Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 1 - A Prince's Banquet [VERE]

A PRINCE'S WAR - TASK ONE: A PRINCE'S BANQUET

Vere Lebriole did not particularly want to be, as they say, recalled to service, and recalled to life, only to die.

It was respectful to call upon him, he would admit that, but it was disrespectful to force his hand and to insist - persist - when he'd first denied his selection. It'd been many years since his days of true knighthood and gallantry, and even then he'd never been the most chivalrous of his peers. But his peers had long died for the most part, struck down by spear and sword and arrow and horse hoof. And he'd seen quite a few of their deaths. Meters away. Feet away. Inches away. An arrow that missed him struck his brother and a sword that skimmed him impaled his sister. (These relations were all lacking blood, but each soldier acted as though they were one big family defending their mother's home.)

And so, coming upon the hulking stone hall, it was quite understandable to see hesitation in the man's gait, and a twitch in his eye. Last time he'd been there, it'd been for a discharge of his service. Medical condition. Pesky thing removed his ability to fight when he still had the youth and vigor to want to. The fight had been his life, then. Now it was only the past's poor decision - and poor only because it was coming back to bite him squarely on the ass.

It became more of a reality the closer he got. The soles of his shoes shuffled indignantly up the dusty path, but this sense of displeasure could've easily been perceived as simple exhaustion in a man as old as he. His bones didn't feel old, though. Just unused. His spirit wasn't old, either. Just unused. The music drifting down softly at his approach provided nostalgia for it, and it seemed to lurch out of his body for the next few steps until he reeled it back in and swallowed it whole. Damn thing. Wouldn't ever digest properly.

An instrument's melody shrieked, and Vere blanched. Was it too late to turn back? Yes. It was. He was close enough now that the yellow warmth of firelight was cast on his face through the threshold, a threshold large enough to fit a hundred of him. Already, a few of these so-called "special" knights had seen him while meandering and conversing and (then) gossiping. He couldn't see their faces clearly from there, but he hoped, prayed, even, that these soldiers were not all in the eves of their youth.

He entered the hall and breathed it in. Nearly everyone was half his age. Some less. Dear heavenly father, why put war into the minds of these children? They are merely children!

Though it wasn't ever his place to be timid, he walked along with a bowed head, peering up through his lashes at the old setting. It'd been transformed to some extent, gotten more bright and magnificent and colorful. Perhaps this was the doing of their past war; this, at least, helped straighten Vere's back out, helped propel his step to a puckered beat of belonging. This, in turn, made him less alert, and when he turned to go back to the threshold for another good look at the place, he wound up colliding with one of the bouncy little flute-players.

His wooden instrument clattered to the ground and he gasped, boyish everything falling down to recollect it. "I apologize, sir," the boy said. He quickly popped back up to eye level. "Forgive me. Might I ask if you enjoy the music, despite my folly?"

"Well, don't be so hard on yourself, kid," Vere replied. There was distraction in his eyes as he glanced around at everything that wasn't the boy. "I'd enjoy it more if it were elsewhere. Tavern, maybe. But not here."

"May I ask why that is?" Oh, curious youth.

I die tomorrow, he thought. "I can't find the alcohol," he said. It was a joke in his head, but on the tongue it sounded more serious, and when the boy perked up, he flinched a little.

"Ah!" The boy stopped someone passing by with a tray, and plucked a drink off it to display heartily. "You've just gotta catch up to it." And thus, shoving the cup into Vere's hand, he winked, brought the flute back to his lips, and proceeded to bounce along, playing so loudly that the noise echoed off the high ceilings and rang back in everyone's ears.