Daeron's 500: The Unspoken Goodbye

         Lawrence ascended the staircase slowly, listening to the soft clink of his steel boots on the stone steps.  His hair was matted and wet from the rain and he shivered in the cold air of Daëron's tower.  He had been expecting this summons from Sir Daëron for some time, but now that it had come, he wished he could somehow avoid it altogether.
         Sir Lawrence was the captain of the knights regimented here at Weynör Keep and now, he believed, he would be sent out to meet the Red Knights in battle.  Brave though his men were, Lawrence knew that the five hundred mounted knights could not hope to stand against three thousand of the Olluení on their barbarous manticores.  What foolishness did cause the great Beöl to overlook siege weapons when he built the defenses of the keep?, thought Lawrence.
         He stopped and paused at the door to Daëron's private quarters and took a deep breath of the frosty air.  He looked down at his boots, scuffed and crusted with mud after a hard day shoring the great door of the outer wall.  He frowned to himself and with a soulful look, rapped thrice on the heavy wooden door.
         Manticores, he thought.  What could be worse than the red-furred leonines?  Claws sharp enough to rend flesh as easy as slicing butter, hard enough to break your shield.  Fangs longer than your fingers, and two rows of the yellowed teeth at that.  To face them with so few was almost certain death, but what can be done?
         A scuffling of paper and the sound of a chair being pushed back could faintly be heard through the door.  Lawrence stood erect and adopted his usual demeanor.  Stolid face with a slight frown, dark eyebrows furrowed over his narrow green eyes.
         The door opened abruptly and Daëron himself looked out at Lawrence standing there in the darkened stairwell.  He smiled at the captain and his eyes crinkled, but Lawrence saw a distance in those eyes where once there was light.
         "Come in," he said, pleasantly.  "Come in, good Sir Law."  For that is what they called him here at Weynör Keep.  But there was only an emptiness in his gaze that left Law ill at ease.
         He knows the price, thought Law.  But he said, "Thank you, my Lord.  I am honored by your invitation to dine with you."  A kindness, if nothing else.
         Law sat at his designated chair and Lord Daëron poured wine for them both.  Daëron rang the servants' bell and then he too sat at the small round table.
         Daëron began talking about the histories of House Northolder and the people of Tarelmín, but Law found it difficult to listen.  His eyes wandered about the room.  Daëron's bed was untidy.  It was said he'd been having trouble sleeping since the siege began five days past.  His desk was cluttered with books and old-looking manuscripts.  Most likely the good Sir had been spending himself trying to find a solution to their precarious position.
         Law had known almost immediately what that was and it had not taken the men long to being muttering and rumoring.  Law discouraged the talk when he could, but still the morale was low.  He was surprised at the number of books and tomes in the small quarter.  Bookshelves lined the walls and the books overflowed the capacity even onto the floor in some places.
         Law knew that in his heart, Daëron loved the Northfolk more than any other.  He knew everything there was to know about them, where they came from, the events that shaped the culture, their greatest leaders and worst enemies even back to the beginning of time.  Daëron was not a warrior though, and though he did his best to lead the soldiers, Law knew him to be a scholar at heart.  But he was a goodly sire, and Law loved him none the less for it.
         Daëron was going on about everything that had been learned about the Red Knights during the last invasion, nearly 1000 years ago.  "It is most surprising at their technological advances since," he was saying.  "Living so far north in the unknown regions, cut off from civilization, it is a true mystery that they should employ catapults or even know of their existence."
         Law knew he was trying to take the edge off the conversation; the impending announcement.
         "Of course, when Beöl built the wall here to keep the Red Knights out of Tarelmín, siege machines were still new so none were included in the designs of the Wall."
         The food arrived, still steaming from the kitchens.  A servant came through the door carefully holding a heavy tray.  Another followed him and still another came in bearing a tray with a large pitcher of water and two goblets.  Law and Daëron sat in silence as the three boys set everything about the table and then left, leaving the trays on stools by the tableside.
         Law looked to Sir Daëron who motioned for Law to begin the meal.  So Law broke the bread and then began loading his plate with the foods set before him.  Then, as Daëron filled his plate, he began anew, talking whilst they ate.
         "You know, it is for that very reason," Daëron said, "and I mean by that, the fact that none ever anticipated the Red Knights would invent catapults and the like independently from the civilized world.  It is for that very reason that we were unprepared for this assault."
         He seems very calm, Law thought.  A very strange manner considering.  We have been under siege now for days.  The village is burning, the towers crumble.  How is it then that he is so peaceful?  And then Law thought, He has discovered the alternative!, and inwardly, he smiled.
         Daëron paused for a mouthful of pork and then followed that with a swig of the dark wine from his personal collection.
         "And so, we are caught off guard.  This, the third attempted invasion by the Red Knights goes badly against us.  They sit out there, beyond the wall, and fling their stone and fire at us, and what can we do?"  Daëron's whole face had changed.  His light hair dipped in front of his face as he bent over his plate.  His mouth twitched as he paused to collect his thoughts, and Law marked this sudden change with renewed unease.
         Daëron raised his gaze to meet Law's eyes and they became heavy and tired-looking.
         Something is wrong, thought Law, and he saw a great sadness pass over Daëron and then it was gone.
         Daëron straightened himself and said, "We have no defense against their weapons, good Sir Law."
         "No, my lord," said Law.  We have no alternative either, I see, he thought, and his hope faded.
         "They outnumber us greatly."
         "Yes, my lord."
         "And the good Lord Naëron, heir of Aeöl the North Holder, and ruler of the land of Tarelmín will not arrive with his host for another week at best."
         "No, my lord.  He is too far removed."
         "But, nevertheless, we cannot wait and let the Red Knights pound us into dust with their war machines."
         "No, my lord."
         "This leads me to conclude that I must, at the last, send forth my brave knights, few though they may be, to break their machines or else let us fall to the designs of those Alchemists and their beasts."
         There it is, at last, thought Law.  Our final task as Guardians.  He sat straighter in his chair, determined to face his doom with pride and dignity, for his people.  But before he could answer, his lord, Daëron, spoke again:
         "And so I have decided to leave the care of Weynör keep in your hands, good Sir Law."
         Law was stunned.  What does he mean?, he thought.  Where does he go?  What of the siege?  But he could not find the words to speak and only stammered, his fork raised halfway to his mouth, frozen like the rest of his body as he looked to Daëron for an answer.
         Daëron seemed to guess Law's uncertainty, for he then said, "I am not leaving Weynör Keep to its death."  He smiled weakly, the sadness returning to his face.  "But you will be needed here in the growing darkness of the coming years.  I am no warrior, nor do I have a mind to lead men in combat.  But you, good Sir Law, are my most valiant captain.  I cannot send you out to your end under the Wall of Beöl, for who shall take your place?"
         Law could find nothing to answer with.  He could not understand what his sire was saying.  The fork dropped slowly back to his plate, "My lord...I..."
         "But the Red Knights shall not go unanswered either.  And our knights, the Guardians of the North, must make their stand against them, for good or for ill.  Therefore," he raised his goblet to his lips and finished, "I will lead them myself."
         He's sacrificing himself in my place, so I can lead...what?  Daëron is Naëron's younger brother.  I would only gain control of the Keep here and the northernmost regiment of the Guardians.
         Law saw the sadness grow in Daëron and a single tear spilled down the noble's cheek and onto the table.
         "I am sorry, my good friend," Daëron said at last.  "I am sorry that times will not be better for you in the days to come."
         Law did not know what to say to that and so they finished their meal in silence.  Those would be the last words Law ever heard him speak.