorous side to her, which I did not dislike. Then I thought, maybe talking to her wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. The night ended, people went separate ways, and greeted people off and tried shrugged off my fear of women and gave her a light hug.

New Years Eve came up pretty quickly, and after, I made the resolution to work on my defective social skills. I had recently met someone interesting, so I sent her an email after much inner turmoil on whether she’d think I’m a freak or not, and asked if we could have a friendly chat over tea at some point, making sure to try to amuse her history and political interests by using Soviet Union terms in the letter. She accepted, and I thought maybe making friends wasn’t as hard as I thought.

We met on a Tuesday after class, or to be honest, she had no class and I finished quite early. I brought her to a tea salon with a nice easygoing atmosphere, which I thought was ideal for talking. I wanted to learn more about her, a strange urge I had never felt before. Upon this encounter, I learned a few things about her. She was in education, wanted to teach in high school, preferably history. Many of her interests had been unveiled, most of which I could identify to. She was quite knowledgeable, and I could learn quite a bit from her. She was a calming, soothing presence, and for the first time, I had been relaxed enough around a girl without having my nervousness make me too awkward. She was a lovely person, both in morals and in culture, but most importantly, someone I would like to meet again. … … And worthy of mention, a highly sexually coloured song was played in the background during our long-lasting chat. I got a little self-conscious, but if you had been in my spot, you wouldn’t have done better.

I had business with Vincent, our common friend, and I thought she wouldn’t mind spending time with the two of us, so I asked her to come with us. Things went well, we took care of some business and we had food together. Eventually, to my surprise, Vincent left us alone. My inner reaction was something along the lines of “Are you crazy!? Why didn’t you tell us we’d end up alone like this!? What do I do now!? Traitor!”. So the man leaves to meet a lady and he leaves me alone with another lady. She asked when my transport would come by, and I told her it wouldn’t be in a while, which was correct Therefore, we walked near her neighbourhood and stopped at a café run by hippies. With music that made our eardrums bleed and the merchandise tasted like third rate sweaty socks juice. Diring the day, I had learned that she was quite skilled with computers, and she was also the hardworking type. She studied some of her notes in the café for her internship classes, which showed me she was keeping me company even though she had much more important things to do. It felt nice to spend a quiet moment together.

Both of us were occupied individuals, and would only meet again in summer, while we kept in contact on instant messaging. Like me, she’s not too comfortable with talking on the phone. Friends told me of an exposition on the Cuban culture at the Museum of Fine Arts of Montreal, so I figured her revolutionary tendencies would agree to accompany me there. Took a while to get things ready, but we found a common free day. Before going, I hit the books and studied a bit of Cuban culture. While I was familiar with its key components, like the main government actors, and events such as the Cuban Missile Crisis (1962), I wanted to build up on my knowledge to have something to talk about with her. I was obviously outclassed by her in this field. We went together, but most of the time was silent, with little comments here in there, while reading descriptions together. She had gone to a job interview prior to that, so she was dressed in neat casual clothing, which I thought fit her well. In the end, a giant picture of a classy chicken was our most memorable highlight. We sat and chatted, where I gave her a book she was looking for, which I bought out of pure impulse, and then I accompanied her to her station…. I’m a gentleman after all.

I had begun to get embarrassed when people spoke of her in front of me, and friends of mine started teasing me about having gotten into a few dates with her. I continuously yelled “It’s not like that! I’m just being friendly!” in an extremely incriminating tone. However, that reaction made me realize that maybe I had begun to feel some degree of attraction to her, unknowingly. I became more conscious of her desirable traits, and began having certain romantic fantasies (no, no, nothing perverted) featuring her which I tried to chase away. I thought “It’s only been a few months, I can’t be sure if this is love, it could just be some sort of infatuation. Don’t be an idiot Max. You could hurt yourself, but worse of all, you could end up hurting her if you go too quickly. If you actually love her, take your time, learn to know her, and make sure your feelings aren’t just because you’re in love with love itself.”. I had to get to the bottom of this.

In between these meeting, we chatted a lot on instant messaging. Discussions were fun, intellectually stimulating, and emotionally rewarding. It went from random insanity, to very serious discussions. She was always very kind as well. I learned a few personal things about her, and I told her some of my personal experiences. I though it would be best to be honest with her, and tell her more about me, even those painful fragmented memories from the past, things I only tell close friends. I can’t expect someone to trust me if I don’t open up to her. It hurt, but at the same time, felt good. Also, I did not want her to love an embellished image of myself. I wanted her to know my good, but also, my broken parts. I did not want her to pity me, heck, I don’t even pity myself and my life hasn’t been all pink and jolly. I’m just a man with his angels and demons, and I don’t play games with people’s hearts. I’m honest, even if sometimes, it’s not helpful to me.

I spent much time talking to her, sometimes even waited until she went to sleep just so I could talk to her longer. We met again as we went and got our pins for an anime convention. She was going with a friend, and I was going with some of mine too, so we ended up all eating together. Good times, looking like idiots with a chopstick (My friend was hilarious to watch), and eating hot pimientos to as a dare. My friend and I were idiots that day, but all was fun. By the way, I did it first; I’m braver than my friend, ha! We’d meet again the next day.

My friends and I met her by change at the beginning of the convention, where she was to help her best friend. We would meet several times during the day, to eat, to say hi at the booths, to watch men doing yaoi fanservice (argh!). Yeah, I was sitting next to her while it happened… in the front row. I had promised to support her friend, who was organizing this panel, and I thought going through a hell of screaming fangirls, and boys making out was proof enough of my love. Never thought I’d ever be watching something like that next to a lady (No, I did not participate. I’m fine with homosexuality, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to watch this sort of scene). On the first day, I accompanied her in the Montreal sub terrains, first because it was late and I wanted to look out for her, and because I actually wanted the time alone with her. Thing I could have done though was tell my friends I’d be gone for a while. Instead, I left with her and they were left looking all over for me. To be fair, I thought they’d still be playing games and wouldn’t notice my “elopement”, for lack of a better word. Sorry guys.

So eventually, after nearly a year, she and I had a casual talk, where she stated that she did not currently want a relationship. The words came out as a shock, and I did not think she was the type to be lying about that. I thought “Why do I always go after the inaccessible?”. Yet, I did love her, and I felt that not trying would be a waste. I told her, everything I that came up to mind about my feelings for her. I was scared, and after I had finally gone and done it, my hands were shaking, my heart was racing, my skin turned red, and my guts felt heavy. I knew I was going to suffer, I knew what the answer would be, but I couldn’t just keep on going without telling her. And I thought that interested or not, she should know. Indeed, she had her doubts. I was told that we didn’t know each other well enough, that she wasn’t quite ready for a relationship and that the last time she went out with someone whom she didn’t know well enough, the experience was not positive for her. She thought I was a good friend, but that it was much too sudden, and that it takes time for her to trust people. She did not want to put me in an unequal relationship; she didn’t want to make me suffer. I was sad, a little angry, but I kept myself contained, she wasn’t trying to hurt me, on the contrary. I did think many things… I’m one who thinks that a relationship is something we build over time, and I also believed that waiting nearly a whole year was very patient of me. Heck, I would have taken the unequal relationship if it gave me a chance to show my worth as a person to her (not that I think she finds me unworthy). In fact, I loved her and still do.

I can’t fall in love for a while, not after meeting such a lovely person. She was sort of my ideal, the type of woman I had always dreamed up. Smart, critical, kind, funny, unconventional… I still think we could be very beneficial for each other. I believe I am a very decent man, while not perfect. I love to care for people, and I’m easy to talk to. I have well above average intelligence, despite my clumsiness, and above all else, I’m honest. She could make me very happy, and I think that I could bring some support, some kindness into her life. I live far from Montreal, so I wouldn’t change much of her routine, except for meeting up with her once in a while, exchanging “I love you” messages and having the satisfaction of knowing someone just cares about you. I know I can’t turn her decision around, but I want to believe it could have worked. I’m not someone who requires much attention, but I admit that the mere knowledge of having someone to go to when you want affection, someone who you can share little things with seems so romantic.

In the end I’m staying friends with her, even though I got mixed feelings. I loved her because she was an interesting person, and I think that not talking to her after that would be immature, and just show that I wasn’t serious enough about caring about her. While selfish it is, I want her to know that the love I had for her was serious, I want her to remember that I will always care about her one way or another. I want to be remembering me as a man who respected her wishes, as someone with a good heart. I want to insist, I want to be a jerk and just steal a kiss from her, I want to continue dating her (Okay, those were never called dates, but my ego did call them like that), but those feelings would only distress her. I don’t want to be a burden to her.

I’ll continue spending time with her as a friend, not expecting much in return. She never denied the possibility of a future relationship, but I can’t base all of my hopes on a minimal possibility. I’ll be a good friend to her. I know I will always have residual affection for her, and I will always be happy if she wishes to take me at some point. This doesn’t take away all of the positive things I feel about her. Maybe in a year or two, our mutual trust will increase, and I will ask her again. For now, I’ll just focus on getting better. I don’t want to meet women for a long, long while. I won’t approach them without obvious cues; I just won’t close the door. I have no other alternative, and I love no other woman. Maybe one days she will return my feelings, maybe not. I’m not doing this in order to insist. She stated that the main problem was that she did not know me enough. That can be arranged over time. I’ll be hitting two birds with one stone. Making friends with her, and she knows how I feel. If she changes minds, she can always tell me.

So you’ve got it, I’m a lovesick fox (No, her name and mine will not be mentioned here). I never had such deep feelings for someone before. I think my acts were mature, I don’t want to hurt her and she doesn’t want me miserable. Still, I’d love to be with her in the future. I’ll respect her will, but I will always want her by my side. Love never really fades, it’s just repressed.

Chapter XVI: Love at first sight.

Wilson was a strange fellow; being friendly with me all of a sudden. Turns out he also talks a lot. He once was a castle gardener who used to chat a lot with the princess. They made friends and she knighted him on a whim. Apparently, the woman was a bit impulsive, but well-intended. He told me a bit about the other members of the princess guard.

- “Clive is a dragoon unit as you’ve heard earlier. They’re a useful bunch, really. They’re lancers mostly trained to fight on foot but they also get extensive cavalry training. In a sense, they’re pretty versatile. Fact is, they’re considered elite units. The man himself is a Lieutenant; the lowest commanding grade in the royal army; mostly because he tends to be stubborn and defy authority at times, so they won’t bring him up the ladder. He usually tells us what to do when Howard’s not around“. Wilson talked as we were in town shopping for suitable armour.

- “So he’s kept in a low commanding position because he’s got skill but has a tendency toward insubordination. Sure reminds me of somebody I know.” Of course, I was talking about myself; becoming tactician of a mercenary unit because of smarts but having no credibility as a leader unless the boss talked in my favour.

- “He’s a good man though; treats his men fairly. He has that motto that in a combat unit, every man is an asset with his own skills and weaknesses. Skills should be used to benefit the group and the group should cover from the individual’s weaknesses. Well, he doesn’t expect perfection from his men, but he expects us to make an effort in training ourselves.” So the man’s the second in command out our small guardsmen unit. That was good to know. Though knowing Howard was first in command was bad to know.

- “Everything is a sum of its parts and it’s the same with members of a combat unit; pretty obvious concept, but so frequently forgotten.” It was not only true for combat; it is also necessary to remember that in order to understand anything in this world, you must understand the things that constitute it. It’s true for object, concepts, and even human thinking.

- “Well you see…” continued Wilson “Howard doesn’t quite adhere to that. His family; a wealthy bourgeoisie, bought his title by making a fairly large contribution to the kingdom’s vaults. It’s an old practice that was once established generations ago that had the particular goal of making the royal family filthy rich. The guy’s pretty ambitious; seems he’s minded on climbing the steps of social hierarchy no matter what.” The blond-haired man’s smile was a little less broad for a moment’s notice—even he could dislike people, which made me feel relieved. He was the most sociable man I had even met.

- “It did sound as if he was sucking up to the princess earlier. Still, making people commandants depending on what payments they have to offer does not exclude the possibility of incompetent and pathetic fools messing up the chain of commands. Hamilton doesn’t seem that smart.” In fact, I would be more inclined to attribute the terms, “Impulsive” and “simple-minded” to the man; which makes for a very dangerous leader… for his own men, that is. In the end, just from being here, he was depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

- “You mean Howard, right? I wouldn’t call him smart, and his impatience and concentration deficits make him a poor mage, but it would be unwise to underestimate him. Howard’s a bloody impressive swordsman. The only man I know who can stand up to him in a swordfight is our weapon’s master.” So he wasn’t that bad a fighter; and the bloke seemed intent on making me miserable, from what I heard.

- “I saw the blade at his side. It’s about thirty five inches long, too short to be a long sword, but too long to be a short sword… fairly wide blade, double-edged and can’t weight more than two or three pounds… I remember a basket hilt too; meant to act as a hand guard; a basket-hilted claymore; a crafting marvel from the northern highlands.” Another rule of combat to remember: weapons each have their own unique attributes. Knowing them can give you a hint at how to approach an opponent. Know your weapons; it served me well… except that at times where I got attacked by such haphazard items such as brooms, shovels and paper fans; I never knew what to do then.”

- “Impressive! You sure know a lot about weapons” exclaimed the blond man.

- “Not as impressive as your uncanny ability to talk endlessly.” My tongue slipped. I hadn’t used sarcasm in a long time and I was starting to suffer from withdrawal symptoms.

- “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

- “Oh, nothing important.”

As our discussion continued, I was trying out various sets of armour. I settled for simple malleable black leather armour. Thin metallic padding covered most vital areas, partial portions of the forearms as well as the legs—mostly around the thighs and the back of the red-dyed gauntlets. The boots were a little more rigid but I figured continued use of them would let my feet adjust. Only the top had some thin steel plating. The belt was of a similar red colour as the gauntlets, and had a pouch large enough to bring a tome of magic along. I could also fit a combat knife and a small amount of rations. I would fit the mandatory crimson velvet cape and emblem over this clothing. One may wonder why so little protection? Try wearing a full plate mail and tell me if you’re comfortable in it. The downside with wearing lighter armour is the lowered protection against enemy strikes, but generally, even if a sword strikes a well-plated man will still feel the repercussion. While the other will also suffer from a backlash from the clashing, the one who’s got the armour hit will probably end up worse—not to mention those times when dents dig into our skins or when bones breaks. Sure, no skin’s ripped, but you might die either way from a second attack. The same goes with shields; it puts tremendous strain on your arm. Of course, some armour is better than nothing; it might save your life.

The downside of armour only applied when it doesn’t fit the bearer. To put it more clearly, I’m short and relatively slender and if I were to put heavy armour, I’d be a sitting duck. When armour is too heavy, movement is restrained, and it’s not just about weight; some restrain your joints. Restrained movement reduces combat speed and the burden reduces your stamina, also resulting from loss in strength and vigour. It also makes me irritable and it’s no much different from an oven on summer days—but let’s not get too carried away. It’s no use fighting against my bloody height; I’m already too old for major improvements in that field. I could probably get more muscular; but I’m not counting on that. In other words, light armour fits me best; and with the speed I retain, I might be able to dodge hits instead of getting slammed or skewered.

I also bought a short sword. It was of simple design arming sword; unusually short-bladed, considering its twenty-three inches long—not considering the handle. Generally such blades would be of an average of twenty nine inches long for a total of thirty six inches with all parts considered. The blade was shorter but that meant less heavy and easier to manipulate. It is also quite versatile as it can be used to slash and to thrust. The balance was good and the pommel did a good job at countering the blade’s weight. There was no guard, but it made it easy to move with ease. I place the sword in a scabbard placed at my back. The cape would somehow conceal the sword; unless I was actively searched. As for the main weapon, a particular blade caught my attention. Wilson asked the armoury smith to take it off the display and we both took a closer look.

- “I’ve never seen a sword like this before…. It’s a long sword with a blade of about thirty five inches long, but they normally have bigger handles and I feel more counterweight from the pommel. And the guards’ very thin too… shaped like two unfolded wings. Not only that, the blade is a little less broad than your average long sword.” The armoury keeper smiled and bent over to talk to me.

- “Fine piece of work, isn’t it? It looks frail, but it’s good steel and high quality. Most people can’t see its great characteristics. The handle’s shorter, the counterweight is heavier and the blade thinner, but that’s because it’s a long sword designed to be held with a single hand. It’s a unique design. It’s a little heavy for you from the way you’re holding it, but barely, it seems, but you could adjust to it.” The man wasn’t just trying to sell it to me; I could see in his eyes that he had pride in this sword.

- “Yes, it’s not quite right, but I can swing it around. A little training and it should be a hell of a good blade. This is not your standard weapon. I love it. All right, I’m buying it.” Wilson poked my shoulders and whispered to me.

- “You know, that weapon’s expensive, if you spend any more, you won’t have enough for food” I counted the money I had left; then slammed in on the table.

- “I’m used to not eating much. What are a few more days of deprivation going to do to me? I can’t help it, I’m in love.”

Chapter XV: Princess guardian.

At the middle back of the looping rectangular hall was a large red and silver door; fitted with the royal crest. It pretty much parallels the door that led to the back of the space behind the stairway. Two armoured men were standing guard-which is when I realized that armour was not the same for everyone. The only thing the guards had in common in the equipment was a golden crest of a sword and shield; the later engraved with a lion put somewhere conveniently visible. The knight’s crest was different from the royal crest—something I should have expected.

- “So there’s no official royal gear? They are all dressed differently.” The girl turned toward me, but her face hadn’t changed much since the encounter with Howard.

- “We pay for the knight’s gear, but it is on a custom-fit basis. Some warriors have more skill with certain types of weaponry than others and there is also the weight of the equipment to take into account. Please do not think of it as an ill-intended comment, but I do believe a full plate mail would be cumbersome to you, given your… stature.” Okay, so she meant I was scrawny, but at least she didn’t use terms like “squirt” like my old companions used to.

- “That’s a logical conclusion; all right”. She did not respond, but it was understandable. It was merely a bland statement to fill a discussion gap.

The guards opened the door for us, and the princess bowed her head graciously, her hands cupped together. I just raised my hand and grinned like a hopeless embarrassed idiot. We left the two men to their… standing-still-in-front-of-a-door business and walked in. The princess suddenly quickened her walking pace, and then began to run up a long red carpet right into an old man’s arms. The man was probably in his late forties, or if he was healthy, in his early fifties. His hair appeared to have once been slick black like her daughter, but now had shades of gray. His hair was short and he was wearing the same crest the princess was; tied up around his neck. A crown lay on the table besides him and a sword was kept lying on a really huge chair. I guess that’s what they call a throne; he had to be the king. He hugged princess Elayne and if you don’t mind, I’ll spare you the details tearful reunion. The bosom ended and the princess sat on a chair to his right. The two stared in his direction.

- “Please call the princess’ guard; I want everyone to be here”. A guard to his left nodded and walked out of the room. I wondered if the man would add anything; or maybe the princess, but both were sitting still. The king observed me meticulously as I unconsciously lowered my head and the princess glanced furtively at either one of us alternatively. Then the man turned to his daughter and they began whispering to one another; too low of a tone for me to perceive at that distance.

- “The princess’ guard has arrived, you majesty!” Hell… it’s that pinhead Howard. The guy nearly barged into the room and seconds later was followed by two other men. One was blond-haired-green-eyed, about my height, maybe a little taller, slim and carried a bow on his side; He had a smile on his face and bowed his head in the royals’ general direction, then toward me.

- “The name’s Wilson, Wilson Bristow. Pleased to make your acquaintance! I’m an archery unit at the service of her kind majesty” The smiling man’s name seemed familiar somehow—his voice too. Could it be the man that tried to cease the relentless assault he suffered from the knights when he first got the princess out of Baron Belmont’s abode? Well, I guess he could have tried harder, but he probably would have suffered from grave repercussions if he had insisted; seeing how good Howard was with diplomacy.

- “And I’m Clive Stratford, dragoon infantryman senior, how are you doing, kid?” The second man was bulkier and taller. He looked approximately 30 to 32 years old. His hair was chestnut brown and relatively short and he bore thin fuzz on his chin. There was a noticeable scar extending from the low upon his forehead, and down diagonally to the edge of his cheek. He looked kind of wild for a knight but also looked like someone who’d have much combat experience. The man was smiling too all right, but it was more like a grin. The king then presented himself.

- “And I am King Charles the first of the Gifford royal family. I do not know much of the details, but I heard you have found the location of the captors whom have taken my daughter hostage, rescued her and acted as her escort, is that right?” The king had a booming voice, but it was not condescending; like that of the head knight. He sounded nicer than the head knight whose name I don’t care much about. It wasn’t aggressive, rather, interested.

- “If I may, the bra—princess was held in captivity in the hands of that Baron bloke, Orson Belmont. He hired my mercenary unit to deliver a package, but we had no idea what was in it. We received the royal icon with the instructions however and I thought something was a little fishy. My doubts were dead on since we ended up getting attacked by that idi—person over there with no chance to explain the situation” I pointed at the head of the princess’ guard, realizing how difficult it was for me to hold back on insulting him.

- “Oh?” Inquired the king “and what happened next?”

- “We were outnumbered” I continued “and I called for a retreat after creating a diversion”

- “He used magic, ignoring the magic prohibition law!” The head guard’s voice roared across the room.

- “Bringing my daughter back home safely is redemption enough for his crimes, sir Kinsley. I would like to hear what the boy has to say, if you please. Please go on, Sir Leon” The king also had some character; like father, like daughter.

- “It was a wind spell that made Hans and his troops topple over.” I was reminded that his name was Howard, but his annoyed face convinced me to continue calling him by other names. The rest of the room seemed to have gotten the gist of what I was saying.

- “Well, during our retreat, the pursuers killed one of our men, though we thought it would be better to prove our innocence by exposing our treacherous client. Turns out we found the chi—princess but we made a blunder that cost my comrade and my foster father’s life. So I escaped with her, and got injured in the process. The knight caught up, they beat me up—except for one though, I think it was this guy” I pointed my finger towards the oh so ever smiling blond guy.

- “I apologize for the problems we caused you” said the man “the knights were really worried about her so they acted irrationally. Clive was busy collecting information from the townspeople, so he has nothing to do with this, in his defence” Why was he apologizing? He didn’t hit me or anything.

- “All right, I’ll forgive you” I glared at the head guard…. What was his name, already? Anyways, you know who the bloody guy I’m talking about is. “We made a little detour since I just couldn’t leave my old err… “chums” behind without at least telling them their leader’s dead”.

- “Understandable, and knowing my stubborn daughter, she probably coerced you into doing it, ha ha ha!” Normally, I think I would have laughed with him, but my nerves were frantic; I was talking to some big shot here. “My daughter chose to knight you, and I trust her judgement. If you will, I will place you in Sirs Bristow, Stratford and Kinsley’s unit under the princess’ guard. I will also send someone with you to fit you with better clothing and equipment. As for the rest, your pay will be plentiful enough for a good living. For a place to stay there are many vacant rooms within these walls and I’m sure we can arrange for you to have an appropriate shelter is this reasonable?”

- “Hell it is” It was hard to restrain my foul language for so long “I’m not about to refuse something like that.

- “I am positive that you must be very tired from your trip, so make yourself at home and take some time to rest” The king really seemed like a nice man; and I thought they were all bastards, from all the stories I heard about his predecessors. “On, and Leon”.

- “Yes, sir?” I answered, still stiff from the stress of meeting the guy.

- “Your name, Leon, the one my daughter chose for you, cherish it well. It represents the lion, the symbol of the royal family; a symbol of strength and bravery. Its meaning is very prestigious”. I did not know what to respond to that. “Sir Bristow, would you mind helping him take care of his business?”

The blonde man obliged and he greeted me with his indelible smile. We walked out together and for a moment, when Wilson closed the doors, I though I saw the princess’ eyes on me. During the entire meeting, she had kept herself both silent and discrete. She really was a mysterious woman.

Chapter XIV: The contender.

Berstram, home of the royal family, far reaching land of rich folk; save for the slums in the southern area. Indeed, false friendships, melodrama and materialism at its worse. As I said earlier; the closer a noble lives to the capital, the richer and more influential he ought to be. Well, there were some exceptions, but most rules had their little hidden black sheep; I’m one at many levels, apparently.

The city was a wonder of architecture. Usually, the homes of reekers like us would be extremely primitive compared to the homes of the country’s elite. Usually no more than two rooms, an entire family would sleep in the same room and keep as warm as they could; using body heat during winter. In the summer, they’d get all sweaty and it would reek. The other room would be for about everything else. Roofs were most often thatched with straw—which made a poor job at protecting the interior from bad weather. Crude timber made most frames and walls; since it was easier to find, hence less costly. Of course, let’s not forget the frequent drafts from bad insulation when it got windy. Personally, I like sleeping outside better—the company of people makes me irritable and it also takes care of the smell problem. As for the wind; the exterior’s wind is much less annoying than a draft for some reason. And when it’s cold out, I can always build a fire; it’ll take care of things for a while. But of course, not being surrounded by people really is my greater motivator; I’m not too friendly.

A nobleman’s house’s construction in comparison is usually taken care of by some guys who call themselves architects. They usually get loads of cash from the rich client—usually after the said Baron’s town’s royalties get boosted oh so conveniently—and then the knobhead starts making an unnecessarily huge mansion. I hear nobles actually have rooms they’re not using sometimes; just for show. Anyhow, they sometimes get nifty houses made of stone, high grade wood and other stuff like that. They even get stuff made out of metal easily. I mean—this sword of mine’s a stolen good; there’s no way that could be any affordable to me. The streets surrounding the castle were full of huge buildings; each inhabited by some bloody Baron—makes my skin crawl.

The castle in itself was vast… very, very vast. You could see it from the outskirts of the city—especially the towers-each along a corner of that giant. They were elevated even higher than the main building—each probably manned by watchmen. It was surrounded by a high black metallic fence—the doors artistically bearing half of the royal crest each. When closed, it would be complete. A lion surrounded by flames; very imposing.

- “Hey, why a Lion?”. Yeah, I didn’t know scat about my own country’s emblem—mostly because I didn’t care either way. However, now that I would probably end up having to wear that crest in the next few thousand days, I thought it wouldn’t be bad to know.

- “Oh, it’s a symbol of courage, mister pervert. The lion represents bravery, and strength. The fire behind the lion is a symbol of boldness and passion. The lion represents the country’s people and the fire, its state. In other words, the state guides its courageous men with its passionate leadership… or so it should be”. She seemed aware of her own powerlessness and a bit ashamed of it too. Because of that, and only because of that, I let the “pervert” comment slide.

- “Huh huh…” all of that stuff was a little too idealistic and patriotic for me. After all, as a no good mercenary, I never really was loyal to any country; even though I lived in one.

The princess simply walked up to the guards by the gate and without a single word, they opened it, holding it open for us. We continued through a large paved path that led toward the main door. Once again, the guards by that door opened it before she could even reach it. Finally, we reach the entrance, and while it was very hard to believe; it looked even bigger on the inside than the outside. The ceiling was extremely high up and the back-middle of the room was two large spiralling staircases that extended to so high up that would make an old man with a bad leg cry in complete and utter desperation. Chandeliers, silver wares, fancy decorations, ego-flattering portraits—yes, there was a portrait of Princess Elayne with a larger chest and taller stature than she really had. I wonder, maybe if I become a rich enough knight, could I get a painting of myself with twice my musculature and shining gold armour? That certainly would be snazzy. With all of that valuable stuff lying around, my urge to pillage was intense. You know, old habits die hard. It’s like these objects were shouting “Take me!”. In the end, I figured it would be best to keep my hands off them; I’d probably end up being the prime suspect if anything went missing anyways.

The princess walked in quite a distinguished manner; back straight, head up high a serious face. Man, that female would be quite the looker if she’d smile more often. So we go forward, and turn left. There’s a large corridor on either sides of the room; fact, most of it was pretty symmetric. The halls extended very far and too about 10 minutes to get through at walking speed. Doors were on either sides of the corridor; most closed, but I could see that only the rooms near the entrance—therefore, the middle of the room—were labelled with functions. I saw a storage closet apparently for maid use; probably held some cleaning stuff. There was also a dinning hall and the kitchen nearby. I supposed the right side also had rooms like that, albeit for other uses. However, the door farther away from the entrance has no labels on them, though I heard sound coming from a few. They were likely occupied by castle staff or just plain empty. The path turns right perpendicularly and goes on for another 5 minutes of steady walk. More doors, more unlabelled rooms. It then curves right again and I find out it connects to the other side. So the layout of the main castle hall was a large rectangular loop and there were rooms on either side of the walls. It wasn’t ingenious, but it did make more room space. In the middle was an open door with a very large decorated hall. Its length hinted that the door at the other end must lead the space behind the stairs, allowing cutting through without having to go all around. I couldn’t have noticed the door behind it from that angle. Okay, it was more ingenious than I thought, although I wondered why she took the long road to get here. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared from the doorway, walking very quickly toward us. He momentarily glared at me with what appeared to be a zest of contempt and then showered his attention on the young lady, kneeling to her feet.

- “Your highness, you have returned unharmed! It is such delightful news!” Okay, so that annoying knight’s head honcho, Howard Kinsley was waiting for us. The princess seemed displeased and gave him a cold disinterested glance. Was she avoiding him? Well I couldn’t blame her, I hated the guy too.

- “Yes, I have returned; have news reached my father of my upcoming arrival?” Seemed like small talk to me. I had reasons of not wanting to talk to the man, but I did not know her reasons.

- “Yes, I am your most faithful and caring servant your highness; your word is my command”. The man’s tone of voice was very soapy; he was obviously licking her boots; and overdoing it.

- “Very well, you are discharged, please inform the rest of my guard of my return as well; I apologize for worrying you all.” Her words were diplomatic; flat and devoid of emotion. With another haughty glare, toward me, the man began to walk away from her. As he past me, a sharp whisper slipped through my ear.

- “Get too close to her, and you’re as good as dead, punk.” I was not certain that I heard him right; but I did, I’d have to watch my back. Between you and me, I don’t think the bloke likes me very much.