Lost Grip / The Freeing

[Publius 4098]

“A land of milk and honey will only make you fat and rot those good teeth out of your face!”

 

 

The slopes of Lorraine

 

Spoiler

 

 

Gales blew loose the snow along the foot of Lorraine’s northwestern mountains, the spring weather airing out the blanket of snow that the winter had left. By the mouth of a passage leading to a wooded hillside, a cabin sat along the gentle curve of the highland. Here, the old regent of Lorraine had retired with his son, tucked away from the lands and people he had served.

 

“I do not think just any boy could handle life by the sword...” Said Jacques, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looked on to his son. “But a man you are now, and hopefully a better one than I!”

 

Odus shifted uneasily as his father laughed, the pained tone of his jesting not escaping him. In good spirit he would make a gesture to his surroundings as he looked about in mock disappointment before a coy smile broke onto his face.

 

“You said the mountains of Kaedrin breed the best men, I am afraid I have no chance of living up to those expectations!”

 

The older man would scowl and scoff, his face would reddenning as he menaced idly in a maddened state. “Fools were bred in Kaedrin, like my fool brothers, like our fool forefathers; you have a million more opportunities for not living as we did! You will stake your own claim, not pride yourself just in your father's!”

 

A silence followed, neither man seeming to know how to continue. Jacques looked back on his son, his demeanor bearing the weight of his regret as he began to try finding the words he wished for his son to depart on.

 

“I hope you know that I had given you such a rough upbringing to callus you, so that you may protect yourself better than I did myself. I pray you know that, and I pray you know that Lorraine is not befitting of us, d’Amaury or not! It made a weak man of me, and would to you as well!” He would say, wagging his finger zealously at his son. “A land of milk and honey will only make you fat and rot those good teeth out of your face!”

 

“I recall dad, your lessons will be the majority of my luggage to the Westerlands.” The boy would say, his voice quiet.

 

Jacques pursed his lips, nodding as well as he looked on to home he had built, tears welling in his eyes. Ill of mind, his grief failed to find appropriate expression. A smile broke through the sorrow on his face, nodding along still as he forced out a laugh. “I hope that isn’t too much, I know it was hard walking up these hills after gaining them myself! Either way, you have the good jacket, and - well, I… You know, you, you…”

 

Trailing off, his hands balled into fists as he looked on his boy through a teary squint. Odus moved to embrace him, but was halted swiftly by a gentle hand, Jacques' face reddening deeply in both embarrassment and outrage.

 

“You ought to be stronger than I, you ought to have a spine that can hold the weight of all you know, or else you will be capable of nothing! My back aches from the pain of my emotions, and left me too weak to stand for myself as those Marchands robbed me of my legacy! You know my toils, you must learn from them, you...”

 

His eyes closed, clenching his hands tighter time as he calmed himself. Hesitating, Odus looked onto his father, disheartened witnessing the outburts on the eve of his journey. Jacques would exhale finally, wiping his eyes as he continued.

 

“I love you, but you ought to be off. I have sent a letter to Ser Leopold, and hopefully my signet ring has made the wax seal noteworthy enough for him to find interest in it. Write to me, and know I will be visiting when I can.”

 

“Thank you father, I will do well by us both.” Bowing to his father, he would receive a nod in return. Opting not to waste another word, Odus left in silence and made for the roads leading towards the concrete jungle of Johannesburg.

 

Addressed to Ser Leopold

 

Spoiler

Hail,

 

For well over a decade I have let be the Empire, for my work is often viewed as meddling. My name is Jacques d’Amaury; son of Augustus, if my name has no ring to it.

 

I have sent my son Odus to the Westerlands to find heart. Perhaps the frontier is not a place for a boy, but I know no other way to make a man of the lad. My only request is that you look out for him, as I have withheld him from much outside of a humble life befitting a Kaedreni.

 

Perhaps he is not cut out for a soldier's life, but I know at least that he is a good hunter, and hardy sort. I taught him letters as well, so you need not worry whether or not if he is ignorant academically at least.

 

Reserving anything else I have to say though, just know I have you and your men in my prayers.

 

Many thanks,

J.d’A.

 

[Emelia 6]

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