Vol.1, Ch.2, P.4
Revision – 2022.10.27
My days as Emilie’s swain were now in full swing.
I would leave bed before the first light of day, and with sword in hand, make my way to the rear of the headquarters building. There, I would commit myself to some training before the day’s duties begin in earnest, as they occupied much of my daytime hours. Loath was I to make use of the training grounds, for those that would take umbrage were not few in number.
Vertical swings, downward, upward. Horizontal swings, leftward, rightward. Slanting slashes. Leaping cleaves. With each swing of the heavy iron sword, I would further refine the arc of its travel.
The other officers were not wont to trouble themselves with these sorts of drills. For my part, I felt it of special import to assimilate these techniques as much as I could, thus I’ve committed to this training unfailingly since my smaller days.
The sun would peek above the horizon to find both beads of sweat dotted all about my body and my arms weary of raising themselves any further. With the new dawn signalling the end of morning practice, I would wash up by the well before proceeding to the stables.
There, I would groom Emilie’s horse and prepare its breakfast of grasses and other ruffage. Afterwards, a walk around the equine corral was in order, and as well, a cleanup of the horse’s stall. With that job done, the time would be ripe to finally head to Emilie’s chamber. Punctuality was paramount: I would stand by her doorstep, ready to receive her as she began her own day.
“A good morrow to you, Lady Emilie,” I saluted as she opened the door.
“Oh, g-good morning, Rolf,” Emilie stumbled. “Right… here, if you may.”
To me, she presented a sword in its scabbard—a spare, different from the one slung at her hip.
“As you wish.”
Carrying it was the duty of a swain, which I obliged.
From there, Emilie’s own daily commitments would commence, with me ever at her side, whether it be behind her during meetings, or at the fringes of the training grounds during practice. In times when she was out on horseback, it would be my charge to pull the mount afoot.
“S-say, Rolf! You’ve been on your feet all this while. How does a breather sound?” Emilie suggested from atop her horse. “One in the shade, under those trees yonder, perhaps…”
“My feet are fine, my Lady,” I declined. “Our docket dictates that we return to base before nightfall after inspecting the western front. If taking respite is not itself an order, then I should like to continue on as we are.”
“All… all right. Let’s keep at it, then…”
Handling documents also counted amongst Emilie’s duties. Here, too, at her desk in her chamber, I would standby at her side. As she was a freshly knighted officer, her workload was purposefully light, with filing simple reports composing the brunt. However, the other side of the proverbial coin has her minted as an executive officer, and thus did she busy herself in browsing through papers related to sundry aspects of the Order’s administration.
It seemed much of what was scribed therein would escape her comprehension, if her peppering of quizzical questions was aught to go by. In response, I would offer both explanations as needed and insight on how best to approach various subjects.
“For this particular case, the mareschal must first be informed that budgetary documents will be sent back to the commissariat. There, will the value discrepancies be corrected.”
“But from what I could tell, the previous budget had just about the same discrepancies, no?” questioned Emilie.
“My Lady, the Order is currently in the midst of settling its accounts; it won’t do to go about it this time as we did last, lest we risk affecting the draft proposals to be sent to Central.”
“Uh… mm… so, in other words…?”
Emilie was in the habit of furrowing her face and fretting about aught her wits couldn’t stomach. But a dose of digestible explanations, patiently administered, was all it took for her to figure it out in the end.
Taking care of Emilie’s equipment was also amongst my duties. Her sword required sharpening only once in a while. Her armour, on the other hand, proved the greater nuisance. As needs demanded, I would repair any dents along the plates, reupholster the leather, or reapply oil upon its many surfaces.
“R-Rolf, the parts ‘round the belt end up scuffing themselves rather quickly,” Emilie observed. “It must be tiring, replacing them so often. I won’t pay a mind if you ease up on their care.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do, my Lady. At all times must armour be kept in the best possible condition; your very life may depend on it.”
“I… I suppose you’re right.”
When the day’s duties were done with, I would request permission from Emilie to receive her the next day as per usual. No paperwork was involved—mere verbal permission sufficed. Nonetheless, this step was indispensable if I aimed to do my job properly. And for good reason: her chamber was housed within the main building’s third floor. It was there that the leadership resided, a place forbidden to any lower officer who had not the requisite allowance. As Emilie’s swain, asking for permission ahead of the next day’s duties was in itself a part of the routine.
“May I receive you at the same time on the morrow, my Lady?”
“Yes… I don’t mind…”
It was in these moments that I would find her eyes downcast.
♰
The day was done with. Tasks fulfilled and with sword in hand, I headed to the rear of the headquarters building. One more training session, just like the morning’s.
“Hah…! Hah…! Hah…!”
Arcs of swung iron glinted under the moonlight.
One after another, over and over, on and on—movements I’ve repeated since childhood. By now, they must’ve totalled in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, each executed with the whole of my being.
Out of a thousand swings unbalanced by uncertainty, ten would be steeled with surety. From those precious ten come a thousand more, each as adamant.
With my mind set along the blade up to its very tip, I continued cutting at the air. The sword arc was given to meandering upon the slightest distraction. When such thieving thoughts arose, I would start over right from the beginning.
In my mind, a moon mirrored within the water’s surface—through the reflection, my sword sailed, disturbing the waters with not the slightest ripple.
Once again, under a tree amongst flurries of falling leaves—through the trunk, my sword sliced, touching not a single leaf.
Yet again, within a vociferous storm—through the gales, my sword sang, deafening the wind-howls.
“Rolf.”
At once, the chaos inside was stilled. In my ears, then, was the sound of soft footfalls coming from behind.
“Do you train here, always? All on your own?”
Emilie—upon turning did I find her moonlit mien.
“My Lady,” I saluted. “I do, yes.”
“I see…”
Silence settled between us. In that while were Emilie’s lips uncertain. She then looked to me, as if resolved.
“Y-you know, Rolf! The mareschal praised me again! ‘Another well-writ report,’ he said!”
“Is that so?”
“And just the other day, I pointed out a problem in the operations protocol,” she continued. “‘Quite the eagle-eyed tactician,’ I was told!”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Emilie fell quiet again, her eyes turning down till their long lashes almost met. Another wordless moment grew between us.
“…‘Twas all thanks to you, Rolf,” Emilie started again. “I made sure the mareschal knew of this, but he… he wouldn’t have any of it.”
“A fool’s errand, my Lady. You only risk imperilling your own position.”
“Still! ‘Tis by your counsel that I accomplish the things I do. Even though you’re the one truly deserving of the merit… ever and always.”
“By rights, a dame garners the merits of her swain,” I reiterated. “I merely gave my thoughts, nothing more—the one to put them to practice was you, Lady Emilie.”
Once more, she fell silent and hung her head sullenly. After a moment, she seemed to muster up some courage for her next words.
“‘Lady Emilie’…” she said, almost in a murmur. “You call me that, even now.”
“As I must.”
“Must you really? When ‘tis but the two of us…? ‘Twould ease my heart if we can share warmer words like we once did.”
“The walls may have ears, I fear.”
“I know… I know, but…”
Sorrow veiled Emilie’s face—an expression I’ve witnessed more times than I dare admit ever since we’ve joined the Order. And I was the cause of them all. Emilie, once my fiancée, whom I once gave the promise of happiness—a promise now paid instead with sadness, from whose purse but my own.
“Rolf… The other swains don’t address their knights with such ceremony. Why is it only you that must do this…?”
“The Order compels me so.”
“Compels you so…? Rolf, we’re hardly wanting of stablehands, yet you’re made to groom my horse! We’re in no battlefield, yet always are you burdened with my spare sword! Why is that…!? None of it makes sense! Does it sit well with you, Rolf!? Surely it can’t…!”
Emilie’s eyes, lovely as they were, issued tears one after another. Tears brimming blue beneath the moonshine. I came up close to her, and with a hand softly upon her cheek, wiped them away. Her azure gaze was wide as I stared resolutely into it.
“Emilie. It doesn’t—not in the slightest. I’m bitter of it all, just as well. But it hurts me so much more to make you cry. Thus I bear it.”
“Rolf…”
“I’m sorry, Emilie. Truly. I’ve troubled you to no end, whether by our broken betrothal or the daily hardships of our new lives here.”
“That’s not… I…”
“But there’s… there’s nothing left for me. Not anymore. Naught, save a dream of knighthood.”
With eyes upon her, unwavering, I quietly yet resolutely continued on.
“Emilie. Ungraced as I am, there’s nowhere for me to go. What else can I do then? What, but stay here and endure? And so I do. On and on, till toil’s end, someday far away, where I’m made a knight—just like I’ve always dreamt. And there will I find vindication; this, I believe. Selfish words, I know—to you, words empty of solace, but full only of sorrow. Yet this is the path I must walk. There’s no other way.”
“Oh, Rolf…”
“Emilie… I’m sorry.”
With that, she rubbed her cheeks free of their sobbing strain, and turned her eyes up to me once more.
“No… I’m sorry, too, Rolf. After all, you’re…”
Yet those eyes, once dried of tears, now flowed with them anew.
“…You’re… you’re the one… who’s been suffering the most…”
Emilie wept.
Through the moonlit emptiness, her wailing woes echoed—a sound that wounded me more deeply than any abuse from my superiors ever had.
Is a man ungraced so incapable? That a mountain of his efforts moves not even a girl’s lips to a smile?
I searched up to the benighted sky, haunted by a feeling that has hounded me ever since my arrival: an aching resentment at my own naïveté.
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