>>6004111Your name is Milo Cecil. Should you somehow be freed from the pseudo-captivity House Hayner has placed upon you, that would make you the heir to House Cecil. Otherwise, you’re a rather sorry sight of a not-quite-noble knight, held for ransom because someone forgot to double check the wax seal on an envelope for a harmless greeting card wishing Lord Gerald Hayner well before the Knights’ Clash. All things considered, you could’ve had your armor and title stripped, you could’ve been brutally tortured like the rumors of Lord Hayner’s dungeon masters that you’ve heard from castle staff. Instead, you’ve been enjoying nice views, enduring the occasional petty lecture from His Lordship, and dreaming of home.
You’ve also spent quite some time sparring with knights of the Kingsguard, Queensguard, and Lord Hayner’s own Order of The Hallowed Hunt. It’s good to have the confidence that your skills aren’t waning, even in the solitude of some hours.
Today is the opening of the Knights’ Clash. The streets are so much more vibrant than any day you’ve spent here. But a thought fills you with a slight sense of dread.
Your order has come to retrieve you. That’s what Hayner said.
That fills you with this dread for a number of reasons. Hayner seemed quite happy to accept their request for entry to the tournament, despite all that talk he gave of the storks being nothing more than a “lousy ring of smugglers in plate and mail.” You fear there’s the potential for treachery afoot. The Kingsguard led an investigation into the unsealed letter, and found no involvement of Lord Hayner or any of his court. Still, the thought that he may be setting the Storks up for failure weighs in the back of your mind.
In the front of your mind is a thought that haunts you far more. You trust your Master, your kin, Uncle Metzen. Of course you do. But, perhaps, you rationalize, it’s not that you’re untrusting, it’s that you’re too simple to understand. The deliveries, the struggles for funding, the days of travel across Wymund and beyond, the political haggling at play… In five years, you’ve barely seen battle in your squireship with the Storks. Their cause is honorable, and yet, you pine to put your training to a use that perhaps suits you more. The pain at that last thought. You feel like a horrible traitor, but you don’t know why. What the hell would you tell Uncle? Father?
…Your sister, Maile?
<—>CONTINUED<—>
