Knights journey (working title)

Chapter one

Twenty years, it had been twenty years of life for David.

He opened his eyes, the sun glaring through the dirty glass window cast a beam of light directly into them, it annoyed him. Something inside him was mad about the window, angry about the sun, but he still sat up on the side of his bed, his bones were tired. Twenty years a steward for a young man who was one day to be king, or at least as long as David could remember back. A brash man of 18, they had been friends since they were young, but that had always been David's destiny, to look after and help the young prince. A prince in a ruined world ruling over scraps of a dead civilization. Part of David found that funny, watching over destroyed countryside, nature having long overtaken the places people no longer lived.

David stood in the light, his body was toned, his hands callused from years of sword practice and fighting with tooth and nail. His body was capable, tense, pent up, he hadn't been in a fight for a long time. David looked over at his clothes, sewn together by the women who lived in the basement, his shoes cobbled together by men who learned these skills in the apocalypse. Well, his shoes hadn't been made in the after times, the old boots were only maintained by those men. The laces had long been replaced by string made long after the fall. Sliding on the same socks he had worn for years he rubbed his face, feeling the stuble on his chin and neck growing in.

David groaned at that, he would need to shave before getting dressed. Walking to the water basin in the room he gathered the lotion they used for cream, before the fall it was synthetic, now they used soap made from animal fat. It smelled lightly of lavender, David hated that smell, he didn't know why, but he had, for a long time.

Cynical, that's what his friends called him, he was cynical. David didn't know when he had become so, he remembered being relatively happy not that long ago. It didn't matter, he shoved those thoughts away as he took out his knife, beginning to drag the blade across his cheeks. Razor sharp, as always, he made sure to keep it ready for anything. David then lost himself in thought again as he shaved, it had been twenty years, twenty trips around the sun, twenty years of struggle and hardship, lately it had been easy. For the last decade or so life had been relatively stable for the people in the kingdom. They farmed, they grew, and they lived as much as they could in the world they were in. Every year was a celebration to them, every winter, every birth, every harvest, it was good, life was good, wasn't it?

A knock at the door jolted David, feeling the blade slice across his skin he yelped at the blossoming pain, watching blood pour down his cheek. David swore under his breath as the door swung open. David reached for the alcohol he kept at the basin for this (And other purposes) popping the quark out and pouring it across his cheek, feeling the pain of the liquid. Looking in the mirror his eyes focused in on the messy hair of his charge, a spitting image of his father, his hair was long, swpt, and had a large streak of yellow blond among a head full of brown. The young man smiled hugely at David in the mirror.

"Good lord, David, not already dressed? Father might just fire you, you've never been late before, I had to wake myself up today, you believe that?"

David felt his eyes roll, yet the pressure of a smile pulled at his lips, Caleb had that effect on people, or maybe it was just David. "No, I don't, a teenage hoodlum waking up before the sun is utterly preposterous."

"Ughhh, You have to use those big words don't you? You know I hate them." David smirked more as the young man crossed the room, poking David's large boots with his own.

"Maybe if you actually read the books your father said you should you might know what they mean." David focused back on shaving.

"Fuck that! That's why I have you, to read and be smart and help little ole me!" Caleb brought his hands to his chest, giving as innocent a look as he could. "I'm just the young and innocent prince, how could I be expected to read books like 'The rye catcher' and understand the messege."