Date: Sun, 21 Dec 2014 02:08:55 +1100
From: Dolgan Victor <aexiv125@gmail.com>
Subject: Gaia's Children Part 2

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
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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.