The Master at Arms

Simon woke with a start, eyes thrown wide open in the pointed morning light. The window one again glared light at his face, brightly announcing the arrival of dawn even as it threatened to blind him. The morning was far too bright he decided, attempting to shut his eyes and return to darkness. When the light proved too strong, piercing his eyelids bubble of darkness, he found himself groaning in frustration, instead deciding to reorient himself.

The room remained notably barren, and the clarity of the morning's light only served to highlight the reality. Motes of dust floated languidly in the rays, only serving to draw his attention to the previously unnoticed layers of it that smothered the room.

There was a distinct lack of strangeness to waking in this foreign bed. His first sleep in an entirely new world, his first sleep after quite literally finding himself dead, and yet he woke like any other day. The covers were warm and the bed was soft, the light came bountiful and bright, and the room remained a room like any other. There would be no grand demarcation of the new day, nor any particular fanfare.

Simon took his time getting to his feet, putting on a pair of silken slippers they had left prepared in his wardrobe, and reaching for the pile of clothing he had left on his chair. Reusing the pile would do for now, he thought, though made a note to ask for extra clothes of similar style. A bath of some sort would do wonders too he felt. While he hadn't been in the world too long, he could feel the dirt piling on his skin and doubted that the stink would be far behind.

His clothing now worn, Simon found himself again provided with desperate little to do, and with no way to divine the time, frighteningly uncertain of how long he would have to wait in such circumstances. Noticing the motes of dust yet again, he found himself tempted to find a broom and get to sweeping, yet with no broom to be found and not the slightest clue where they would be stored, he quickly surrendered the idea.

He was eager to tell Sonia what he'd learned last night, to ease her and the troops worries somewhat, however, he didn't know where she was staying. Unable to act on that thought either, he decided to instead exit the room and retrace last night's steps to the the dining hall. With any luck, the cooks would be awake and he'd be able to enjoy a warm breakfast in whatever company presented itself.

The cloister was remarkably quiet. It certainly hadn't been the most raucous of places yesterday, but it had been full of the sounds of everyday life. Footsteps in the distance, the light murmur of conversation, the scraping of steel or stone, or some myriad other variety of sounds. Instead, he found himself alone with the echoing of his footsteps and the distant yet melodic singing of birds.

Eventually, after finding himself taking the wrong turn on more than one occasion, he found himself once again facing the large, oaken doors of the dining hall. Last night they had been thrown wide, an open invitation to enter. Seeing them now, closed and opaque, provided some strange sense of distance, as if what was inside was now denying him.

Simon realised the stupidity of the notion, unsure where the thought had really even surfaced from, but he felt it nonetheless. Perhaps Hethoria's harshly honest words last night had hit home in some way. He wasn't chosen, he wasn't a holy saviour sent down to these people, he was an actor placed on a stage and told to dance for others amusement.

Choosing not to linger on the thoughts, Simon pushed open the doors, which grinded open with loud scraping against the stone floor, deepening the grooves they had formed there. Other than a single man eating from a bowl in the corner, the hall was empty, but was also surprisingly clean. While Simon had left before their conclusion, he was certain that the celebrations had lasted well into the night, for there to be practically no trace of it now in the morning was certainly remarkable.

Seeing little other choice, Simon approached the man, He had jet black hair that had begun to grey in certain places, with a small beard to match. His face was weathered and tired, seeming far beyond its years; a number of scars criss-crossed their way around it, giving the man a rugged and battle weary feel. He was already fully uniformed, seemingly eating before starting whatever work he had been assigned for the day. The bowl he ate from was filled with some form of thick brownish soup which emitted a rich but somewhat unappealing aroma of spice and acrid starch.

The man seemed to pay Simon little mind as he walked toward him, only finally raising his head to investigate the intruder when he sat opposite him at his table. The man briefly arched an eyebrow as if to inoffensively ask 'what do you want' but otherwise returned to his soup.

"Hi, I don't think we've met yet. I think you probably know already after last night, but I'm Simon." Simon reached out his hand for a handshake, planning to start on a strong foot with the stranger before asking him where he could get some soup of his own.

The man didn't look up from his meal, bringing another spoonful of soup to his mouth before replying. "Orion."

Simon let his hand fall awkwardly, the handshake clearly refused. The name 'Orion' seemed familiar, he was fairly certain he'd heard it mentioned at some point yesterday, but with so many other thoughts to contend with, he couldn't quite place it.

"So Orion, do you know where I could get some of that soup? I'm starving and could use something to warm me up in the morning." When Orion didn't reply, he continued. "Actually I'm new here so I don't really know where the kitchen is, do you think you could point me there?"

Orion wiped his mouth with a nearby handkerchief, raising his eyes to meet Simon's. "Do you make a habit of pestering strangers as they eat boy." His words came harsh, he evidently was not impressed by Simon's weak gestures of friendship.

Dissuaded by the man's unpleasantness yet trying to keep a positive attitude, Simon tried again. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was interrupting you, and I'll get out of your way as soon as I can, but I really am lost and quite hungry. I'd really appreciate the help."

Orion was seemingly defused somewhat by his words, his face still stern and irritated, but his eyes not quite as piercing as they had been. He raised a finger toward the door to their side. "It's the first door there. To the right."

Thanking him and leaving the table, Simon walked to the door, feeling Orion's eyes track him all the way. The corridor it opened to was short and ended in a small square window looking into the sky. There was only one door. Perplexed by the detail of instruction Orion had decided to give, Simon entered.

A few minutes later, Simon returned to the hall with a bowl of the same brown soup, a piece of stale bread provided as its only accompaniment. Seemingly, the cloister was being restrictive with food to ensure they could last longer if things came to a siege. While Simon wanted to argue that they didn't have as much to fear as they might think, he thought better of it and took what he could for now.

To Simon's disappointment the hall was still largely empty, nobody having seemingly filtered in during the minutes Simon was gone. For now, he would have to do with Orion as company, or try to at least. The decision made for him, Simon sat down opposite Orion yet again. The man didn't decide to look up this time.

Simon considered starting a new conversation immediately, but opted instead to begin his meal. It would probably be best to let the silence linger a while before trying to talk again. Simon tore off what he could from the hardened bread, placing it in the soup to absorb what it could. Satisfied that the bread was suitably infused, he brought the first spoonful to his mouth. 

The taste was notably better than he'd been expecting. Its flavour maintained the richness of its smell, but the strong acrid smell was replaced by a shocking sweet undertone; the texture was creamy and smooth, providing it just the right volume to feel satisfying without being cloying.

"Wow, this is actually pretty good. I know you guys have a full town to get ingredients from but I thought it'd still be pretty bland. You know, barracks food to keep the soldiers tough." Simon realised he'd broken the silence before it had even begun to form. So much for that idea.

"And this is with you guys being stingy to conserve food? That's impressive." He hoped that keeping the compliments coming, and the energy as light as he could would serve to lighten his breakfast buddy's mood.

"How naïve. We're not in siege yet boy. The time for rumbling stomachs and taste starved tongues will come soon enough. Until then, it's best to maintain morale where we can."
Evidently not.

"Well I thought, with the stale bread and the way the soup smelled. It just seemed like a sensible assumption."

"Bread gets softer in the soup boy. You just saw it yourself. Nothing's more important than morale, best you learn that fast." Orion took one last sip and let his spoon clatter against his empty bowl. "You may have learnt magic faster than anyone I've heard of, and you may have given the others hope for now, but who knows how long that'll last or how far you'll go. I won't be celebrating till those damn Varok bastards are gone for good. If you want to lead us, you can't find the time to cheer on every victory, you've got work to do."

Simon was caught totally off guard. In an attempt to compliment the soup, he had found himself the subject of a thoroughly harsh and intense verbal thrashing. So far, he'd sat back and accepted things like this, he was a stranger to this world, and these people had suffered a great deal more than him, but this man was deeply angry. Simon took his best guess as to why.

"Yes, I've got work to do, of course I do. I'm not sure if you realise but I've been here one day. I don't know what type of angelic envoy you imagined your Knight would be but I'm afraid you've got me instead. I didn't choose this role but I'm going to do everything I can to fulfil it. I'm not entitled to your praise but I don't see how that means I can't enjoy a meal and try to make good company. If you have a problem with that then I'm afraid there's nothing else I can do!"

Simon was surprised by the own force of his words. He had ended up caught within his own turbulence of emotions and what he had intended as a quick counter argument had instead turned into his angry rant in response. He waited with bated breath for Orion's fury in response.

"Well it's something at least. You've got a backbone then. I can't pretend to like you or respect you yet boy, but you've got a spirit that we can temper. That'll do for now." Orion stood and stretched, the anger and resentment wiped away as completely as if they were never there. "You did a good job waking up so early, best get used to it sooner than later. Now finish up that food quick, we've got training to do."

"What? Training? With you?"
"Aye boy, I'm your master at arms, and your sparring trainer too. Thought Sonia told you as much yesterday. Keep up would you?"