Gaias Children

By Dolgan Victor

Published on Dec 20, 2014

Gay

GAIA'S CHILDREN ARC ONE - THE ZELHN KINGDOM

PART TWO - ELEMENTA

NOTE:

This story is a work of fiction. None of the names, places, or events are based on reality. Any resemblances to real world imagery are entirely coincidental and not intended.

This story contains scenes and acts of sexual behaviour between men. If you are offended by such material, please do not read any further. If you are not of legal age, or if this type of story is illegal where you live, please do not read any further.

This story remains the property of the author (me) and may not be used or reprinted without prior permission.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES

This will be a very long Author's Notes session; if you wish to just read the story, please skip ahead.

I am truly, greatly humbled by the comments and emails I've received thus far over the past weeks. Thank you to all the readers who gave up some of their time to send me a comment; it is truly humbling that there is an audience of a sizable number reading my chapters. I will do my best to answer some more prominent questions the readers have sent and some more information regarding the logistics of the story.

Some have noted my spelling differences in regards to certain words, and yet are also confused by the usage of American units as measurements. To clear this misunderstanding, I am from Australia, so my writing will take on the British form of words. However, I have chosen to use US customary units to make the vast majority of readers more comfortable. I apologise for any inconvenience.

To a release schedule. I am currently a student in tertiary education. As such, my schedule is not as flexible and I lack the time I wish I had to devote to this story. As such, I am looking at a monthly, and more often, a two-monthly release of chapters. Please understand my situation.

On a related note, I apologise for the long break between the previous chapter and this one. Last month happened to be my finals period, so I had other priorities. I do not guarantee that the next chapter will be out faster, for many of my ideas come spontaneously and I write this story in blocks.

Many have asked for my source of inspiration. I have a passion for games, especially RPGs, and I love the fantasy genre. The ideas I had mingled with these passions, and the end result was this story.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I won't divulge any personal information which I feel will breach my privacy, but I will do my best to answer others.

This chapter marks the advent of the main story leading on from Chapter One. It can be likened to a game; the prologue was the opening cinematic, the first chapter was the tutorial, and now we step into the real meat of the story.

This chapter takes on a new pace. There is sex, quite graphically depicted. Keep in mind that this story is plot-focused, not sex-focused; ironically, there is a plotline relevance to the sex. I hope I do not disappoint, for while this is a plot-driven story, erotic moments will appear here and there.

For a visual image of the Zelhn Kingdom, I have included an image of a hand-drawn map. Where the map comes from is up to the reader's imagination. Please note that as always with hand- drawn maps, scales and relevant positions may differ slightly from what is shown.

The map can be found here: http://i.imgur.com/jvUtNVr.jpg

This is my first story I have submitted to a site, so please bear with me. I would appreciate any comments and constructive criticism. You can send them to aexiv125@gmail.com.


[As I sit and write, the city is abuzz with activity. Rarely have I seen the city as busy as it is, aside from the Solstice Festival. Maybe I have never journeyed here at such a time, but I gleaned some knowledge from the tavern master with a few wisely placed coins. It appears to be a time for the Matching Tournament. I have written all I learnt. It struck me that for however long I've travelled with him; I never really paid interest to the traditions of his homeland.]

[The Matching Tournament is held three moons before the Solstice, at the time where winter's clutches ease from the land and breaths of summer echo from the east. An annual event held near the Ivory Castle, many parents are proud of their children entering the tournament, regardless if they make it through or not.]

[As the name should have suggested to me, and the tavern master chastised me for failing to notice, the Matching Tournament's purpose is match those entering with existing members of the knighthood or a noble family's member, or even two entrants can be paired. It seems to be seen as a period where the commoners get a chance to lift up from their station and serve in a higher position, and a smaller chance at earning an Earldom or a status equal to that of a noble. A person of any status in the hierarchy may put their name down and register for the Tournament.]

[There are three main tournaments which progress through the two days. With all three, age is the only limitation on who can enter. Not skill, but age. Perplexing. ]

[The Servant Tournament is open to any boy who has seen past thirteen summers. The most unpopular of the three, apparently, the tournament selects boys who will serve in the kitchens, garden caring, cleaning and other manual labour in larger estates. ]

[The Page Tournament is open to any boy who has seen past fifteen summers. It is used to select a page to service and look after their knight's welfare and belongings. Many youths select to participate in an effort to meet a knight they worship, but the knights themselves have a choice to accept or reject. Being a page is no easy task after all.]

[Most common youth will register for the Servant or Page Tournament, for either path will allow them to benefit from a relationship akin to an apprenticeship. For many of the youth, to walk a path away from a family business or daily labour in the city is a welcome change of pace. ]

[The most fierce and competitive tournament, however, is the Knight Tournament. Only youths who have seen past eighteen summers may register. Popular amongst the children of the noble families and those descended from knighthood, it is the first Tournament where registers overflow with names. Commoners are rarely seen participating in the Knight Tournament due to being ridiculed for mingling with those who far exceed their station.]

[The Knight Tournament sends those who pass the tournament into training as a Knight. Usually paired with a mentor Knight, rare cases have where two fledgling Knights are paired together; the end result, however, is a quick advancement to the Knighthood. It is little wonder why then it is the most popular and competitive tournament, the only tournament to span both days.]

[The path of a Knight is perilous, however. I know that too well, so it was not to my surprise when I learnt that many of those who are unaware of these dangers fail at the Tournament. Very few make it to the selection mark, and even fewer are accepted and passed. And from those few, even less pass the training of a knight to become a Knight.]

[Much preparation is needed for the occasion, as I can see. Many have tried to make the event a festival, but as it is a formal event, such festivities are discouraged, by force if necessary. Following after the Solstice Festival, however, it is still known as one of Zel's famous attractions. ]

[As with all combat related events, there is danger involved. Injuries have happened, sometimes permanent, but this assessment will not dull the enthusiasm of youth to step up in their station.]

[It has nonetheless become a much loved attraction for which the people are both proud of and dread the loss of their son to service.]

[It explains much of why he readies himself for combat. No doubt he wishes to participate in the Knight Tournament. He does have the skills, but I am unsure of where his heart lies.]

[My private time grows short. I am expected at the field. No doubt to celebrate his eighteenth summer and breakfast with me in some form or another.]

Unknown journal entry, dated 1304 AQ

Year 1326 AQ (After Quake) A carriage rattled down the dusty road to the city in the morning daylight. It was barely past sunrise, with droplets of dew dripping from the passing flora. A young man watched the landscape pass by as he bounced and swayed with the carriage's movement. A glance and one could tell the young man was of common blood. He was dressed in a plain cotton shirt, shepherd's slops and mid-calf working boots, and the only protection he had against the frigid morning air was a ragged cloak. But one could also tell the muscular build the young man possessed. Thick arms tested the seams of his sleeves, made more obvious as he crossed his arms. A powerful chest strained the top of his shirt, and it hugged tightly around the visible ridges of his stomach. His leg muscles were hard and defined, no doubt built from hard work. The only other passenger in the carriage, an old man come to visit the city apothecary, made the observations. Not that he desired the youth for himself, but he felt it was time his youngest granddaughter found a suitable match and settled in for a family. The older man analysed the youth as he looked for any imperfections. He knew the lad had built his body to such an extent from working in the fields or in the woods, for his skin was also mildly tanned. Turning his attention to the lad's face, he took in the shoulder-length white hair framing a strong jaw. A scar ran down the lad's left eye, giving him a wild but composed look. He looked handsome enough; quite handsome, in fact. Drifting his eyes down, he gave a curious glance at the weighty bulge of a man's pride. All man there, the old man presumed. It was enough to have the old man try to lead the lad to his granddaughter. As he opened his mouth, the lad turned to him, grey eyes focused on the elder opposite him. "Apologies in advance, old man, but my interests do not lie with those old enough to be my grandsire," he said. The old man sat up and shook his head. "Ye be mistaken lad," he reassured the youth. "I do not desire ye for meself, ye see. Me granddaughter's of the perfect age to-" "My interests do not lie with the opposite gender either, old man," the lad interrupted. The old man raised an eyebrow, but was not overly surprised. After all, the kingdom's most loved Prince was a lover of men, if rumours were to be accepted, and the people still loved him. "I take it that ye be a skilled hunter, no?" the man nodded at the longbow and quiver next to the lad. The lad shrugged. "I make do," he replied curtly. Not the social type, the old man concluded. And now that the lad made it clear he had no interest in women, the old man let his resolve to get a new grandson fade. A peculiar youth indeed. Asides from his bow and quiver, he had a long thin object wrapped in rags, the clothes on his back, a rough sack that seemed to lack belongings, and a small money pouch. He did not even have a water skin! The old man shook his head in disbelief but did not comment. It was after all a short trip from Albion to Zel, merely two candlemarks. And the lad had caught the earliest leaving carriage to the city along with the old man. As the awkward silence thickened, with the lad having no intention to break it, the old man gave it a shot. "What be your name, lad?" The lad stared at him. "I go by the name Al." "Al, is it?" the old man mused. "My name be Horst; old Horst with too bad of hips to make this journey more than once 'moon!" he added with exaggeration. Al shrugged as he unfolded his arms. "Maybe you should see a Druid." "I be looking for one for years, lad! 'shame Albion's Druid died in the mess ten summers back," Horst mused. "Poor druid and her son, them whole family gone. Come to think about it, wasn't the lass' son something...Aldone? Alpine? I ain't got the right name, but ye name be similar to it!" The lad stared holes in Horst's face, making the old man flinch. "What be in your pants, lad? Ain't heard barely three words strung together by them pretty lips of yours." Al sighed a little and crossed his arms again, stretching the sleeves to the point that Horst expected them to unravel at any time. "I lost my parents to the Albion disaster. I live with an Aunt and Uncle, who runs the flour mill and farm." "The Chillan family!" Horst exclaimed. "I ain't hear of them two adopting an orphan, let alone a strapping young lad like you!" Al shrugged. "Whatever you say, old man, I won't be desiring the opposite sex anytime soon, so you may as well stop." Horst grumbled as the lad instantly sensed his intent. The lad had brains to go with those muscles. "You must work the grinder fairly often eh, lad?" Horst said. "Ain't get those muscles from pansying in the dust. Ye get some farm work as well, from that beautiful sun touch on ye skin." "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you to be propositioning me yourself, rather than for your granddaughter," Al said with some exasperation. "I did my fair share of work," Al said. "Considering the demonic energies laid waste to our land, we had much work to do to recover and restore the village." Al then mused. "Horst. You're the father of the current blacksmith, Evgen, are you not?" "That be me," Horst said proudly as he puffed his chest out. "Ain't got the power in me body to bend steel anymore, but I still got some strength in me arms, see?" he said as he patted his hardened biceps, which truthfully were impressive for someone his age. "You only really stopped working in the forge this year then," Al contemplated. "We all took a very long time to recover," he added. Horst nodded sadly. "And we never got all we lost back, eh. We lost almost half the village to them demons. If it ain't for his Majesty and his Knights...who knows what would have happened to ye or me?" Al nodded in agreement. "And the lives lost. It's been ten years..." Al grew silent. Some time passed before Horst cleared his throat. "So, eh," Horst asked with some curiosity. "How it feel to like the manly body as compared to the fairer sex?" Al snorted. "The same feeling you get when you drool at the sight of firm perk rack and a dripping...whatever it is." Horst laughed loudly, making the carriage driver swerve slightly as he turned to the sound. "But ye be staring at dripping rods and solid rack yeself, ain't ye, lad." "I do not find the need to explain my interests to someone at least four times my age," Al said. "Oh come off it lad. How old ye be? Twenty? Twenty five? No flapping those lips, eh," Horst tutted. "I can smell a fib across the Dragon's Claw!" "I doubt you ever been past the Twin Lakes," Al countered. Before Horst could say otherwise, he added, "Maybe La'ap?" He watched Horst grumble slightly before saying, "I reached my eighteenth year a moon ago." Horst raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Ye be eighteen? Gaia's tits, lad, you better not be fibbing!" Horst was truly surprised, for Al displayed a maturity and body set of someone at least five years his senior. Al shrugged. "Believe me or not. I am eighteen." "Ye musta been seeing past only eight summers then, when the demons came!" Horst realised. "Poor lad." "I had eight years with my loving parents, old man," Al said softly. "Even now, I still feel their love. Aunt and Uncle have loved me like one of their own as well." "Aye, the Chillan family has always been a close one," Horst said. "How be the two young ones faring, Aiden and Lira?" "My cousins are well," Al replied. "Aiden will be running the grinder and helping Uncle with the farmland while I'm gone; Lira is entering the time of adolescence whence we all thought we were right and can do no wrong." Horst smirked. "I bet my remaining front teeth ye ain't such a trouble child, eh." "You will win, although I'm not sacrificing my front teeth for such a silly wager," Al said. "I had to grow up fast, losing both my parents, so I skipped the rebellious phase of my childhood." "Pity," Horst said as he shook his head. "That phase was the most fun period of my life; pulling pranks, lifting skirts, plundering stores...ah," Horst sighed as he relived old memories. Al chuckled. "I would have thought bed business to be the climatic period of your life." "No ye don't!" Horst shouted, wagging a finger. "Ye ain't have to deal with the ladies the next morning, or the flowers and dressing up I hed to do to woo one of them with me!" "Whatever you say," Al shrugged again. Horst grumbled and settled back in his seat. He looked up at their destination, the city gates in view. "What ye business in getting to the city this early, lad?" Al gave him a look. "Do you not know what day it is today, old man?" Horst thought, then brightened. "The Matching Tournament! Ye be registering? No wonder ye travelled this early in the day." His look darkened. "Ye be going for the Knight Tournament?" "It is the only one where I am of age to do so," Al replied. "Ye crazy? Them gentry sons and goats will be on ye like a pack of jackals stripping ye of meat!" Horst yelled. "I can defend myself," Al said. "Besides, combat is not permitted until the second day, as the rules state." Horst shook his head. "Ye still be crazy. Ye will be up against nobles and boys who know their way with the sword! Ye just a farm boy!" "I'm a farm boy with a few tricks. Did you not comment on this?" Al said as he lifted his bow. Horst faltered. "Ye be right...but what if one of them prissy lads comes in close to gut ye?" "I. Can. Defend. Myself. Old man, you worry too much," Al dismissed Horst's worries. "I really hope ye can walk the walk, not just talk the talk," Horst said before he fell silent. "Speaking of which, the Prince Tiwaz recently had his eighteenth summer, eh," Horst said. "Ye think he mighta be joining?" "I don't presume to know about his Highness' activities." Horst sighed. "Getting an opinion outta you is as hard as trying to find a coloured hair in me wife's greyed head. Ye know it's there, but can't seem to find it." "Maybe your wife doesn't appreciate you scratching her head apart to look for something so meaningless," Al said. "Me wife appreciates a massage every now and then...No, no, back on topic!" Horst waved a hand. "Likely the prince to be there? And don't be running around the question now," he added pointing at Al. "He's a Prince. The Crown Prince. I have little doubt he's still being sheltered up in his castle being taught all the Kingly tasks," Al replied. Horst shook his head. "I hear rumours, lad. They say the Prince has the might of three of them strongest soldiers, and has an unusually voracious appetite in bed," he said softly. "That doesn't sound much to be a sheltered lifestyle, eh." That caught Al's attention. "Where did you hear that?" "I travel here once a month, lad," Horst snorted. "I hear things. Castle gossip spreads through the common ears quick as lightning." "You old folks have nothing else to do," Al murmured. "What else of note do you know?" "Not much about the Prince, eh. He still remains loving and friendly as he has been known for a while." A loud neigh and the carriage stopping interrupted Horst. "Ah, we be here now." Al looked out the carriage and saw the vast gates of Zel loom up. "And our joyful conversation comes to a close." "Hey, lad, ye making it sound like ye don't wanna talk with me," Horst mock grumbled as he climbed off the carriage. Al shrugged and picked up his gear. As Al got off and paid the driver five copper coins, Horst noted again that the lad was not overly tall, perhaps just under six feet. But he was built stockier than other lads his age, Horst was certain. Life on the fields does pay off, Horst pondered, as Al strapped on his bow and quiver, and held up his wrapped bundle. How the bow string did not get entangled with the long braid of hair down his back, almost to his waist, confused the old man, but Horst let it be as he extended a hand to Al. "Well, I be seeing you again, lad," Horst said cheerfully. "Be it tomorrow when your arse gets booted out them Ivory Gates, or in three moons when we pray at Albion," Horst laughed. Al couldn't help by smile slightly as he took Horst's offered hand and squeezed, shaking it. "You may be a fool, but an old fool is a happy one. Safe journey, Horst." "Ye got the devil's grip, lad!" Horst yelped at the powerful strength in the lad's grasp. Damn near broke his bones. By way of final farewell and play, he punched Al's shoulder with as much strength as he could. The lad barely moved, and Horst came away with his other hand trembling. "Maybe ye ain't all talk and no walk, lad," Horst mused. "We'll see. Farewell, Horst," Al said as he walked towards the main street of the city. Paying the driver his fee, Horst made his way to one of the side-streets where he knew the apothecary to be. Watching the lad until he passed out of sight, Horst noticed when Al questioned one of the guards assigned to the gate. The dashing guard almost seemed to peel Al's clothes off him, and spent quite some time staring at the large bulge nestled between Al's legs. Horst watched with widening eyes as the guard stepped forward and groped Al's package while the other hand took Al's hand and placed it on his own and gave a squeeze. Horst lamented as he turned the corner. His granddaughter was right! All the good looking ones turned out to be attracted to their own sex! He made a mental note to mention it to her when he got back. ~ Aldrid was definitely aware of the interest the guard had in him, but Aldrid dismissed it as he left the guard red and panting. Not that the guard wasn't appealing, what with his dashing looks, rough-kept hair, adventurous behaviour and dazzling smile, but Aldrid never pursued outside affection, for he never had the need to. And he had matters more pressing on his hands that took most of his attention. Though he was willing to bet that the guard had propositions all day by standing and looking pretty at the gates. And after the small teasing Aldrid had with the guard with a few well-placed fingers, he had no doubt the guard would be getting some action tonight. And from what Al felt when the guard bravely took Al's hand and squeezed his own crotch, the guard's partner will have plenty to be satisfied with. He headed off in the direction of the castle. It was early in the day, but already the streets were full of people; some heading for the market stalls, some drifting in groups of talk and activity, and one noticeable group of parents and sons veering for the castle gates. Aldrid paused to pull out a water skin from his sack and take a long drink from it. Horst would have thrown a fit had he known about it. He smiled slightly at the interaction he had with Horst. Horst was the grandfather he never knew, and Aldrid didn't know he missed that aspect of his life until he met Horst. It was funny how quickly the old man grew on him, but maybe that's why even now, Horst's son and daughter-by- marriage treat him so fondly. Family. Aldrid paused and looked at the gathered families with a bitter smile. Ten summers have passed since the Crimson Solstice. Ten summers since the demons invaded his village, attempted to kill the royal family on their trip to see the festivities. Ten summers of which the land around the village still bore the signs of leftover demonic energies. Ten summers of which he had been orphaned, and lost the only family he knew. Aldrid could still remember the day when his mother took her last breath. The snake venom the Chimera had possessed could not be cured by normal means, and his mother succumbed to it two weeks after the attack. The venom had a deadly effect, and she had taken a full dose. She had smiled at Aldrid and weakly brushed his face with a trembling, fragile hand, before collapsing into dust; powdery grey and still warm to the touch. He could remember kneeling by the death bed, unfocused as he stared at the grey dust. He could remember hands pulling at him, comforting him, but he gave no response as his grief swallowed him in darkness. He could remember escaping the shack, blindly stumbling through bushes and ditches as he tried to run as far as he could. He could remember blacking out from lack of water and food. Aldrid could remember as he felt Death's sweet caress draw around him. Until someone pressed a skin to his mouth and sweet, sweet water flowed over his tongue. "Lad, stay with us!" a male voice yelled out. "Cherry, get some clothes, anything to get this boy warm." Aldrid remembered warm hands grasping at his face, a fuzzy worried expression entering his vision. "This is the boy, isn't he, Ray? It's a wonder he's still alive, five days missing," a female voice said. "Let's just get him comfortable, Cherry, we can save the questions to later," a male voice said gently as Aldrid felt himself being picked up and gently placed on a soft bed. That was how the Chillan family had rescued Aldrid in his moment of despair. Gradually, Aldrid opened up to them, and became a part of the family. Ray and Cherry thought Aldrid to have lost his memories of the incident, and never brought it up to spare Aldrid. Aldrid, in return, never asked, but remembered everything that happened. How could he not? His days of working in the field were of no coincidence. The demonic energies lift from the rift had wasted the lands around Albion. The barrier had kept the energies from corrupting half the village land, but what was corrupted will take years before it was restored to its former glory. The village had lost over half its farmland and livestock. Adventurers now avoided the corrupt lands around the village, and only stopped by very occasionally. Albion had suffered much from the incident. And all hands in the village were needed to bring Albion back to its former state. The royal family had sent gifts of money and bounty in aid, but even then, it was not enough. Ten summers passed, and the village still felt the scars and pains of the Crimson Solstice. Laughing voices and a bump against him brought Aldrid out of his thoughts. He smiled softly at the running children, playing with a ragged ball in the crowded streets. He would have to purchase souvenirs for Aiden and Lira, Aldrid mentally noted as he surveyed the market wares. He had grown close to the two younger cousins he considered as siblings. Aiden was the energetic adventurous boy, who was now shaping into a strong man. Aldrid fondly remembered the trouble the two of them had caused their parents. Lira was always the sweet daughter, and both boys were protective of their baby sister. But enough memories. Aldrid had to get to the castle first and register before it was too late. He made his way through the crowded market place, the stench of livestock and cheese mingling with the savoury smell of fresh pastries and roasts. The occasional banter of rotten meat and stale bread brought a reminder to Aldrid to not trust merchants in the marketplace so easily once he started bantering for his souvenirs. Dodging a cart full of live fowl, Aldrid kept with the crowd moving towards the Ivory Castle, blending in with all the youths vying for a chance to participate in the annual event. Mothers were weeping and distraught with worry, while fathers stood proud and clapped shoulders of their sons. Noise rose louder around Aldrid as he made it closer to the gates. As he stepped in line with the other youths to enter, Aldrid pondered his options again. The Knight Tournament, while available to the common folk for entry, was heavily monopolised by those in charge to let only the aristocrats and those in favour to gain the special opportunity to skip the transition from guard and soldier to knight. For that reason alone, most of those registering for the Knight Tournament were noblemen and youths who had come from a family with some wealth. Common folk were sneered at and ridiculed to the point that barely any registered. Aldrid knew his chances were slim, and questioned why he was taking such a dangerous step. What Horst said was true. Once he registered, the gentry' sons and youths in training will descend on him like jackals, ripping out any semblance he had of hopes and dreams. Why had he taken this step to risk himself at such an event? He had to be here, Aldrid reminded himself. Only he could face the challenge he knew lay before, a challenge he had known for the past ten summers. His sense of purpose had grown in the past decade, and Aldrid knew it was the time. He wondered if the royal family still remembered him, the common son of a deceased village Druid. The season of mourning had passed; mourning for Queen Agatha's passing. Details of her death were not publicised, but many had said it was from poison. Aldrid knew better the cause of her death. What Aldrid worried more was the state of those left behind after her death. "Tyr," Aldrid murmured. He had no doubt the Prince was going through a series of agonising challenges. Horst's gossip confirmed it for Aldrid. It was, after all, the main reason why Aldrid was here today. That brushed off any remaining doubts Aldrid had for entering the Knight Tournament. Stepping up to the guard manning the numerous youths entering the gates to the Ivory Castle, Aldrid let the guard's eyes gaze over him. The guard grimaced at the obvious commoner clothes the youth in front of him bore, but courtesy was required. "What are you here for, boy? The Page Tournament? You look a tad old for that, so if you are, I must apologise-" "No," Aldrid replied. "I am fully aware of how old I am. No sir," Aldrid repeated. "I am here for the Knight Tournament," he stated to the now shocked guard. ~ The man laid on the bed, almost comatose as the large, thick cock pounded into his rear at a heavy, hard pace. Drool leaked from his open mouth onto the already soaked sheets as he struggled to retain his consciousness, having been used relentlessly for the past candlemark. He couldn't feel his limbs as all his thoughts were focused on the thirteen inch cock stretching his chute, the wide- flared head repeatedly hammering on his swollen and inflamed prostate. He moaned in heightened pleasure again as his own respectable length spurted his third load of the morning into the sheets. His brutalised ass responded with contractions, spurring his taker to plow even more savagely into him. He felt his ass get pulled back onto the massive cock while it slammed forward. He felt cum spurt out of his anus with every thrust as the battering dislodged the multiple loads of cum in his ass. He felt the powerful chest and stomach press down on his back as the cock plunged downwards, nailing his ass to the bed, the slap of heavy balls on his ass cheeks echoing through the room. He was lost on a cloud of constant orgasmic pleasure. He was pulled up onto his knees and unmercifully taken hard, doggy style. He was bent in half, his feet hooked onto thick broad shoulders as the cock punched his prostate. He was flung on his side and almost fucked off the bed. He was now back on his stomach, the thick cock ramming far up into him, as he felt his fourth orgasm come. His assailant pulled his hair back and started ramming him deep, gouging him a new asshole. He knew his taker was about to cum. The thick cock seemed to get larger as it drilled harder and harder. "Cum with me," his assailant growled, hammering his ass with short, powerful thrusts. He was getting fucked so hard air was forced out of his lungs on each thrust. "Harder...unn...hard...faster...yes," he moaned as the tempo increased, lost in the sensations of the coming release. He was fucked heavy and brutally for at least twenty more minutes until he heard a roar. He felt the cock thicken, then unload a massive load of cum up his ass, the warmth seeping through his rearranged organs. He felt at least ten spurts of cum shoot up his ass so much that it leaked and spurted out and ran down his thighs. All through the orgasm, the cock was still drilling him, plunging into him, fucking him until he saw stars. His own cock involuntarily spurted out his fourth orgasm in the candlemark and a half of the morning. Moaning, he passed out in the onslaught of pleasure as his taker collapsed on his back, crushing him under his powerful chest. The orgasm lasted a few minutes before he could focus again. His taker rose up, panting slightly. He moaned slightly as he felt the thick cock get extracted. "Slowly, your Highness," he pleaded wearily. "Please, Prince Tiwaz, you know how big you are." "I'm sorry," Tyr murmured as he slowed his exit. His cock hardened up as he felt the ass squeeze feebly around his cock, but he was too tired physically to fuck again. Slowly, he pulled out until with a pop, the ass ring let go of his wide head. A river of cum spilled out onto the sheets from the red, puffed hole, and it was so stretched it couldn't close up. "Are you ok, Doras?" Tyr asked his friend and knight, who still laid sprawled in post-orgasmic relief. "You ask me at least twice a week, your Highness," Doras chuckled wearily. "After being used like this for two years, I am much accustomed to your ever increasing needs." "I'm sorry," Tyr said again. "I just...lose myself to sex like this." "I know, your Highness," Doras said as he struggled to rise up, wincing at his stiff limbs. Turning around, he eyed Tyr's still throbbing cock. "Allow me, your Highness," he said as he took the cock in his hands. His fingers could barely reach around the wrist-wide column as he guided it into his mouth. Tyr moaned at the sensitive pleasure as Doras licked his cock clean, spurting a small load into his knight's mouth. As Doras cleaned his cock of spray cum, Tyr reached over and sunk his fingers into Doras' ass, making the knight moan. He scooped out some of the free-flowing river of cum, saying, "I'm sure I didn't cum that much in you." Doras rose from the now-hard cock, grimacing. "There must be at least six loads in there. I passed out in the middle of your Highness fucking your fifth load into me last night, and you just spent the past two candlemarks putting one more in me." "I do remember falling asleep still inside you after my last orgasm. But then, this morning..." Tyr mused. "Your Highness enter and fuck me savagely to wake me up though," Doras teased. "Although I am flattered to be woken up to such pleasure," he winked, pulling on the thick long weapon. Tyr growled, feeling the sexual need fill him again, while he tried to suppress the urge to take his knight again. "We don't have time, Doras. Today is the Matching Tournament; you must be there to watch over as a Knight. We have to get cleaned up," he tried to rise from the bed. Doras didn't respond but drew Tyr down again, grasping his penis. "I can feel your urge again, your Highness," he whispered. "I do not think you will be able to function without relieving yourself first." The rut came over the prince. Tyr snarled and threw Doras on his back on the bed, his thirteen inch tool dripping heavily. The knight landed with an oomph. "I know you're asking for it, you whore," he growled at Doras as he impaled the Knight in one smooth movement, driving his dripping cock deep into Doras' ass. Not waiting for Doras to adjust, he started pounding away, brutalising Doras' already destroyed ass. Doras almost screamed at the rough entry. If he didn't already have so many loads up his ass, the pain would have been impossible to bear, but the cum made Tyr's entry slippery and smooth. It still didn't change the fact that Tyr was impossibly thick, and even Doras' stretched and loosed chute felt snug and tight around it. He whimpered as Tyr sawed his dick in and out of his destroyed ass. Moaned when Tyr drove in hard and punched his prostate. "Uh...oh! Yes!" he moaned louder. "You like that, you whore?" Tyr growled menacingly as he pounded balls deep into Doras. "Like my huge dick in that skinny, loose, ass?" "My...ass...unnh...is...uh...not...skinny...mmm!" Doras moaned out as he gasped at each hard thrust. It was true. Doras had a built body from his service as a Knight; he was built and muscled, and the combat drills shaped him into strong body, including his ass. One reason he was chosen as Tyr's 'bedmate' was because he felt he could handle Tyr's sexual assault. And he did. Barely. It was, after all, two years since Doras had been deflowered on the massive flesh column. Tyr stabbed brutally deep into Doras, making the Knight scream out. "Your ass is what? That's not your ass anymore, slut," Tyr shouted as he rammed harder. "It's mine! And I damn well call it what I want!" Doras moaned at the heavy onslaught, as Tyr punished his prostate. "No...please, your Highness...not so...hard!" "You want slower?" Tyr sneered as he slammed in deep. "What's this then?" he fingered Doras' hard, drooling eight inch dick. "You like it, don't you, having your ass destroyed by me?" Doras almost came at the touch on his penis. "Yes...don't stop...oh...harder...mmm." "I knew you like dick in your ass, bitch," Tyr sneered as he lifted Doras' muscular legs onto his shoulders. "Going to fuck your ass hard so hard, you'll beg me to stop," Tyr shouted as he began powering into Doras, pulling out his thirteen inch dick almost the entire way before slamming it back in. "Fuck you so hard you won't be able to get out of this bed for a week!" "Oh oh oh oh OH!" Doras screamed in pleasure and pain. He was getting pounded so hard the bed was creaking. Last time Tyr was so brutal on him, the bed had collapsed and he had been fucked deliriously amongst splintered pieces of wood. "No...uh, Tyr!" "Begging for mercy?" Tyr growled next to Doras' ear while his hips drove harder and harder. "Nice fucking hole, feels so good on my cock. So tight, muscle hole..." he licked Doras' ear as he clasped his massive arms around Doras' back, lifting the knight up. Doras' pleasure increased at the new position, as Tyr hammered upwards. He flopped like a ragdoll as Tyr almost used Doras' ass chute to jack himself off. Tyr got more aggressive, biting on Doras' chest as he hammered his dick in and out. With a cry, Doras let loose his first orgasm, his dick streaking cum all over Tyr's meaty chest. Tyr sneered as he threw Doras back on his back again and fucked him so hard the bed broke, sending them to the floor amongst feathers and wood. Doras slipped into a blissful unawareness, his entire attention focused on the thick cock penetrating him. He kept still, letting Tyr Each thrust sent Doras closer to the black cloud of unconscious orgasmic pleasure, and when Tyr ramped up his tempo, ripping through his abused chute, slamming against his swollen prostate, Doras knew he lost. The last thought he had before he lost conscious thinking that it was going to be a long time before either of them made it to breakfast. ~ Tyr shrugged into the ornate tunic the servant had handed him, smoothing out the wrinkles over his massive body. Sighing, he made his way out of his quarters and let the page stationed outside lead him to the dining hall to breakfast. Along the way, his heavy footsteps echoed the weight of his thoughts on his recent years. He had come out of this morning's rut to find himself covered in a new layer of sweat and musk, balls deep in his friend's rear as his cock pumped out the last of his seed into the already overflowing chute. Ashamed and guilty at what he had done...again...he had eased himself out of Doras' puffed and reddened rear His monstrous column rose in feeble protest as it leaked the last of his seed onto the sheets. Leaving Doras moaning, blissfully unaware save for the feelings still coursing through his body and his open wide rear oozing copious amounts of Tyr's seed, Tyr made his way to his washroom, where he once again cursed his virility and sexual urges. There was no doubt of the Prince's virility. Ask any guard or servant who had partaken in his Highness' pleasure. His likings towards those of the same sex was taken in stride and widely accepted. What Tyr cursed was his overabundance of virility, overcoming his sense of good will and his true nature at the worst possible times. And his overly generous endowment was more of a hindrance than a blessing! Many youths had questioned Tyr's dislike of what many considered his manly aspects. Tyr, however, preferred to show others respect, to care and groom others and be at ease and relaxed, which was now a seldom opportunity for when any remotely handsome male walked past. Grumbling to himself, Tyr demolished the meal set in front of him with a vengeance. His servant stood close by, smiling slightly with amusement. "Did you have a hard night, your Highness?" "Make one more bad joke, Tristan, and you will be the next thing I spear," Tyr lightly threatened his servant with a speared sausage. "And don't you dare make a joke out of spearing and sausages!" Tyr quickly added with mock outrage. Tristan laughed slightly before recovering his professional demeanour. "I've had my nights with a much more royal sausage, your Highness. There won't be much for me to talk about with a plain, every day one." Tyr choked. "That's it, one more joke out of you and I'll assign you a full day attendance to the pigsties!" Tyr said, but with a small smile so Tristan knew his Prince was not serious. Tristan watched as Tyr cleared his meal. "Why, your Highness? Why do you dislike something that like us...like me...will kill for?" he questioned lightly. Tyr sighed and turned towards his occasional bed partner, ready for the discussion they had at least once every week. "Tristan, you know how I feel about it. It's been a part of me so long that it's gone dry, and I have no interest in trying to maintain myself throughout it all." "We don't dislike it for you though, your Highness!" Tristan reassured. "How could we, for you are still the sweet, gentle Prince we know you to be." "And that is the thing, Tristan," Tyr replied. "This...condition...of mine, has altered me. I can barely sit through this breakfast with you here without focusing all my efforts to keep it down. And I have been doing this since I passed twelve summers, Tristan. Six years of fighting one's self wears a man do "I...I see," Tristan mumbled. "But, your Highness...all of us merely want you to love yourself as much as the rest of us do." "I know, and I am grateful to all of you," Tyr said, placing a large hand on Tristan's relatively smaller ones. "But this is something I have to deal with for the rest of my life, and it will no doubt be a burden." He stood up, plate cleaned of all food. "Enough of me, Tristan. My father, he left word to speak with me after his morning proceedings, did he not?" "Yes, he did. His Majesty should be close to finishing his official business, so if you would like me to take you-" Tyr interrupted. "No, it will be fine, Tristan. I can go alone; heaven knows I've been in this place long enough to walk around with my eyes closed." The two shared a soft laugh. "Go to your other duties, Tristan," Tyr said softly. "I know you have much to do, especially on a day like today." "Thank you, your Highness," Tristan bowed. "It will be a busy day today with the Tournament." Biding his servant farewell, Tyr left the dining hall, taking his time arriving at the Great Hall where his father had his processions. He was in no hurry; his father's meetings always ran overtime. As he neared the Great Hall, the raised voices signalled that there were more turbulent issues at hand. More so than the usual high ranked merchant vocally displeased about a few rampant chickens in front of their carriage. That particular merchant had been unceremoniously thrown out on his rump by a few guards after he refused to leave following the King's dismissal. No, the anxious and loud voices this time were of serious undertones. For his father to raise his voice so, there must be pressing matters. Tyr stayed out of sight and listened on the proceedings. "You cannot presume to believe that I will agree to the conditions stated in this document?" his father's voice rang out with heavy disbelief. "I merely act as the messenger, Your Majesty," an accented voice replied. "The Pesit, our Matriarch, has stated Her will in detail. Your merchants will be required to pay a levy for trading on our continents, as well as additional funds to be paid on departure. Our services to you will-" "These new conditions, as you call them, are merely but a farce for your new ruler to bend your people to her ruthless rule!" Foseti interrupted loudly. "Have you lost your pride? Have the Demishn people fallen so?" "I will not tolerate an insult to my people, Your Majesty, not even from one of such high ranking as you," the accented voice threatened. "You threaten my kingdom with insecurity and economical upset, Demishn lad," Foseti replied softly. "I have dealt and traded with your people for over a score of summers. I know all that is to upset your land itself." Silence followed. "Do you not have a voice for yourself?" Foseti asked with kindness in his voice. "We follow Her will, no matter which path She leads us," the Demishn murmured after a long pause. "Your ruler has no ears in these castle halls, my friend," Foseti said. "I know your face; I have dealt with your father in the past. He was an honourable man, one who sought to bring our two peoples in a closer alliance. Now, your current ruler seems bent on ripping our relations to shreds, and abandons her duty for power." Silence again. "Your lack of rebuttal speaks volumes of your view, Qaletage," Foseti said sadly. "For Your Majesty to know my name, my father, may She guide him, must have trusted you," Qaletage answered quietly. "We had an understanding together. I wish to have one with you as well, for I sense you have a noble heart." "I...I must beg your pardon, Your Majesty," Qaletage said weakly. "I have much to think...may we reconvene at a later mark?" "Go. I shall have quarters ready for rest," Foseti said as he clapped his hands. Tyr moved in closer to the doors, and spied a tall, dark lean man kneeling before his father. "Think long on what I have said, Qaletage," Foseti said as a servant rushed to the man's side. "Demishn and Zelhn have worked for generations together. I do not want war, but if your side presses, I will answer in equal force." "Your Majesty," Qaletage bowed as he rose. The servant motioned for the man to follow him, and the two exited the room, passing by Tyr as he moved through. The man paused upon seeing the giant of a man appear at the doors, but quickly regained his composure. Tyr on his part looked over the man with interest. His lean tall frame hid a powerful and lithe body which Tyr had no doubt was trained in combat and hunting. A sash ran from his right shoulder to his waist, tucked into an ankle-length men's skirt. A red tattoo was emblazoned on the man's exposed shoulder. But as quickly as Tyr noted these details, they passed one another. Foseti motioned again, and the doors closed behind Tyr. As the doors hinged with a thud, Foseti sighed and rubbed his face wearily. "I wish I had that merchant back here to deal with rather than the mess that's now landed at my feet," he lamented. "You shouldn't really do these proceedings by yourself, Father," Tyr chuckled softly as he made his way up to his father. "Although I can understand today, with the Tournament being held." "The reason for which I called you today, for one. Over here," Foseti replied as he stood. Now having passed forty years, Foseti had the marks of maturity deepen on his face, but he still stood strong and proud. "Come, son; your old man needs some comfort after that excruciating trial." Tyr grinned as he stepped into the welcome embrace, sharing a fatherly hug with Foseti as he wrapped his arms around his father. He had overtaken his father in height, standing at six feet eight inches. He also had out-muscled his father, something the castle seamstress grew horrified at every time stretched or ripped fabric made its way back to her station. Foseti basked in the joy of how powerful his son had grown to be. No doubt Tyr weighed four stones more than his own considerable fourteen stones. "Did you leave Doras in full view of the castle maids yet again, son?" Tyr flinched. "I...completely forgot about the last time we performed and I left him on the bed," he said sheepishly. "Ah, the blessings of youth...to grow beyond all our expectations," Foseti lamented mockingly. Tyr laughed and smirked with mischief in his eyes. "I'm sure you've heard stories of the other parts of me that 'grow beyond expectations'," Tyr grinned. Foseti chuckled. "I will not be discussing...nor comparing...the endowments of my son and myself!" he declared. "Ah, Tiwaz my son...you truly have grown so quickly," Foseti said as he eased himself away. "It pains me that you have to suffer so at a young age, and that we cannot help somehow..." Tyr held up a hand. "Don't apologise, Father," Tyr said. "I have long accepted the fact that I will live with this condition for a considerable time, if not all, of my life. You have done your duty to aid me, Father," Tyr laid a hand on Foseti's. "Do not try to hide me, for I am a man now, Father." Foseti looked up at the face so much like his own, and smiled. "You are indeed a man. Come, Tyr," he motioned for Tyr to follow him to the window overlooking the courtyard. "Have you given thought of participating in the Knight Tournament?" Tyr stood in silence as he watched the courtyard being transformed into the various trials for the three Tournaments. "I have, Father, since you mentioned it at my passing of age ceremony," he replied softly. "But even now, I do not feel I am worthy of the contest." "And why is that?" Foseti questioned. "Your trainers swear on their grave that they have not met a more enthusiastic or gifted child as you. I personally have seen your skills with the greatsword. And as Natasha will test the lads gathered today, so she has tested you as you full remember. You possess great talent for the branch of Earth, Tiwaz, above mine; more than enough for a Guardian's position." "I am aware of my capabilities, Father. No, I am unworthy for a different reason," Tyr replied. "As you full know, Father, having passed the Knight Tournament when you were eighteen, those who pass are paired up as Path-Bonds. We train together, bunk together, and eat together for the duration of our training." "Go on," Foseti coaxed when Tyr fell silent. "It will hardly be fair for whoever will be selected as my Path-Bond," Tyr finally said. "He would have to deal with my ever fluctuating cycles, be compared with the son of the King, suffer through my ruts, and no doubt give leeway towards me in all matters," he said sadly. "It will not be a fair or balanced companionship. I do not wish that on anyone." "But you are all that and above, my son," Foseti countered. "Do you not think whoever accepted to be your Path-Bond will not be willing to accept that of you all?" "How many lads out there know of my condition?" Tyr said, shaking. He turned towards his father, grabbing his own bulging groin. "How many will be willing to deal with thirteen inches of royal dick on display on a daily basis? Or more?" "Stop," Foseti silenced Tyr. "Do not presume to scare me with harsh language, Tiwaz. Firstly, remove your hand from your 'royal dick'; remember what any form of excitement will do to you. And calm down." He waited for Tyr to calm down before continuing, "Did you think that I had a smooth journey with my Path-Bond? No, I did not, son. Since you so eagerly expressed your length, I at your age possessed a 'meagre' ten inches of 'royal dick'," he retorted at Tyr, who had the decency to blush. Foseti continued, "I was quite the hooligan at your age. My Path-Bond had to deal with my conquests on a nightly basis, suffer my stories of bragging and youthful adventures, and give way to my demands and orders. But he accepted me for that. We remained the closest of comrades...to this day," he added softly. "Didn't your Path-Bond die before I was born?" Tyr asked. "Yes...he did," Foseti said sadly. "He will live on in my memories forever." He shook his head. "Despite our differences, he did not at all ever feel he was put in an unfavourable situation. He understood what he was going into, and he knew. I apologised to him when I reached a level of greater maturity, and he assured me that I was not to blame, but rather, to thank for an unforgettable journey." "But..." "The lesson learnt is that people will accept you, son!" Foseti interrupted. "In the face of true companionship and friendship, the differences you think so largely on will fade. The rampage you had five years ago was near destructive. But look now; your father who you almost ravaged, the brother you almost suffocated to death, still love you with everything they have." Tyr flinched at the memory, wishing his father hadn't brought it up. "Believe me, son. Those who see you know the person you are, deep down." Tyr paused. "I fear that those who see me will compare me with you, Father, for you achieved your position in the Knighthood with ease." "I do not pressure you to take the Tournament at eighteen, my son," Foseti reassured Tyr. "You do not have to follow in my footsteps; be yourself, the Prince Tiwaz everyone loves. Those who see you as my replacement see blindly." Tyr lowered his gaze, his will wavering. "You have the day to think, my son," Foseti said. "As you have been shown with high aptitude in Earth, you do not have to participate in today's trials. You have until tonight for an answer." Tyr nodded and turned to the window again. "I will think on it, Father." Pause. "And tonight, I will give you my answer, one way or another." "Good. I will await your response then." Foseti also looked out the window. "I worry for Lokien," he said worriedly after a long silence. Tyr nodded slowly. "He has yet to pass the period of mourning, has he?" "Your mother's death hit him the hardest, Tyr," Foseti said. "We were all devastated when she finally succumbed to the snake poison that she had battled for so long." "Loki was always close to Mother," Tyr said sadly. "I haven't seen him smile or laugh as he used to. I miss my brother, Father." "I miss him too, but we must give him space to accept your mother's death." Foseti's eyes filled with sadness. "She was a great wife." "And a great mother. She taught me much of whom I am, with compassion, love and heart," Tyr concurred. "I pray Loki doesn't descend into despair, for he knows we are here for him." "We will have to show him our love, if it comes to that," Foseti agreed. He did not wish to see his second, yet equally loved son, fall into depravity. With demonic energies, however little they exist, they latch onto negative emotions and feed, growing stronger. Even in a well-warded area such as the Ivory Castle, there was always a risk. "I shall take my leave now, Father, and watch those who registered today. Mayhap the experience will give me a measure of my next steps," Tyr said as he stepped away from the window after a long silence. Foseti nodded. "Go, with my blessings, Tyr," he said. Tyr smiled. "Thank you, Father," he said as he kissed his father on the forehead. He left quietly, closing the doors behind him with barely a thud, leaving Foseti staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts of the day. ~ Aldrid made his way through the gate, having finally escaped the clutches of the guard who was rightfully concerned about Aldrid's decision. Aldrid was the first of common blood the guard had seen with such determination to enter the Knight Tournament that after minutes of attempted dissuasion, the guard let the lad through with a worried expression. It was common knowledge that the majority of those participating in the Knight Tournament were either soldiers in training, noble young sons or those with a certain recognisable status. Aldrid was most likely the only one of common birth to even register for the Tournament. But he knew the risks he took. And he was determined to press onwards. Not only for himself, but for those who needed him. He passed the registration pavilions for Page and Servant Tournaments. Many youths were already gathered, some stripping off their clothes for inspection as required, others already in the required garb for the contest. As Aldrid neared the pavilion for the Knight Tournament, he noticed groups of youths surrounding the pavilion already. Noticing a trio of heavily ornamented boys move to intercept him, Aldrid sighed. He hadn't even registered yet, and he was already facing the jackals guarding the meat. Rather fat and spoilt jackals, Aldrid added. "This isn't your place, common scum!" an overly decorated youth sneered at him. "And what will trash of the villages be doing here? Wagging your tail for your lost master dressed in your rags?" "Oh, Darian, don't tease the poor thing. It probably mistook this for the stables it sleeps in!" another pompous rotund youth added, causing laughter all around. "Hardly, Demos, he just needs to follow the stink of his own clothes to find his bed!" The last boy said, bursting into laughter. With one fluid motion, Aldrid tore his shirt at the neckline and flung it at the last boy. "Here, you might need a blanket," Aldrid said as the lad screamed in terror. The boy leapt away as if the shirt was the harbinger of death itself. The fat youth named Demos pointed at Aldrid, screaming, "How dare a common scum disrespect your leader? Apologise at once, and remove yourself from our presence!" "If we were to remove the scum here, it'll take a carriage and a few more wagons to lift your hefty sizes out the city gates," Aldrid responded. He was now bare chested, showing off his impressive and muscular development. "Clothe yourself at once!" Demos screamed at Aldrid. "You have as much decency as a page sent to scrub the insides of a pigsty!" Aldrid took in a deep sniff. "I'm sorry; it's been awhile since I've been in a pigsty. When were you last fed?" The trio glowed red in rage, and looked ready to order Aldrid's execution, but Aldrid merely passed them by. "I have no time to play with pigs; I'll leave that to you to take care of, since you three resemble them so." They seethed in anger and shouted, but Aldrid ignored them and passed on. The other youths, soldiers and gentry sons alike, looked at him with curiosity, anger, disbelief, wariness and other expressions on their face. Aldrid approached the registrant who had seen the whole ordeal. "You may have made some powerful enemies today, lad," the older man warned. "If you can call those pigs powerful, I fear for the state of Zelhn's combat forces," Aldrid retorted. "You don't understand. Do you really not know how they are?" the registrant pressed. "I don't care who they are, nor do I intend to find out," Aldrid declared. "You know why I am here, sir." The registrant looked at Aldrid with an unreadable expression. "Are you sure, lad?" "I was sure when I made the choice to leave my village before the sun rose, sir," Aldrid replied. "I am Aldrid Chillan, of the village of Albion." "The Albion village," the registrant murmured in shock. The registrant's past combat instincts kicked in, and he quickly looked Aldrid from head to toe. He noted Aldrid's powerful and stocky build, strong arms and deep chest. Maybe this one does have what it takes, the registrant thought. "Very well," the registrant said as he scribbled a quill over the required parchments. "If you will follow me, lad," he said, gesturing towards a cloth covered doorway as he entered. Pushing past the cloth covering the door, Aldrid found himself facing three men along with the registrant. "Please take off...what remains of your clothes," the registrant said dryly, having remembered Aldrid discarding his shirt. "The armorers will take your measurements to ready a set of equipment for your use, as I do not think you possess the required items." "How astute of you," Aldrid said as he unlaced his boots. As he shrugged off his slops, the registrant could not help but stare. If even half the current Knighthood possessed the sheer powerful build as this lad, they wouldn't require the vigorous daily morning training. Aldrid paused with his hands at his briefs. "Will these be required as well?" "If you wish to protect the manly portions of yourself, yes," the registrant said. "These men need a general idea...oh my," the registrant whistled as Aldrid pulled down his briefs to reveal a monstrous column. The other three men gasped. "If them lads outside knew what ye've been blessed with, hatred and envy will be flowing mer freely then a woman's tongue," one of them said breathlessly "Yer manhood will not look uncommon on an' horse, lad," another of the men said as he reached for a touch of the unusually thick and long meat. A quick cough from the registrant halted his hand though. "Enough, gentlemen. We are not youths; this particular youth is more well-endowed than the usual ones we have coming here, but we have a schedule to follow." As one, the three men took measurements of Aldrid, marking strips of hide, hammering sheets of iron as they worked from head to toe. At last it was finished, and Aldrid pulled on his remaining clothes. "Take this, lad," the last and burliest of the men hurled a tunic at him. "Ain't gerna have yer showing yer chest like eh trophy, all gleaming lek that! I want ye to return it af'er!" Aldrid nodded his thanks and put on the man's tunic. It was obviously worn before, but relatively clean, as Aldrid caught a faint smell of sweat. Even the burly man was less built than Aldrid, however, and the tunic strained against his back and front, but Aldrid left it be. The registrant led him out into the open again. "A few more questions, lad. What weapon is your primary use?" "I use the bow." The registrant raised an eyebrow. "A bow? Not many people choose the ranged weapon as their weapon of choice." "It serves me best," was all Aldrid said. "Very well," the registrant said as he noted it down. "There is still some time before the first trials, lad. I suggest you make some acquaintances with...those you have not made contact with, yet." "Mayhap I will follow your suggestion," Aldrid said as he shouldered his bow and long wrapped bundle. Bowing slightly to the registrant, Aldrid walked past the youths staring at him, finding an empty spot under a tree. Dropping his bundle, Aldrid stretched in the shade. A cough made Aldrid turn around. "You...have the look of one trained in combat," a tall armoured youth said to him. Aldrid noted the sheathed sword belted on his waist. "I have had practice, but no firsthand experience in combat," Aldrid responded. The youth shrugged. "More than those morons over there," he said, gesturing with a gauntleted hand at the pompous noble sons who were still glaring at Aldrid. "I am named Gerlach, a soldier in training at the keep," he added, holding out a hand. "I recognise talent, not status." "Aldrid," Aldrid replied, taking the offered hand. The soldier's grip was strong and steady. "You were witness to my small misunderstanding with the farm stock?" Gerlach's lips turned up a little and his eyes gleamed. "It's about time someone took them down a peg or so. They barely respect our position, let alone yours." His eyes fixed on Aldrid's physique, looking at it with a professional eye. "And the rest of us were sizing you up as a possible rival." "And here I was, thinking the 'honourable' soldiers will be the jackals to tear me up," Aldrid commented. Gerlach shrugged. "There are a few of us like that." He pointed at a large youth who was polishing an axe. "You'll want to watch for him. He's caused his fair share of injuries in practice, and he's one to quickly show how strong and fast he is. Usually in a painful way." "And he has yet to best you, soldier?" Gerlach patted his sword. "Rike may be fast, but my sword is faster. He has not won any of our bouts in practice." He looked at Aldrid's bow. "I see you prefer the ranged weapons." "Why stay close in danger when you can dispatch from afar?" Aldrid said. Gerlach chuckled. "Well said. Others may call you a coward, however." Aldrid shrugged. "Let them call what they may. I would rather shoot down an enemy bearing down on a comrade then be blind to those directly behind me." Gerlach nodded, and then turned at a shout of his name. "I must part company to be with my squad. Two members of my training section have registered; I shall see you in the trials," Gerlach said as he pumped his chest, his gauntlet ringing against his chest plate. "Your company was appreciated," Aldrid said. As Gerlach left, Aldrid sat down in the shade and closed his eyes. He had risen before the sun peaked over the hills, so he relished any rest he could get. He was rudely taken out of his brief repose by a foul liquid hurled onto him. Grimacing and spitting what had got into his mouth, he looked up to see a well-dressed man staring down on him with disdain, an empty bucket in hand. "To what end did I earn such a greeting?" Aldrid inquired with a seething tone. "My lordship specifically requested myself to freshen you up, with something resembling your own abode," the man replied. "Judging by your...attire...I found the trough water for the horses suitable for your consumption." "I see the pigsties even have their own squealing servants," Aldrid said as he stripped off the second shirt of the day. "You may report to your lord. Do extend my pleasantries, and inform him that pigsties still smell, perhaps even worse than before." "Mind your tongue, scum!" the man responded. "How dare you insult the elder son of the Magnis family!" "Ah, now I know the name of one of the pigsties. I must inquire into their method of breeding; they don't seem to be producing much quality goods." The man raised a hand to hit Aldrid, but was interrupted by a low horn sounding from the pavilion. With effort, the man lowered his hand, glowering at Aldrid. "You are a lucky scum that you are registered, and are therefore protected for the duration of the trials. Do not think you will make it through! And your punishment will await you, scum!" "Save the preaching for those who hear. Maybe the royal pig who orders you?" Aldrid said distantly as he twisted the water from the tunic and put it on. "Insult Lord Demos again, and not even the protection of the Tournament will save you!" the man pointed at Aldrid dramatically as he yelled, before hurrying away lest the boy anger him beyond control. Aldrid merely rolled his eyes at the foolish behaviour. Noticing the crowd gathering at the pavilion, Aldrid made his way, squeezing next to Gerlach and his squad of soldiers. "Are they starting the selection soon?" Gerlach nodded at Aldrid, and instantly sniffed and narrowed his eyes. "You reek of the horses. What did you do?" Aldrid shrugged. "His Royal Pigness decided I was fit for the stable waters, and had his loyal servant freshen me with a bucket of water from the horse troughs." Gerlach stifled a laugh. "It seems you made quite the impression on the more pompous comrades for the Tournament." "An impression I can do without," Aldrid muttered. The horn sounded again, with the entrance of an armour-clad man. Despite the lines on his skin and greying hair, the man stood with power and vigour, and his dark grey eyes commanding. Aldrid judged him to be of forty or fifty summers. Next to him, Gerlach stiffened, as did his fellow soldiers. "Who is this?" Aldrid whispered. "Knight Commander Arture, of the Guardians," Gerlach whispered back. "He is our trainer, instructor, and overseer. He demands discipline, and if he is here for what I think he is, our pompous friend won't survive." "You seem quite talkative, soldier Jooesk!" the man shouted. Gerlach instantly snapped forward. "Care to share with the rest of us?" "No sir!" Gerlach yelled out in response. "It was mere idle chatter; forgive my rudeness!" "If you dared to speak out of line on the training field, soldier Jooesk, I would have lashed you fifty times! I am ashamed of you!" Arture stepped down and yelled in Gerlach's face. Gerlach did not bulge or blink, and took the reprimand straight. "See that it does not happen again!" "Sir!" Gerlach responded. A snicker sounded in the crowd. Arture whirled around. "What do you find so amusing, son of Jootun?" One of the pompous pigs, which Aldrid recalled was Darian, instantly stopped his snickering and looked away. "It...It is nothing, merely amusement at my cousin's shameful behaviour." "I see a House's teachings do nothing well for your own behaviour," Arture said sarcastically. "Fall back. I do not want to hear a single sound from those uneducated lips of yours!" Darian's mouth fell open, and then closed up as he fumed silently. Low murmurs rose at the scene of a Knight publically shaming a Noble son. "SILENCE!" Arture's voice boomed across the crowd, silencing any chatter. "If this is what we have today, I shall be very disappointed by our selection and standard of the new recruits! We may as well call off the Tournament now for none of you mules seem to know a copper of discipline!" There was a long silence. "Who can tell me what the Knights are?" Arture demanded. "An army of heroes?" a youth said. Arture glared at the youth. "Open your mouth again, and I will personally fill it with dirt. Any sensible answers?" No one wanted to answer in fear of being wrong. "I am disgusted with you lot!" Arture shouted. "Not one shred of courage or will to step up to face the unknown! You!" Arture pointed at Aldrid, who started. "Give me an answer!" Aldrid looked, eyes open-wide and then glared at Arture. "Was your choice in your victims calculated to choose the one least likely to give a correct answer?" Aldrid asked testily much to the shock of Gerlach and the soldiers next to him. Arture held off on his urge to flog the indignant boy. Then he noticed the boy's attire...and raised an eyebrow. It had been a long time since one of the common folk made it through the gates to the Knight Tournament. Then he barked a short laugh. "Interesting! The common boy is the only one with the balls to counter me! That should say something about the lot of you!" He then focused on Aldrid. "No, it was purely coincidence, or perhaps it was because you were the one distracting soldier Jooesk." He waved a hand dismissively. "Make an educated guess. You can either be right or wrong." Aldrid thought on what he knew of the Knighthood. Not much, in all honesty. He knew Gerlach and his friends were training to be one. He knew Arture was of the Guardians. But not much else. Then his memories drifted to when the Knights had come to his village to banish the chimera. The way they had fought against the demon, which the entire village thought will wipe them out. "Those who fight that which mortal men cannot?" he said slowly. Arture narrowed his eyes. "In all my years of running the Tournament...no one has given an answer like that." He studied Aldrid, who increasingly became more uncomfortable. "Identify yourself, boy!" "I am Aldrid, of the village of Albion," Aldrid replied after a pause. "The Albion village..." Arture murmured, eyes focused on the lad. He too remembered the Crimson Solstice, having organised the troops through the Gateway. Turning away from the boy, he began pacing. Then he shouted loud, "For those uneducated, I will briefly explain the Knighthood." "The Knighthood is charged with the protection of the Kingdom from all sources. That means, we guard her from the three continents, the local and foreign fiends and monsters. And as the boy here said...from those that mortal men cannot hope to defeat." Pause. "Demons." Faces paled at the word. "Should you be accepted, you will learn more of what the Knighthood represents. Know that to even have a chance of being accepted, you need to show exceptional discipline, will, focus and determination. You will NOT falter in the face of danger, for the Knighthood is what stands between the Kingdom and her most dangerous enemies. "The Knighthood's minimal representations far exceed those of any other known combat force. You must be physically powerful," Arture glared at Demos. "...Mentally aligned," he glared at Darian. "Disciplined to follow any orders," he glanced at Gerlach. "Know when to act as proper," he looked at Aldrid. "And beyond. You will not find it an easy journey. You must be prepared with your heart, body and mind to join the Knighthood. If you will not pledge yourself to such a cause, you now have the choice of leaving!" He flung a hand towards the gate. "I shall not judge those who do. The Knighthood is not for everyone; one can serve the Kingdom in more ways than one. Think carefully, for you have until tonight to make your final decision." Arture then stepped onto a prepared pedestal. "With that in mind, the trials of the Tournament will open." Swinging a bastard sword, he pointed it at the crowd. "The basics of the Knighthood demand the use of power beyond that of your ordinary knight. We call upon the basic elements to assist in our training, combat and techniques. I am a Guardian," Arture shouted as his sword glowed and shimmered yellow, causing gasps from the crowd. "Earth is the element I call upon. The other elements have their own factions within the Knighthood; Warden, Warrior and Vanguard, of Air, Fire and Water." Aldrid studied the glowing sword, marking the trace of Calling. The energy Arture had called showed years and years of Calling, the exact same way, that Aldrid presumed that it was second nature to the seasoned fighter. "One seeking to enter the Knighthood must possess at least a mediocre level of control over one of the four basic elements," Arture continued. "And that is what this trial is; to show that you possess that which we can groom and shape. "But that is not the end of this trial!" Arture shouted. He stabbed the ground in front of him. Aldrid felt the surge of power as a large wall of earth shot up in front of Arture, shielding him from view. With a slash, Arture cut through the wall, which slowly dissolved back into the ground. "You must show that you can make use of that you control! For what use if power if you cannot wield it! Thus, your trial will require you to shape the element into your own form. "The trials will be held in the courtyard," he continued. He flicked his blade, dissipating the energy in it back into the ground. "You may make ready, be whatever your task is. I shall see those of you who pass the Trials." With a brief look at Gerlach, Arture swept out towards the Castle courtyard. Murmurs rose amongst the crowd, as some made ready to leave following the commander, others seeming to rethink their choice to be here. Aldrid looked at Gerlach, who grinned sheepishly. "I knew the Commander will be here, but he remains as sturdy and strict as ever. He could not acknowledge me or my section, for we are here today as Knight Tournament participants." "If he is like this during training, it's no small wonder that you have more discipline than those pompous pigs," Aldrid mused. Another soldier clapped a hand on Gerlach's shoulder and leaned over, grinning. "Don't try to encourage him, lad. We suffer enough as it is in session." Gerlach smirked and roughed his friend's hair. "Where are my manners? This here is Klasn Dretun, and the quiet, but naughty one over here," he added, pulling the other soldier closer, "Is Lievan Magesk. This here, you two mischievous grits, is Aldrid." "Glad to see someone having the balls to stand up to the commander," Klasn reached over and punched Aldrid in the shoulder lightly. He was shorter than Gerlach, but wider of shoulder, and definitely more muscled. "Ain't a normal person to be able to put up with such pressure at his first encounter with the beast." Lievan reached out a hand, which Aldrid took. "I thank you for putting my pathetic cousin in his place," the soldier said in a deep, soft tone. Lievan was taller than even Gerlach, but had a body build in between Gerlach's and Klasn's. In fact, looking at the three, Gerlach looked gaunt and underfed. Aldrid then blinked. "Cousin?" Lievan grimaced. "Demos Magnis is the much revered cousin on my paternal side. He did not take kindly to me overshadowing him by being a soldier in training." Aldrid snorted. "With that physique of his, he has a better future on the butcher's table." Lievan smiled. "I think we'll get along," he said. Aldrid then turned to Gerlach. "I heard Arture... ["Call him the commander!" Klasn pleaded]..." he glared at Klasn. "Call that pompous ass your 'Cousin' as well." Gerlach sighed and rubbed his neck. "Yes," he acknowledged. "Darian Jootun is my cousin on my paternal side..." "...And my cousin on the maternal side," Klasn added. "Funny, eh? That makes my section leader here my second cousin," he elbowed Gerlach playfully. Aldrid shook his head. "To think you actually have a connection with those three sorry jokes," he lamented. Gerlach stiffened as he narrowed his eyes at Aldrid. "I take no pleasure in calling that blasted fowl my cousin," he seethed. "I would rather cut all relations with him, and instead take Klasn as my true cousin." "And so would I," Klasn said happily. "Oh come on, Gerry, Aldrid was only playing with you." "I know you won't be privy to the pompous acts, soldier," Aldrid said. "I apologise for that; the joke was out of line." "No insult taken," Gerlach relaxed. "Have you planned on which trial to participate in?" Aldrid shrugged. "I have no idea," he said honestly. "I suppose it'll be better to ask you three first?" Gerlach unlimbered his shield. "Well, as I said when we first met, I use the sword and shield. I'm undertaking training to be a Guardian, same as the Commander. Klasn here is aiming to be a Guardian as well," he gestured at Klasn who unlimbered a greatsword. Klasn grinned as he swung the massive blade with one hand. "Fuck Gaia's tits, will you stop showing off like that!" Gerlach yelled. "You're liable to cut someone's head off!" "Sorry, boss," Klasn blushed as he properly held his greatsword with two hands. Gerlach sighed. "And lastly, Lievan. He uses a pair of daggers, and is training to be a Vanguard," he motioned at Lievan who had stealthily withdrawn his weapons, crossed at elbow height. "Klasn and I have control over Earth, and Lievan can use Water." "Interesting..." Aldrid noted as he examined all three. "You said you use the bow, correct?" Gerlach inquired. When Aldrid nodded, he smiled. "You should try a hand at the Air trial. Bows are the common weapon used by those in the Warden. Have you touched an element before?" "Once when I was younger, but definitely none in the last ten years," Aldrid replied. Gerlach looked worried. "You should give it a try nonetheless..." "I see," Aldrid pondered. Better than nothing, at least. "Which reminds me, I wonder if those smithies have fashioned something for me," Aldrid muttered as he quickly left the three soldiers, who made confused expressions. Making his way back into the pavilion, where the registrant was busy with two youths attempting to register late, he ducked through the curtain to the back, where the three men with groaning with effort at stitching, knifing and hammering. "Eh lookie 'ere," one of them noticed Aldrid, and brightened. "If it ain't the lad with 'he horse hung prick! What be yer business 'ere?" Aldrid shrugged. "I was wondering if you had prepared gauntlets for me to use by any chance. My pair is...serviceable, but well worn," he added as he produced his old pair of gauntlets, with the hide ripped and peeling. One of the smithies almost fainted at the sight. "Yer destroyed this, lad!" he rushed over and snatched the pair from Aldrid. He then shook his head and grimaced. "Beyon' saving now. Lucky we did 'he gauntlets first, eh?" He rummaged under his work desk and threw a pair of leather gauntlets at Aldrid. "Try 'em on, lad." Aldrid fingered the soft, yet sturdy exterior, fastened with thick stitches and metal clippings. He had never seen gauntlets more comfortable; his own were hand me downs from his Uncle. "Are...are you sure these are...for me?" The first one waved a hand. "The castle pays for 'em. If ye become a Knight, that be ye first set of 'mor for practice. If ye don', they come back 'ere and we knife 'n stitch them to fit 'other lad. They're yers, lad." Aldrid slid on the gauntlets, finding them reaching just beyond his elbow. Flexing his arm, he found the gauntlet far more comfortable and serviceable than his old pair. "This...is a precious gift. Thank you," he said. He knew he would have no problems nocking his bow with the new pair of gauntlets. The third smithy, who had remained silent until now, said, "Ye come back a knight, lad, and that be all the thanks we need." Aldrid smiled, nodded, and quickly made his way out. The other three soldiers eyed his new gauntlets with curiosity. Gerlach said, "The smithie gave those to you?" Aldrid nodded. "The pair I brought with me were beyond repair. So they gifted me with this." Klasn felt along the gauntlet. "Top notch as always...as expected of the Knight's Armoury." Aldrid stared. "They make all the Knight's armours?" Lievan nodded. "They are a well-known trio. The Kingdom owes much to their services." Aldrid clasped a hand on his gauntlet, with more respect than before. "Then these will no doubt serve me well for the trials." Gerlach nodded. "We're ready to go to the courtyard. Do you want to accompany us?" Aldrid looked around. Then pointed at the pompous aristocrats. "I think I'll rather be with them," he said sarcastically. Gerlach smiled. "Alright. Let's go." Aldrid let his smile dwindle a little. "One moment." Rummaging through his bag, Aldrid withdrew the long, gleaming feather he has kept from that fateful day, ten years ago. Closing his eyes, he kissed it, as memories of that day came back to him. It was a part of him, that day; he wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for the Crimson Solstice. Gerlach paused at the lull in conversation. "What is that, Aldrid?" he asked curiously. Putting it away in his bag, Aldrid's eyes focused elsewhere. "A good luck charm, soldier. Merely a good luck charm," he answered softly. ~ Aldrid traced a hand over his bow as he waited his turn. The courtyard ran two trials at a time; the Guardian and Warrior trials were first. He had watched as Gerlach and Klasn swung and glanced off missiles aimed at them, and with more interest, studied the way they Called the earth. Gerlach had formed a series of earth spikes which pierced projectiles with deadly aim, whereas Klasn made an immense wall and crushed a large projectile with it. Aldrid was sure Gerlach and Klasn exceeded the expectations required for the Trials. He was also equally sure that Demos, who could barely withstand the blow of a small projectile, would fail. When he failed to even attune with the Earth, Arture had strode over, picked him by the scruff of his flamboyant outfit, and tossed him out of the courtyard, while shouting words such as "utter disgrace", "shame on your name", "a beggar with a stick could do better!" Lievan had turned with a satisfied smirk on his face at his cousin's demise. The one unnamed pompous ass that Aldrid did not know was in the Warrior trials. He was also disappointing, although he did manage to punch his way through a series of planks. He failed at attempting to tune with an element, at which point, Arture also booted him out. Many of the youths, while have knowledge of the arms they wielded, poorly attuned to an element. Gerlach and Klasn, no doubt from their soldier training, were considered the top performing duo. Aldrid watched many struggle to maintain the form of their Called element, with mounds of soil falling into dust, and spurts of flames weakly blazing before dissipating. No doubt the entry level requirement was higher than many expected, as youth after youth were declared incompetent and removed. Only four others joined Gerlach and Klasn with adequate skills in both arms and an element. One of them was the soldier Gerlach had pointed out, Rike, who outperformed all others in the Warrior trial. The two trials took the length of two candlemarks to complete. The courtyard had been then arranged for the last two trials; of the Warden and the Vanguard. With the sound of a horn, Aldrid strung his bow, and made his way to the temporary shooting field. Whispers followed him, and some people made rather pungent comments as Aldrid walked past. "What does the peasant know? He may know how to hunt a rabbit, but he knows nothing about how to serve the kingdom!" someone muttered. The trio of shamed sons mysteriously made their appearance, sneering at Aldrid. "The dog has a few tricks! Let's see him jump and dance, friends!" "He can sing as well, no doubt! He no doubt will be more skilled in making that twig of a bow strum than letting loose an arrow!" Demos called out loudly, causing the three to laugh. "You three! I ordered you out and back to your estates!" came Arture's roar. He came leaping out, and with a blink, the three pompous asses slid out of sight. Arture glared at the vacant spots, and then turned to Aldrid. "I hope you do not disappoint as the vast majority of those here today did." "I will do my best," Aldrid replied. In truth, Aldrid was nervous. He had not Called in a very long time; he did not know how best to shape the flight of his arrow with an element. The first of those in the Trials had begun. Aldrid glanced over at the Vanguard trials and saw Lievan tackling the established obstacle course with ease, weaving in and around barrels, heaped furniture, oiled mats and swinging bags. Lievan paused at the last obstacle, which were two guards surrounding the canister he had to obtain. With a twist, and a barely channelled Calling, Lievan shimmered out of view. The two guards looked confused until Lievan tapped them on the shoulder, the canister in his other hand. Aldrid smiled at the soldier's success, while Gerlach and Klasn cheered and whooped from the sidelines. He then noticed the third soldier, Rike, glaring at Aldrid with clear disdain and hatred clearly marked on his face. Aldrid held the glare before he turned, focusing on his potential rivals on the Warden trial. The first few participants barely reached the target placed over fifty yalms away. Each participant was given three tries to place an arrow on the target. Only one of the first three participants landed an arrow, and it barely dented the target before it dropped to the ground. The target was far enough that sheer force was not enough to land an arrow, requiring the use of an element to help. None of those in front of Aldrid passed the trial. Aldrid took the time to think on how to reach the target, but no ideas came to mind. Think, Aldrid cursed at himself. Wind is the obvious choice, but how could he manipulate Air to guide his arrow... "Aldrid, of the village of Albion," the officiating guard read out. Eyes suddenly focused on Aldrid as he made his way to the marked location on the field, facing the target. Eyes that seemed to wish him ill, wish him failure, wish him an embarrassing situation. Is this how the higher class treated the lower class? Aldrid thought with increasing anger. Have one lower than them participate in the same event, and hatred runs rampant? What was the point of the Solstice Festival then? He noted the glances of the gentry class, seated on high viewing points around the courtyard. With a twitch, Aldrid snapped his head, looking towards the entrance of the Castle. He had felt that burst of energy, that flare of power, quickly smothered. He can't be here...and watching him! Aldrid scanned the area, but could not locate the source. No, he had to focus. Aldrid shook his head, clearing the thoughts. Staring down at the target, an idea formed in his mind. If his arrow couldn't reach the target without the help of an element, he will change it. He will reach the target with an element, with the help of his arrow. His only problem was how he had to Call the required energies in a way that those around them would recognise. Aldrid couldn't fail this. Not at this point. Fluidly nocking an arrow from his quiver into the string, Aldrid raised the bow. Eyes pressed on him, but he did not care. He was focused entirely on his target, and his plan to reach it. Drawing the string back, he delved into the energy, and Weaved what he needed. Reaching his limit, he brought the energy back up, just as the arrowhead brushed the rest. And he let loose the arrow. ~ Tyr reached the courtyard just as the first trials began. Knowing how harsh the expectations were, he was not expecting more than a handful to satisfy Commander Arture's notorious requirements. Tyr understood why, though. In accepting the ones who passed, they were given a special status of skipping an entire rank of training on the way to being a Knight. Arture knew what value the chance was, and knew that only those worthy could reach for that chance. "Your Highness," a Knight saluted him as he leapt down the entrance stairs. "You honour us with your presence. Would you care for a seating in a better view spot?" the Knight gestured to the surrounding nobles on the outskirts of the crowd. Tyr waved a hand dismissively. "I am capable of standing on my own two feet for some time without trouble, Knight." "My apologies, your Highness," the Knight bowed. "I did not mean to imply as such." Tyr smiled. "At ease, Knight. I merely expressed my reasoning. Besides, you bunch all know how far Commander Arture pushes me!" He mocked outrage at the Commander, who was verbally shredding another youth for his abysmal attempt at producing a sword of fire. The Knight loosened his expression to grin at the much larger Prince. Although he was a Knight, the Prince often practiced with the platoon, so he was well aware of how fierce and dangerous the Prince could be. "He only sees the potential within you, and wishes to nurture it, your Highness." "He is bullying me because how often can one say they spanked the Prince without getting sent to the dungeons, huh?" Tyr jokingly complained. The Knight stifled a laugh before attempting to return to his stoic position. "Sir, please, this is a formal occasion." "You are right," Tyr said. He settled next to the Knight, making occasional comments on the current participants as the candlemarks went on. When the last of the two Trials were finished, the Knight sighed. "As usual, not even more than a handful passing the Commander's harsh eyes. I would have thought there to be more talent amongst the youths of today." "Come now, Knight. You know very well the nobles do not place emphasis on their sons to learn the arms or to embrace the world," Tyr said. "The merchants less so; the only ones with any substantial understanding were Commander Arture's three students. However, he passed three others onto tomorrow's stage." "Tyr, my boy!" a loud voice boomed behind him. Tyr turned and barely caught the fist aimed at his face. Grinning, Tyr looked up at the towering man. "Commander Glahad. Your face is a sight for sore eyes." "Now now, don't flatter me," the heavy set brown eyes gleamed. Glahad was a giant of a man, towering at seven feet, with a body to match. None outperformed Glahad as a Warrior, his brute force and power unmatched. Tyr smiled and gave his instructor a mighty hug. He was answered with a bone crushing squeeze. "Leave some of my ribs intact please, Glahad," he wheezed out. Glahad chuckled. "Sorry, boy. So," Glahad grinned at Tyr as he let go. "Left Knight Doras out of commission, did you?" Tyr blushed. "He uh...should be making his way here in a short while," he said sheepishly. "He is in charge of the Vanguard trial, after all." Glahad clapped a meaty hand on Tyr's back. "It's good you keep such fine company, Prince." He turned to the Knight who had snapped to attention, eyes focused on the trials. "I'll look the other way today for breaching discipline, Knight, because you accompanied the Prince, but make sure it doesn't become a habit. Understood?" he barked. "Yes, sir!" the Knight shouted in response. Glahad grinned and punched the Knight lightly in the shoulder, which the Knight took with a slight wince. "Good lad." He looked at the courtyard. "Them strapping lads down there barely have an itch of talent in them. I'm only interested in that pup of Arture's, the one that put all others to shame in the Warrior trial." "Always the hothead, Commander." Tyr smiled. "So how have you been keeping, Commander," Tyr asked. "How have the troops in the Valley of Red fared?" Glahad lost his grin and bore his trademark scowl. "Those Pryhn bastards keep sending those sacrilegious hordes at us. They don't fear to die for their bloody Empire!" He shook his head. "At least we have minimal casualties. The troops at O'Thu protect the Kingdom well." "And how fare your family?" Tyr asked. "Your sons must be starting their training now." "Aye, they are! Strapping bright lads, if the wife feeds them the way she is and they work it off, they'll be bigger than I am!" Glahad chuckled at the thought. Tyr looked on with mock horror. "Someone arrest the woman. We'll need to enlarge every doorway in the Kingdom if she keeps it up." "You little shit," Glahad playfully grabbed Tyr and ruffled his hair. "You ain't such a short runt either." "I'm sorry I'm late!" a familiar voice sounded behind them. Tyr turned to see Doras stumbling out of the castle with the obvious signs of a well-fucked man in his twitching legs. Glahad moved swiftly for a man his size, stabilising Doras. "Tyr gave you a run for his gold, didn't he?" "There was no running involved at all last night, Commander," Doras said, flushing. "Once his Highness captured his prey, my legs were given quite a different workout." Glahad chuckled. "At least you're keeping your liege lord satisfied," he said as he led Doras to the group. "And he does a fine job at it as well," Tyr said, having overheard Glahad. "How are you feeling, Doras?" he asked his friend. "Did you manage to clean properly?" Doras glared at Tyr. "Your Highness unfortunately left me in quite the compromising position. I came back to find a score of maids giggling at my posture, and debating whether the candelabra will fit in the massive cavity I bore." Glahad burst out into laughter while the other Knight threatened to break his stony expression, the only indication of his attempts to stop being his shaking shoulder. Tyr blushed a light red. Doras continued, "If you don't want the maids to start spreading rumours of your size being equivalent to bread rolls, broom handles, cannon heads, and other forms of flattery, please ensure you lock your quarters." He paused. "I could barely keep myself from expressing to the maids that your Highness is endowed with the likes far beyond a foot-long bread roll in both length and width." Tyr's cheeks flushed even deeper to cherry red. "Oh..." he could only say. "I...I trust the maids assisted in cleaning you up?" he mumbled Doras looked at his friend with a raised eye. "I adequately flatter your dick, Tyr, and all you can ask is whether the maids wiped off your cum sufficiently off me?" He mock rolled his eyes at Glahad. "You see what I have to deal with, Commander?" Glahad laughed so hard he was coughing. "I think I've heard enough of his Highness' sexual virility for the moment. Come, Doras. You need to make ready for the Vanguard tournament." "Yes, off with you, before you embarrass me further in front of my subjects," Tyr said. He made the reference to the other Knight, who was shaking back and forth with the effort of not laughing. Doras shrugged. "You make your exploits known nightly with the string of guards and soldiers left exhausted and leaking after you're done with them," Doras said as he grinned. Tyr waved a hand urgently. "Go, go! Take this clown from my presence, Commander!" Glahad grinned. "On it, your Highness." He paused. "Oh, one more thing. I heard from the rumours that apparently one of the common folk made it in, and he's participating in the Warden trial. Keep an eye out, would ya?" he said with interest. "The unexpected normally are the ones with surprises." "A common youth?" Tyr wondered. "He must be brave to come this far." "Indeed, " Glahad nodded. "I shall see you sometime tonight with your Father, your Highness." "And I hopefully will NOT see you tonight," Doras said. "I need a rest. Oh, and also," he grinned again. "The maids are in agreement that I do NOT have a skinny ass." "Get out!" Tyr mock threw an object at Doras, and Glahad, chuckling, escorted the Knight away. He sighed and turned to his remaining company, the other Knight. "Your Prince has a hard life, Knight," he lamented. The Knight let loose, barking a long loud laugh that made him collapse. Tyr scowled, and then laughed with him. "I-I'm sorry, y-your Highness! I c-could not k-keep it in," he tried to say in between heaves. Tyr offered a hand and pulled the Knight up. "Now that you know the more intimate stories of me, what is your name?" "I am named Rupich Drewin, your Highness." Tyr raised an eyebrow. "A steward to the Paewin House? A worthy House to serve." The Knight bowed. "Thank you for your kind words." Noise captured his attention. "Your Highness, the trials begin again." "The Commander said the rumours of a common boy in the Warden trials," Tyr said. "Keep an eye out for him, for no doubt everyone will be wondering at his bravery...or stupidity." "Yes, your Highness." Rupich responded. Tyr settled to watch the Warden trial, growing increasingly disappointed as not one made a decent approach to the target. It seems as if no one will be a potential Warden. And not one so far had seemed like a common youth. "Your Highness, I believe the next one is the common boy. The entire crowd is staring at him," Rupich alerted Tyr, who had switched his attention to the Vanguard trial for a brief moment. "Thank you, Ru-" Tyr laid his eyes on the youth and instantly felt his face flush, and his dick spring up in his breeches. No, not like this, Tyr thought hard at himself, and brought himself out of the start of the rut. He pushed his thirteen inch column hard, attempting to hide it. Thankfully everyone's attention was on the youth who had suddenly turned in Tyr's direction. Tyr panted as he looked at the muscular build, the powerful frame of the common youth. His eyes scanned in Tyr's direction, but focused back on the target. Tyr gazed over the shoulder length white hair with a braid running down the youth's back. What was it about the boy that made Tyr desire to be with him, in him, around him? As the youth's posture changed to make ready to shoot, Tyr got hit by a sense of recognition. "I know this boy," Tyr muttered. "Your Highness?" Rupich looked concerned. "I know this boy. I've met him before. But where?" Tyr asked hurriedly. He couldn't remember where or how he met the youth, but he knew he did. Who was he? How did Tyr know...desire him? Tyr had no answers, so he could only watch in agonised lust as the youth raised the bow and took aim. While everyone was focused on the weapon, Tyr could only gaze at the bulging arms, the rippling chest and stomach muscles, the defined legs...and that magnificent ass. "The youth is obviously of common birth, but the Knight's Armoury gifted him with his gauntlets," Rupich commented. "If those three acknowledge his skills...then maybe he has a chance." Tyr didn't...couldn't respond as he watched every sinew stretch on the youth as he drew the bow. He could barely control the rut, his desire to fuck and fuck and fuck on and on. But he had to watch. He stared transfixed as the arrow let loose, whizzing across the field. Passing the halfway mark, it was still going strong, until it slammed into the target. Instantly, the target froze over, shards of ice following the speed of the arrow and stretching icicles beyond the target. Tyr's keen eyes noted...apart from the youth...that the arrow had pierced through the target. Silence stretched for a minute before murmurs sounded around the courtyard. "I did not sense him summoning any energy at all!" Rupich said astounded. "Are we sure he is a village boy? That level of skill takes years of training to reach!" The youth's actions only made Tyr's carnal hunger worse. He had to let it go, and the waves of lust rode over him. "Rupich," Tyr's voice came out harsh and low. The Knight turned and stiffened at the look Tyr fixed him with. He looked at Tyr caressing that...monster in his breeches and started sweating. "Y-Yes, your Highness?" "Have you ever desired to join me in bed?" Tyr asked roughly as he approached the Knight. Rupich gulped. "I...I have likings towards men, and I have had fantasies of spending a night with you but...never gave it much practical thought." Tyr leaned over and nibbled on Rupich's ear, then bit down hard, making the Knight wince. "Well, that will have to change," he snarled. He grabbed Rupich's hand and caressed his thirteen inch, oozing penis now threatening to split his breeches. "You feel that?" Rupich gulped again. "Yes, your Highness?" "That will be in you, very, very shortly," Tyr whispered seductively. "I know you want it, I can feel it. You want to be fucked like a whore." Rupich felt his own erection come. "I...I..." "Shh...come with me, Rupich," Tyr hoarsely said as he dragged the Knight away. "My desires cannot be put off. And your wet hole will be perfect for a good pounding." "Sir, I...I have not done anything of that sort!" Rupich panicked. He had yet to be inducted into the ways of sex, and he knew the Prince's length and girth were not to be underestimated. He broke free and tried to escape, but Tyr embraced him, and lowered his mouth to Rupich's face. "Please...I have never taken a...a sex up my rear!" "That is of no matter," Tyr dismissed. "In no time, you will be begging for more of my dick, begging like a bitch I know you are." With that he pressed his lips on Rupich's, digging deep with his tongue. Rupich could only surrender to the dominant Prince as Tyr half carried the Knight into a private storeroom close to the Castle. A candlemark later found Rupich moaning and senseless, pinned over the bags Tyr had bent him over, with said Prince pounding his full length in and out of Rupich's now stretched ass. He had screamed in agony when Tyr first thrust his entire length in Rupich, lubricated only with the spit Rupich had put on when Tyr fucked his face for a few minutes. Tyr had no mercy, pulling Rupich's head back and pounding brutally into the tight, hot hole. Few minutes later, Rupich felt a pleasure he never had, from the relentless drumming of Tyr's sex on his insides. He began moaning and twisting back on the invading tool, making Tyr laugh. "I knew you'll like it bitch! Want more, huh? Want me to fuck you hard and good?" "Yes...oh...your Highness please...I've never felt...oh yes...please..." Rupich could only moan. "Since it's your first time, I won't make you beg," Tyr sneered as he thrust especially hard. "You're in for a ride, Knight!" And so Rupich had been taken for a candlemark. Tyr was still vigorously driving into Rupich, and pressed his hand down on Rupich's head. Rupich could barely breathe from the harsh thrusts, and breathed in Tyr's musky scent, making his head swim. This was what Knight Doras was talking about, Rupich thought. That impossibly long and thick column, pulsing angrily in front of Rupich before Tyr had thrown him over the bags and slid in. He at the same time envied and pitied Doras. He envied Doras for always having such sensations running and coursing through him, but pitied that he was the brunt of such hard takings. Rupich moaned loud as his second load coursed from his eight inch tool onto the floor, pleasured by the continual hammering. His conscious spiralled down into blackness as Tyr did not let up, increasing pressure on his thrusts, sweat dripping off his body onto Rupich's. Rupich couldn't hold on. He let himself go, pulled into an endless stream of orgasms, all focused on the pummelling invader giving him so much. ~ Aldrid had been quickly accepted after his performance, and had been herded back to the pavilion, where the smithies were hard at work producing the necessary equipment. Along the way, he had been hassled by numerous people seeking to know how he had accomplished his feat. He hadn't even managed to get a glimpse of Gerlach, Klasn or Lievan before three stone-faced guards had escorted him away quickly. Aldrid, in truth, was surprised at how well his spell worked out, considering he hadn't channelled anything for many summers. As soon as he had entered the smithy area, the three smithies piled onto him, trying to grasp a part of him. "Knew ye had it in ye lad!" the most talkative smithy said. "We dun work for a bleeding twenty summer 'n not get a tiny bit of who 'ill make it!" "'veryone be talkin' 'bout the common lad who made it to the second day," the second smith said. "Ye better not disappoint us te'morrow!" "If you will release me, I will get a chance to at least go tomorrow," Aldrid wheezed as he struggled to find breath amongst the arms wrapped around him. They separated and grinned. "Well, ye be needing this now!" the first smith said as he handed three items to Aldrid. Aldrid inspected them, finding an embroidered tunic, brais, and a pair of goatskin dress boots. "What would I needing this for? I'm not an aristocrat." "Ye daft, boy? All lads makin' it through get to meet the king for'a blessin' or somethin'!" the first smith almost yelled. "Can't be seen wearin' ye' rags up to his Majesty, eh?" "We get...to meet the King?" Things were looking bright. Aldrid held up the tunic he was meant to wear, and frowned. "And I am supposed to fit into this?" he questioned the smithy, gesturing to the extremely tapered neckline, which was liable to expose at least half his chest. "Everyone of ye lads be wearin' that," the first smith said dismissively. "Ye probably the last boy we have comin'; only really saw nine or ten of ye lads with any skill." Aldrid stripped off his gauntlets and sweaty tunic and gave them to the silent smith, who had been pounding away at metal the whole time. "Thank you, Mastersmith," Aldrid said. "Be off with ye, lad," came the gruff reply. "The other lads are all dressed up, and it won't be well keeping the King waiting." He handed Aldrid a towel. "Oh, an' keep ye gauntlets!" the second smithy said. "Ye be showing ye the bow's champion for all to see, and what better way to do that then be wearing a piece of ye armour, eh?" Aldrid quickly wiped down his body with the towel and undressed. The two talkative smithies whistled at the sight of his muscular body. "If ye ain't getting some lovin' tonight, lad, ye be a foolish one," the first said. Aldrid shook his head as he pulled the pair of brais up and laced the front over his groin. "I'm afraid I do not look on the fair sex for pleasure, gentlemen. I-" "Any boy will be wan'ing to jump ye pants, lad," the second interrupted. "Hell, 'f I were ten years younger, I'll be out'a ma pants and rubbing myself o'er ye." "Aw, shut ye pie hole, Dolgan," the first said before kissing Dolgan on the lips. "Ain't I man en'uff for ye?" "Ye be a beast in bed, ye are Vixton," Dolgan responded before he leapt on Vixton and kissed him deeply, rolling behind a workbench. Out of sight, all Aldrid could hear were wet kisses, moaning and clothes ruffling. "Eh, Vixton, ye ain't shovin' ye monster up me ass here! What 'f someone walks in with ye hammerin' me like Alex hammers his iron? No, not the fingers...ah!" "Ye know ye want a hammering, ye horny bastard," Vixton growled behind the bench. "And ye like it when Alex hammers ye rough and hard, so step ye complainin'!" "Keep it down or I'll hammer the two of ye like I did last nigh'!" the third smithy roared. The smithy was answered with a deep moan, then the unmistakable sound of skin slapping on skin. "And make the fuckin' quick, we got lotsa work still!" the smith yelled. He was answered by a quickened pace and louder moans. The workbench started moving slightly, as if it was being pushed. The third smith sighed, and looked at Aldrid. "Hurry 'n get dressed, boy, be'ore they invite ye over," he said as he palmed his own growing bulge. "Oh fuck me...mm yes!" came Dolgan's voice along with a consistent thud on the work bench, making the third smith growl. Aldrid quickly shrugged into the tunic, laced the dress boots, and left just as Vixton lifted Dolgan's body onto the now out of place workbench, still deep in his lover, plowing his thick tool into Dolgan's ass. Aldrid escaped the pavilion before he too got excited. Sighing, he adjusted his outfit, grimacing at the amount of bare chest he was showing. And the brais were skin tight to his legs! Meaning his now slowly rising manhood was feeling quite strangled. Emerging into the sunlight, he was tackled by two hard bodies. "That was incredible, Aldrid!" Klasn shouted in his ear. "I thought you said you had no experience using elements!" "I didn't," Aldrid wheezed around the arms wrapped around his ribs. "I thought of that on the spot...I didn't think...it will work out well..." "Come now, you two, Aldrid is turning blue," came Lievan's voice. Aldrid was given freedom, breathing in fresh air. "You were truly amazing though, Aldrid," Lievan praised him. "The way you used air...was almost seamless! I couldn't feel you using it!" "You're a natural," Gerlach finished. "You may not have the physical skills we soldiers have, but you blew us away with that display of power." He laughed a bit. "Out of the eleven who passed, you sent the most tongues waggling, that's for certain." Aldrid thought and then looked up at Gerlach. "Because I'm a commoner?" he asked softly. Gerlach nodded. "Some of the more...disinclined...Houses are already making complaints about your participation. Mine is, unfortunately, one of them," he added with a disapproved tone. "It matters not, in any case," Lievan said. "We are going to see His Majesty as those who passed the Trials, as is tradition. Not even the Houses can stop a tradition that has been going for centuries." Aldrid then noticed that the three soldiers around him were dressed as he was, their impressive physique highlighted. Grimacing, he said, "And we are to be made a circus act in appearance upon reaching the King, are we?" Klasn grinned and flexed an arm. "I'm not complaining, mayhap a castle maid will be inclined to my side." "Stop it, Klasn," Gerlach admonished. "You know as well as I do that Commander Arture will slice your balls off and feed them to you the next day if you dare to dally in front of the King." "I know, don't be such a sour cow," Klasn pouted. Sighing he shook his head. "I swear those three smithies have too much fun making these clothes for us. I mean, we may as well be naked with almost everything showing!" he gestured. "Although you, Aldrid..." he whistled at the muscular lad in front of him. "We have competition, boys!" "Speaking of those three..." Aldrid looked at Gerlach as he pondered his next question. "I saw the three of them just then, and...uh..." Gerlach sighed and rubbed his head. "Dolgan and Vixton were attempting to 'make a baby' again, weren't they?" he asked. Klasn roared in laughter as Lievan also shook his head and added, "Those two are on each other when they're not needed for work at all." Aldrid looked at the three curiously. "The three smithies...you mean?" Lievan and Gerlach looked at each other. "Their story is quite famous amongst us in the barracks..." Gerlach started. "Dolgan, Vixton and Alex were in the same section in the Knighthood. After they left their factions, they picked up smithing and crafting, for which you can see the results from what we wear." Lievan continued, "Dolgan and Vixton declared their love for each other during their service in the Knighthood. Many looked down on them, but the previous King blessed the union. That caused quite the stir, and many of those inclined to the same sex also emerged in the Knighthood. It started a change in social structure of the Knighthood, for many of those in higher positions were uncomfortable with the change." "Dolgan and Vixton were pioneers to that change," Gerlach picked up. "Their service was recognised, for they were exemplary Knights, and their craftwork is admired by all." Aldrid nodded. "What about Alex?" Alex must have been the third, quiet smithy in the background. "Alex was the pair's partner in all things," Klasn said. "He was always supporting Dolgan and Vixton, no matter what. He's married, with three sons and a daughter, but those who live in the barracks know that he regularly joins Dolgan and Vixton for their...activities," he finished, grinning. "They are highly respected, though, so it troubles no one," Gerlach said. "They are held in high esteem by all of us soldiers, and by many in the Knighthood." "You'll learn more when you become one of us," Klasn said, clapping Aldrid on the back. "Oh, here comes Rike," he gestured towards the soldier heading towards them, dressed as they were. Aldrid noticed that apart from Gerlach, Klasn and Lievan, none of those who passed approached him, though they made regular conversation with the three soldiers. The one named Rike openly looked at Aldrid with disdain and disgust, ignoring him when he walked up to the three soldiers and congratulated them, boasting loudly with Klasn. "May we cross weapons tomorrow. Mayhap I'll see you in your rightful place, Gerlach," Rike slapped Gerlach on the back. "Mayhap," Gerlach echoed. He then turned towards Aldrid and beckoned him forward. "Rike, this is-" "Keep him away," Rike bellowed. "I don't need more filth dirtying the air I breathe." Klasn grimaced. "Aldrid is far from filth, Rike. He's-" "He's a commoner, and he stinks like one," Rike yelled, glaring at Aldrid. "He should have never been allowed to get this far." "We know how much you hate the common people, Rike, but can't you-" Gerlach started. "He's scum, the most bottom of all. Did you see the rags he dressed in to come here? It shames and disgusts me that the Knight's Armoury would think to outfit him!" "If you think such of me, Rike, why do make the effort to make it known to me?" Aldrid said softly. He was barely holding his own rage in. "I won't take cheek from a commoner!" Rike said angrily as he unlimbered his axe. "One more filthy word, scum, and I'll cut that tongue off!" "Try me, scarface," Aldrid retorted, referring to Rike's numerous scars on his face. Rike puffed up in anger and lunged at Aldrid, only stopping because Klasn and Gerlach held him back. "You fucking scum!" he roared. "I'll kill you, little rat!" "Rike, control yourself!" Gerlach shouted, while pleading at Aldrid with his eyes. "Commander Arture will have your head to see you behave like this!" Rike paused, then shrugged off the hands on him. He glared at Aldrid with pure hatred, to which Aldrid stared back, accepting the challenge. "You better hope I don't see you tomorrow, scum, for you'll be meat mince when I'm done," Rike hissed. Hoisting his axe, he stalked off away from the group. Gerlach looked at Aldrid apologetically. "I...I am sorry, Aldrid. I knew Rike did not like commoners, but..." "It is alright. I expected as such," Aldrid said. "I am sorry, too, for letting my temper get the best of me." Klasn shook his head. "You held yourself far better than I would! I can tolerate him, but that was pushing my limits!" Klasn shook his head in disbelief again. "To think we were friends from birth..." Aldrid started to ask a question, but was interrupted by a loud trumpet playing. All of them ceased talking and turned towards Arture striding towards them. The Commander scanned the crowd, looking at each and every one of them in the eye. "Consider yourself fortunate," he said after a long silence. "I have deemed you worthy enough to grace the duelling fields tomorrow, at which all the judges will see if you are fit for service. "You have shown me that you have some level of what we require to see in a Knight, some with surprising results," he added, looking briefly at Aldrid. "Your test of fortitude will see who will be able to overcome that large wall standing between you and the Knighthood. "The Knight's Armoury has outfitted you, for we go to the King for the traditional blessing," he continued. "None of you will disgrace His Majesty or the Knighthood by forgetting your place, or you'll be out of the Tournament faster than I can draw my blade. Is that clear!?" he barked. "YES, SIR!" loud cries resounded through the area outside the pavilion. "You will receive further details of the Duels after the blessing," Arture said. "The King's time is precious. We depart now!" Motioning for the eleven to follow, he took off at a brisk pace. Seeing his three soldier friends leap to follow, Aldrid quickly followed, barely keeping up with the harsh pace set by the commander. As they approached the castle, they were interrupted by an entourage of dressed men. A lad emerged from the entourage and strode towards Arture. Lievan groaned upon recognising his cousin, Demos. The pompous fool planted himself in front of Arture, and sneered. "I demand you to allow me through to see the King!" "You have no worth, son of Magnis," Arture said sternly. "I allow and permit only those who show their worth to grace the King's presence." "My men won't move until you do as I say!" Demos said triumphantly. "Take me to the King!" "It'll take more than a few untrained men to stop me, boy," Arture dismissed. "Now move, or do I need to use force?" "You won't dare!" Demos said, though his eyes now held fear. "I demand you to let me pass and accept me! I'll tell my father about this!" "Enough, cousin!" Lievan shouted, unable to hold back. "You disgrace your House, and mine, with your behaviour! How-" "Silence, soldier Magesk!" Arture barked. Lievan stiffened. "Your cousin is scarce worth my notice, let alone yours. We march through these men. If they resist, you have my permission to force a way through." "How dare you! You're just a son of a whore!" Demos shouted at Arture. "A scandalous Mir, you-" Demos was flung on his back, and looked up to find a flaming sword pressed to his pudgy neck. Arture stood above him, eyes blazing. "Do not insult my blood, boy," he said in a dangerously low voice. "The blood of past Knights flows through me, and you dare to insult me? Do you wish for death so fast?" "I...I..." Demos stammered and shook, sweat running down his trembling cheek. A scent of bowel movement came from his direction. "You will do well to remember to address me by Reiner next time we unfortunately meet. Have I made my point clear, boy?" Arture shouted. "Yes, yes...yes, I..." Demos managed to say as he trembled more. Sheathing his sword, Arture led the eleven of them through the men, who gave no resistance. "Clean up that piece of junk," Arture said to one of the men. "The King's gardens need no fertilisation from one such as him." The men rushed to carry their stunned liege lord off. Aldrid looked back at Arture with new found respect and curiosity, but wisely kept his mouth shut as they entered the castle. Aldrid followed behind Lievan, looking around with curiosity as they entered the Great Hall. The sides of the Hall were filled with people, most dressed in quality clothing. He spotted most of the House Heads, those who he knew that is. He saw armoured Knights, no doubt watching for potential recruits into their sections. His eyes fell on a dark-skinned tall youth, lean and trim. He was a foreigner from what Aldrid knew, for no one else wore a ceremonial toga. Looking up at the youth, he found dark brown eyes looking back at him, analysing him coldly. He quickly passed the foreigner, however, and was soon approaching the throne. He was aware of the murmurs that followed him, the dismissive, cold and accusing glares thrown his way. His eyes were, however, focused on the great figure now descending from the throne, one he had seen only once before, but was a great memory for him. His Majesty had of course aged, but he still retained that strength of character and body Aldrid so admired from such a young age. "Harken to all!" a steward proclaimed as the King approached the group. "King Foseti, first of his name, is amongst us!" Arture saluted sharply, with the eleven of them snapping to a salute, Aldrid a beat late. Foseti smiled. "At ease, men." He waited for the last of them to return to a standing pose before continuing, "Without over flattery, there are congratulations in order for all of you for having passed. Commander Arture's regimes are notoriously strict for even experienced veterans." "Please, your Majesty. More flattery and I will blush," Arture said with some mirth, while chuckles came from the audience. Foseti laughed. "I speak merely the truth." He turned towards the youths. "You have been given a chance few have. Each year, few of you will progress. Some of you will fail. Prove yourself worthy, and the end will be in sight. Remember that you carry the legacy of those gone before you; your actions are testament to your will. "May Zelhn share her blessing with you, to see your every action successful," Foseti finished with the traditional blessing. Signalling, a servant came up with a goblet of water. "And I shall individually bless you." He looked at Arture who nodded and produced a list. "When I call your name, boys, you will step forward and allow the King to bless you." He scanned the list. "Troco Svar!" he barked. A slender, well dressed lad stepped forward. Foseti stepped in front of him, wet his fingers and drew a line across Troco's forehead, while murmuring. "Gerlach Jooesk!" Gerlach stepped forward and was given the same treatment. One by one, the lads were given the blessing. Aldrid found the whole affair quite overly flared, for the blessing the King said at the beginning was enough, but he withheld comment as he knew his name was to be called at any time. He wondered if Foseti will recognise him, for it had been ten summers since that fateful day. "Rike Mirgin!" The soldier stepped forward, ignoring the murmurs at the name. Aldrid was also taken aback, not thinking that Rike was a Mir of all things. Foseti spent some more time at Rike, murmuring more, and Rike stepped back with a slight smile on his face. Aldrid was the last to be named, and he thought it was not a coincidence. After all, he was the only commoner. Even a Mir ranked higher than he did. "Aldrid Chillan!" Foseti's steps faltered at the name, but regained his pace as he stepped in front of the lad. The lad could not be the same as the one who had died ten summers ago, the King thought. It was a mere coincidence of name. Lifting his gaze from the goblet, he met Aldrid's grey eyes and froze. Aldrid too froze, heart pounding as he met the gaze of the father figure he had for such a short time. Foseti, however, instantly recognised those grey eyes, and spoke a short sentence. "The Albion Village?" he whispered. Aldrid's relief spread through his body. "It has been some time, your Majesty," he replied. Arture's face grew red at the reply, but he was not ready for Foseti to fling the goblet away and take Aldrid into a deep hug, causing shocked gasps from the audience. "Your Majesty!" Arture shouted, shocked at the breach of protocol. Most of those present were just in total shock at the King easily holding one that was clearly of common blood. Foseti, however, could care less. "I thought...we all thought you dead," he whispered into Aldrid's ear. "I had sent men to the village to help restore it, and to bring your mother and you to the Castle, but we received word that you had passed..." Aldrid leaned into the embrace, holding back tears. "The past ten years have changed much of me and the village, Your Majesty. I am no longer a boy," he chuckled quietly. "And no one will think it, least of all me," Foseti replied standing back and admiring the fit lad in front of him. "Look at you. You've made it far to this point of the Tournament," he said. "When I heard reports that a common folk had passed the Trials, I knew that they would have to be special. You have grown beyond the boy that was dragged by the Prince to find a seat for a show." Aldrid smiled. "The Prince also has matured, by rumours." Foseti's smiled faltered. "There is truth to those rumours," he murmured. "This is neither the time nor place. I must finish what I was tasked with." He stood back and held a hand. When a shaking steward replaced the goblet in his hand with fresh water, he grimaced at the dent on the side. "I should not have been so hasty in discarding this. I will need a new one made," he muttered lightly as he brushed a wet finger across Aldrid's forehead. Aldrid chuckled lightly. "I heard the Knight's Armoury takes care of all manners of kitchen utensils. Mayhap you may try them." Foseti laughed as he stepped back, and Aldrid doing the same. Aldrid felt burning stares focused on him, some from those surrounding him, but he did his best to ignore them. He focused instead on the fact that his Majesty didn't forget...seemed to have never forgotten him. The King placed the now dented goblet on the tray and turned. "Commander Arture," he said loudly. Arture, having been struck mute by what he just saw, snapped back to attention. "Your Majesty!" "See the participants to the barracks. Tend to them as you see fit; I will however be requesting Aldrid Chillan to dine with me tonight," he announced to growing whispers and conversation in the audience. Arture rounded, utterly perplexed. "Your Majesty?!" he asked in confirmation. Foseti turned towards Arture, eyes gleaming. "Is there a problem?" "No. None, sir," Arture quickly rectified himself. "I will see the boy dressed for the occasion, be rest assured." Foseti nodded. Stepping towards, Aldrid, he whispered, "Tyr will be there tonight. I know he will be eager to see you." "And I him," Aldrid whispered back. "You are dismissed," Foseti stated. "Stay strong, men, and you shall prevail." "Sir!" Arture barked, saluting, with the eleven lads following suit. Arture swept out the Hall to growing conversation and speculation, almost all targeted at Aldrid who was last to exit. Arture kept a harsh pace, almost as if in a rush to reach the temporary barracks. Gerlach, Klasn and Lievan fell back until they were next to Aldrid. Aldrid could sense them bursting with questions, but waited for them to start. "What. Was. That?" finally came Klasn's awed voice. "What just happened? How do you know His Majesty? What did you fuck to get a dinner with His Majesty??" Lievan could only nod as his eyes grew wider. "Not the exact words I would use," Gerlach muttered, "But he is correct. Aldrid..." Aldrid chuckled at the three curious eyes piercing him. "I will tell you all when we reach the barracks. It is a long tale, believe me." "You promise?" Lievan softly said. "I do." ~ "What are you playing at, your Majesty, stooping to dine with one unworthy of your presence?" Mieke Vigurd hissed at Foseti as she walked past. "I can see I am not the first, nor the last, to question your behaviour just then for what we all consider a very traditional and sanctified process!" Foseti sighed at the doors to the Hall. He had been hassled nonstop as those who were mortified at the sight of a commoner did all but condemn their very own King for associating with one of them. Four Heads of Houses, not including Mieke, had already admonished him, and there were at least two more behind Mieke. Those who he could see, that is. "Aldrid is no mere common lad, Lady Vigurd," Foseti said. "You, of all people, would not have missed his performance at the Trials. As you watched your grand-nephew in his own Trial, while you do not acknowledge him." "That is a different matter," Mieke hissed. "His skills are not in doubt. What is in doubt is his position to sit at the same table as your Majesty and His Highness!" "I choose who I dine with, at my pleasure," Foseti stated, narrowing his eyes. "Must this sour the friendship between us, Lady?" Mieke stared at Foseti. "We will discuss this with all Heads of Houses tomorrow in the conference," she said after a long pause. "As long as you do not forget the main intention of such a conference," Foseti reminded. "Our relations with the Demishn tribes." Mieke did not respond but swept out in her fur coat. Foseti turned to his next interrogator and sighed at seeing the Head of Mani. "I know I called you from your faction out of necessity, old friend, but must you hassle me so?" he asked wearily of Commander Glahad. Glahad laughed. "No, my friend, but I must make an appearance to bully and accuse you of attempting to flip generations of tradition and ideals," he mockingly said with a grin. "Don't you start calling me Glahad Mani either, friend," he added warningly. "King or not, I will remind you of the last bruise I gave you across your face in one of our spars." "You know I will only require your presence over Thormod's in the direst of circumstances," Foseti said gravely. "Your brother runs the House well; perhaps even better than your simple- headed and rough ways." "My House runs well. That's all I need," Glahad snorted. He paused. "I've heard troubles from the North, but they are dire, are they not." "All will be revealed tomorrow, Glahad," Foseti said as he gestured at Qaletage, who still stood in the Hall, gazing into emptiness. "Much will be explained." Glahad grinned and patted Foseti on his shoulder. "I will see this day off as Glahad Reiner then, before you force me into that uncomfortable, rough stole and hurry me off to boring business." "I dislike the silliness of the whole Knights Tournament blessing, as you know it," Foseti grumbled. "All to appease the traditionalist mind of the Head of Houses." Glahad merely waved and passed through, letting Foseti suffer his next unruly and unhappy audience member. Time passed, until Qaletage left and paused in front of Foseti. "Tomorrow, we will settle the matter, your Majesty," he said in his accented voice. "I hope you have given weight to what I have said this morning, Qaletage," Foseti said softly, but without malice. "I truly do not wish to be enemies." Qaletage bowed his head, dropping his gaze. He then looked up and focused on Foseti. "The boy...the one who commands the power of Wind." Foseti stared back, calm in his face but growing nervous. He knew of the Demishn's more sensitive reception of the elements. "What of him?" Qaletage remained silent. "He is skilled," he finally said. "Perhaps even more so than I," he said with a hint of jealousy. "We, my people, value skills such as he displayed." With that, he turned and walked out the Hall, the last to do so. Foseti pondered that remark. While he had not seen Aldrid's skills with his own eye, he had enough reports from those who had witnessed it. All praising and wondering where he had hid all this time. He wasn't surprised, however. Foseti still recalled when Aldrid had saved his son, using the power of Air, ten summers ago. "I can refrain my tongue, but it takes no effort to guess at what you are pondering," came a melodic voice behind him. Foseti closed his eyes and smiled. "Ah, great aunt. I should have guessed you would make your appearance after all of them have left," he said as he turned and opened his eyes to see his Courtmage. "You're still young enough for me to draw you over my knee and hit you on the rear a few times, King or not," Natasha said with some mirth as she approached Foseti. "What a picture, an ancient Zelsnir spanking the current King," Foseti taunted. Natasha raised her staff and waved threateningly at Foseti. "Enough. We have much to discuss; much of it on the morrow, but I must say this one matter." Foseti looked at his great aunt. "This is to deal with Aldrid, is it not?" he said after some silence. "Is that the boy's name?" Natasha murmured. "And yes, it does." She sat on her staff which levitated itself to a sitting level. "As you know well, I view the Trials from my own quarters." "As you have for the past centuries," Foseti acknowledged. Natasha nodded. "I do not make my presence known. But I observe everything." She looked at Foseti. "Do you know anything about the boy?" "It's been ten summers since I last seen him, and when I searched for him, he was presumed dead," Foseti reflected. "To see him here...truly a miracle." He shook his head, knowing what Natasha wanted. "He was the son of the village Druid; I also saw him Call on Air once before." Natasha pondered this information. "So he is truly of common birth...strange. The fact that he made it this far, with remarkable skills, speaks volumes of his ability." She fell silent. "And that is what troubles me." "How so?" Foseti asked. "You know as well as I that those with strong power typically have an ancestor of my status," Natasha said. "The sole reason behind why so many generations of the same family, or from the Houses, send their sons into the Knighthood. It is largely inherited." "As the Zel bloodline is with the elements of Fire and Earth," Foseti agreed. "And how does this relate to Aldrid?" Natasha leaped from her staff. "Where did this nameless, plain boy come from? One shining with such promise and potential?" she all but exclaimed. "What he displayed...if he did not inherit it, how?" Foseti looked with some level of shock at his great-aunt's usual stoic manners shattered with excitement. "Natasha? But surely...I know he is skilled but-" "The level of proficiency I witnessed was far beyond even some in the factions," Natasha interrupted. "No doubt you heard of how exactly he Called?"" "Yes. He harnessed the power of Air to both align the arrow and rapidly chill the space around the arrow as he let fly. One may even say that he called on Water to gather around the arrow-" Foseti stated. "Of course he did!" Natasha shook her head as she waved a hand and produced a book, and starting skimming through pages. "It does not take one more than five minutes of thinking to deduce he has control over at least two elements. No, I saw much more from that one arrow. Think, Foseti. Do the elements of Water and Air have the capacity for the impact on the target?" Foseti paused at that. True, Aldrid's arrow completely burrowed through the target, almost emerging from the other side. And the ice had completely encased the target, spreading out from the sheer force. Natasha was correct, however...they are not attributes of the cutting Wind, or flowing Water. Especially with targets enhanced by magic. He then sat up, staring at Natasha. "You cannot mean..." Natasha nodded. "The weight of Earth to pierce through, and protected from damage. The power of Fire to explode power across a distance. Foseti, he is not just one capable of channelling two elements," she continued. Even her usual stoic behaviour could not help the eager gleam in her eyes. "He had channelled all this into one projectile, at a level of such delicate use." Foseti shook his head in wonder. "Aldrid...I saw something in him the first time we met...but to be this..." "It matters not, Foseti," Natasha said. "He is here. So are we." She gazed at her book, from which she had gleaned her final conclusion. With a tone of finality, she announced, "We have someone who can wield all four elements. We have not seen one in many centuries. Not one family has ever had more than one strong tie to one element and a weak tie to another" She rubbed her hands gleefully as she looked at a shocked Foseti. "Not in the history of all we know." ********** PART TWO - ELEMENTA <COMPLETE> Thank you for reading. As mentioned above, I do apologise for the long delay. I cannot make promises for when the next chapter will be out. To make up for it, with the next chapter, I will also include a 'Lore' chapter. I have decided to include these periodically to expand on the universe and make it thrive. I hope some of you will look forward to it. Please send any comments to aexiv125@gmail.com. I appreciate any feedback and criticism to improve my writing. Until the next chapter.

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