GoodGuyMatt 7072 Share Posted March 15, 2022 "A KNIGHT DOESN'T CRY" Spoiler Previous Post: He entered the hall as the city’s bells were still ringing, calling to the Haeseni populace to attend the yearly Duma. As the golden-haired lad entered the room, he immediately felt out of place. There were adults all over, with Lord Rhys sat at the Speaker’s chair in the middle. Leon blinked a few, his eyes looking around. Trying to find a better suited place, he’d try his luck at fitting in at the second floor. After climbing the stairs, more adults became visible, some even older. His eyes caught a smaller human however, she seemed to be his age, or at least just about his height. Nodding to himself lightly, Leon made his way to sit by the railing of the second floor, next to the lass, though he remained quiet. He was rarely the one to start a conversation, but he waved towards her nevertheless. His smile was rather awkward and his wave even more so. Her eyes turned to Barclay “Privej! Eam Johanna Josefina Ludovar!” she introduced himself rather readily, catching the young Reinmaren by surprise. His head tilted somewhat, his eyes looking down as always, though the awkward, yet friendly smile persisted. “Hallo" he replied with a typical Reinmaren accent “Ich bin Leon” he’d introduce himself briefly as he could “Vu look like Aedypapej Emil. Are vu his son?” she asked, the Naumarian accent different from Leon, but not by a lot, they were both somewhat rugged and harsh, much like their respective languages. Leon widened his eyes at the reply in slight relaxation, though his crouched, shy demeanor remained “Bist du ein Barklei?” He asked then, eyeing towards the Lord Speaker. She wasn’t, and so she admitted. However, Leon was informed the two of them were cousins. As Johanna explained the knowledge she had of their family tree, the young Barclay was unable to make any sense of it. Perhaps it was too complicated for him, or perhaps he couldn’t make sense of some of the Neumarian terms, Aedypapej in particular. Either way, he acted like he understood, and simply accepted the fact he had found a new cousin. “Das ist nett” he replied rather dryly. It was unclear whether he was trying to be rude, end the conversation, or if he was simply socially inept. “Was ist nett?” another voice could be heard, this time to his right. It was a much deeper, aged voice, one of maturity, yet of relative softness and warmth. Leon tilted his head, and eyed the Waldenian speaker to his right. His eyes brightened somewhat, hearing his native language be spoken to him. The old man proceeded to communicate in Waldenian “I don’t think she speaks Waldenian.” Leon was aware of this, yet, he could barely do much to fix the problem. His Common vocabulary was too narrow. As the duo conversed in the rough, unknown language, Johanna was left somewhat confused. “Nett ist… nice” translated Leon, taking a while to remember the word as he pondered. Johanna simply accepted that, and then appeared to space out, her attention caught by the complex ongoing of the Duma. Captivated by the Waldenian-speaker, Leon’s posture shifted somewhat towards him. He was a fine gentleman, as some would describe him. Around his 50s, his hair had begun to gray slowly, and his attire was made of quality material. The man looked like no peasant, or at least so Leon guessed. And so the two continued conversing, Leon’s speech and posture shy as ever, he had not yet seen the man in the eyes, deciding instead to keep his head down and fidget his hands about. As they’d dialogue in low volume, so as not to disturb the Duma, the Barclay’s speech was particularly hard to hear, his voice low and sheepish. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. The gentleman introduced himself to be Feodor May, the Aulic Envoy. “Hm, he actually is a peasant!” noted the young Leon in his mind, though in no way was the remark condescending. Far from it. It was a remark of admiration. He didn’t know what an Envoy was exactly, something to be expected of his age, but he had heard the term Aulic before. “Ah, and Aulic! Like uncle Johann?” as the conversation carried on, Leon’s posture seemed to shift little by little. It was a very slight, gradual change, hard for someone to notice unless they were paying close attention. He’d begin playing with his fingers more, and shoot glances towards Feodor every now and then. “I'm basically in charge of the country's diplomatic service. Da, Lord Johann is my colleague.” “Do you have an army too?” Leon looked at the man as he eyed him up and down, looking for any armor or anything for him to identify a marshal, or at the very least a soldier. He found none. “In these times of war his job is far more important than mine, I don't have an army. I've a group of diplomats who answer to me instead.” replied the Envoy, who then had to explain to Leon what a diplomat was. He explained how diplomats are sent on behalf of the King to communicate with other leaders. So the young mind of the Reinmaren wondered why the King could not discuss with the other Kings himself. After all, as he was raised within the Reinmaren culture, such a practice appeared to make sense. Back in the day of the Reinmaren tribes, the clan leaders used to settle scores and talk to themselves, so as to show power and presence. It was simply a Reinmaren tradition. One that Leon was taught about since his noble education in Whileburg began. As Leon inquired such, he received an answer. “Because he's a busy man of course.” Feodor explained patiently “If he needed to travel to other Kingdoms all the time, he wouldn't have any time to do things in his own kingdom. Leon offered a few thoughtful nods “That is true.” he chuckled a bit at the revelation then before shrugging. “Besides, diplomats also go to other Kingdoms when they don't have an agreement to make. They just go there to keep up with our contacts abroad, see how things are going there, and report that back to Haense.” “Ooooh, so like Knights?” The lad put clear emphasis on the last word. “Knights travel to other Kingdoms when the king tells them!” A few more lines of explanation proceeded then, and Leon was taught the difference between a knight and a diplomat, how diplomats are not intended to fight, and are instead used to make friends. “Oooh, I see. I'm not good at talking” Leon looked down, then let silence set before turning back to Feodor, finally looking him in the eyes with a wide smile on his face, his pupils seem to dilate “But I want to be a knight!” it was the hundredth-something time he had spoken these same words by now. He then heard movement to his left. With a quick glance, he noticed Johanna falling backwards. She was trying to lean on the wall just behind her, but there was none. Trying to save her in time, Leon extended his hand to catch her, but it was too late. He only ended up getting carried by his cousin’s falling momentum, and fell as well, rather awkwardly so. His body rotated somewhat, his extended hand reaching towards Johanna. So he fell with his head unprotected, bashing it hard on the wooden floors of the Duma hall. Anyone who'd witnessed the scene, or heard it, would know that the fall wasn’t graceful in the slightest. If anything, it must’ve hurt a bit. Faint words would be heard emitting from the crouched-down Leon “A knight doesn’t cry! A knight doesn’t cry!” his eyes had shut and his teeth gritted. As he was facing down, he was fighting the pain with all he could, but it was in vain. So it began. The complex and mature voices of the members of the Royal Duma found themselves outdone. “AAAAAAAAH!” echoed around the room. No. It didn’t echo. It simply blasted and continued. Youthful cries followed suit. “Tut weh, TUT WEH, TUT WEH!” he cried out in Waldenian. It hurts! It didn’t take long for whoever was near to take note of the ruckus, even if they tried to. A few people gathered about, the familiar face of Vèréne amongst them as she tried to examine the crying toddler, though Leon could neither hear or see anyone now. The young Ludovar lass kneeled down, hoping to comfort her sobbing cousin as she pulled out a pack filled with frostvine, trying to put it on his head “Vur good cousin?” “Ea think he mostly got startled, can't have hurt himself too much.” commented the oldened Envoy. Could he be right? After all, it was only a short fall. It was a wonder indeed. Whether the pain was justifiable or not, Leon had already reached a point where he couldn’t forgive himself. Guilt and shame had overlapped in with the pain of the fall, his feelings and senses now suffering even more greatly. The crying persisted, but the Barclay got on his knees and stood up. Not wasting any time, he simply began running, his red, watery eyes emitting tears down on the Duma floor on which he had fallen. The adults about him decided it was best to let him run off. After all, if he was alright enough to run, surely his pain wasn’t that great. Leon, however, would disagree. The pain of doing something so unknightly, showing weakness and vulnerability, crying like a toddler was nothing glorious. This was the pain that hurt him most, and so he ran. The debates of the Duma had paused for a bit, they could hear the child crying, though after a while they could hear the crying fading out as Barclay ran away. He ran towards Reinmar, his home, his heaven. “A knight doesn’t cry!” “A knight doesn’t cry!” “A knight doesn’t cry!” His thought didn’t leave him alone as he tried to run away from them, his shame following him on his escape. It was the first time he’d experienced such emotions, and he didn’t take it too well, especially his pride. He fled to Reinmar, with no one but his guilt tailing him. Or so he thought, the footsteps of a young girl made haste behind. Spoiler Once again, I hope the writing is bearable and enjoyable despite not being much action packed yet :) Big thanks to@Sander and @Lmcfc for the RP! 21 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lmcfc 444 Share Posted March 15, 2022 i love how you capture johannas lisp in the post! its adorable! 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts