Soot-Steeped Knight (LN)
8-10 minutes 21.07.2022
Soot-Steeped Knight
♰
煤 ま み れ の 騎 士
Volume I
Chapter 2 – Part 8
Written By
Yoshihiko Mihama
Translated By
Vagrant
───────── ♰ ─────────
Supper was over. The hour had waxed overlate.
As usual, I found myself behind the main building, swinging my sword under the stars. In the midst of the rigour, there appeared Emilie, holding a loaf of bread.
“Rolf… here,” she said, handing it to me. That I had nothing to eat for supper seemed a fact not lost upon her—too busied I was, scouring the soot from the mess hall’s hearth.
“My thanks.”
“Can you spare a moment…?” she asked, looking to the building wall.
Sensing her intent, I followed her, and we were soon sat side-by-side against the cold brickwork.
“…Forgive me, Rolf… for earlier. It… it shouldn’t have happened,” she spoke as I began helping myself to the bread.
“I’m not troubled, my Lady,” I assured her. “You’ve just been made a lieutenant. ‘Tis a precious time; shielding me would be a waste of it.”
“…’Twas by spending time with you that I was promoted. Was it not?”
“I’m afraid you see not the way of it. You’ve been promoted precisely because you are fit to play the part.”
“Still…”
After that word, there stretched a silence between us. I had finished the last of the bread, but sensing it brusque to resume training—for it yet seemed Emilie had much on her mind—I remained by her side, biding the quietude till her next words.
“Say, Rolf?” came the broken silence.
“Yes, my Lady?”
“You spend your nights like this? Deep in this training of yours?”
“I do.” Morning and night both, to be accurate, but I left it unsaid.
“Is there…” she began to ask carefully, “…is there some purpose to it… I wonder?” Her words carried the same echo as that of Felicia’s on an evening not so unlike this.
“I believe there is, yes.”
“Rolf… I know you to be wise beyond your years. Forming strategies, managing operations… the sort of affairs that can change the Order from within—you’d be well off in them, I think. Just like when you recommended the whole lieutenant deal to me.”
“Yet yours are the only ears that will listen to those recommendations. ‘Tis not writ in the stars for me to have a hand in administrative affairs, I feel.”
“The mareschal may not have an ear for your counsel, but for mine, he may…”
“You are like to find favour in your superiors, my Lady, but I’m afraid the mareschal nurtures none for me.”
“Th-that’s not so! If we can all join hands and spare an ear for each other’s words, then surely…!” Emilie insisted. It was clear to me by then that she was truly, dearly worried about me. “Rolf… ‘Tis not a weakness to set aside the sword, you know. You can fight your battles from the war-table—it heeds little of odyl, after all. Am I wrong?”
You’re not, Emilie.
Not in the slightest.
But there was the rub: who in the Order would be gracious enough to leave a seat for an ungraced at that war-table? Emilie was most kind to believe in my capabilities, but I’m afraid any other person here wouldn’t have dared to entertain the mere thought of it.
Perhaps this truth was lost to her. But what’s more, I had no intention of throwing down the sword.
“Lady Emilie. Matters of strategy and administration comprise a knight’s duties, that much is true. And I am glad indeed that my counsel for such has been of some avail to you. But…” I explained, searching for the next words. “…Ever and always has the sword given me purchase. It is my bedrock; my heart ails to give it up.”
“Rolf…” Emilie said softly. Her next words, strained, came with great deliberateness. “…‘Tis a comforting thought, isn’t it? That the sword you’ve brandished in days yester will avail you in days yet to come. Perhaps… too warm a comfort for your heart to part with? Is that not simply it, in the end?”
“You may be right. But not so comforting a thought for my sword, perhaps, to be smitten by so troublesome a man,” came my attempt at levity.
“…I see,” she responded quietly.
Only, it now all seemed but a distant memory.
“Rolf…” Emilie started again. “My father… He’s sent word…”
I looked to her. “Of what?”
“…of a new fiancé he’s chosen for me.” For this, I had no words. Emilie continued on. “‘Kenneth’ is his name—eldest son to Lord Albeck. Perhaps you know of them?”
“I do. A mere twelve years of age, isn’t he? And his father holds the Albeck viscounty, next to the march of Norden, where we are.”
“Yeah. That’s them…” she said. Again, I found myself lacking words. “I wonder, Rolf… if you were made a knight, to everyone’s pleasure… then, perhaps…”
Then perhaps things would be as they once were. And as planned, I would succeed House Buckmann, and we would wed each other to a happy ever-after.
An impossible fancy, that. Such optimism bordered on madness, even. But the sudden sorrow of realising this for myself broke my heart in half.
Only, Emilie was desperately clinging on to that same fancy, and by its wiles was she beckoned here on this night, that we might discuss any other path that may lead to its fruition.
What could I say to her?
If she were to find happiness at any end, then I would be most content. Yet, that can’t be the way of it. I would be a fool to brush it off with a simple ‘I pray for your happiness’. I knew such words would be wrong. I knew it too well. Yet, I also knew not the right words to say to her.
Not once have I ever harboured shame in being denied of odyl. Where shame is to be found is in these moments, when I am empty of any and all words. Let us ask any other young man, both betrothed and sixteen years of age—certainly, he would have an answer prepared. Any answer at all. But after scouring my memories, I found none that may be of some avail in this moment.
Having exhausted all of my faculties, I gazed intently at the sombre side of Emilie’s face and left my lips to say what they may.
“…Ever the crybaby, you are. Even as lieutenant.”
She turned to me. “…I’m not crying.”
“But you are.”
“I’ve shed not a tear.”
“Yet you cry.”
To this, Emilie fell quiet.
How cruel can this world be? If I am to be made a man unblessed, then at the very least, make me also the sole harbour to this fleet of sorrow. I’d find some way to bear the berth, no matter the enormity.
Why in the name of all that is good must anyone other than myself be gripped with such grief?
“My Lady. You measure my worth with great generosity, but I’m afraid the world shares none of it—not for an ungraced man like me,” broke I this silence, my eyes firmly fixed on Emilie. My words were admittedly misshapen, but it was preferable to no words at all. For her part, Emilie, too, gazed deeply back at me. “I know little of what lies ahead, but of this I can say: even should I be knighted, inheriting House Buckmann is forever a fleeting fancy.”
“…Yeah…”
“But perhaps the path we tread wends to someplace worthwhile. We have but to follow and see where it leads. And perhaps you may be right. Perhaps swinging this sword over and over again is but a fool’s errand.”
To this, Emilie stayed quiet, listening intently.
“Yet, somehow… of this, I’m certain: the point I let go of the sword and renounce my means of fighting back, is the point where that path severs,” came to Emilie words from deep in my chest.
I felt then that with these words I was also confronting myself—my weak, pitiful self.
“As you said, there is comfort in brandishing the blade as I always have, hoping it attains to its purpose someday yet to dawn,” I continued. “Whether such will come to pass, I cannot know. But brandish it I must—this, my heart tells me. And for as long as its voice stays true, I can’t do aught else.”
Her lips remained unmoved.
“Flimsy maunderings of a fool, I know. But it’s all I have, my Lady,” I admitted.
“And so it is…” Emilie nodded. “If that’s what your heart tells you, Rolf, then I’ve but to join you in heeding its words.”
“Lady Emilie…” I said. “Forgive me.”
“How silly,” she remarked. “We’ve done little but seek forgiveness from each other as of late, haven’t we?”
“…That we have.”
The two of us gave strained smiles to each other.
Were they well-given? Well-received?
This I wondered, and of another matter as well: on this very night, what was it exactly that I chose to believe in? Which path was it that I chose in the end? Sadly, though it all pertained to my very being, my very soul, I was left with not a single answer.
════════════
Chapter 2 ─ End
♰
Chapter 13: Volume 1 - CH 2.8
Soot-Steeped Knight
♰
煤 ま み れ の 騎 士
Volume I
Chapter 2 – Part 8
Written By
Yoshihiko Mihama
Translated By
Vagrant
───────── ♰ ─────────
Supper was over. The hour had waxed overlate.
As usual, I found myself behind the main building, swinging my sword under the stars. In the midst of the rigour, there appeared Emilie, holding a loaf of bread.
“Rolf… here,” she said, handing it to me. That I had nothing to eat for supper seemed a fact not lost upon her—too busied I was, scouring the soot from the mess hall’s hearth.
“My thanks.”
“Can you spare a moment…?” she asked, looking to the building wall.
Sensing her intent, I followed her, and we were soon sat side-by-side against the cold brickwork.
“…Forgive me, Rolf… for earlier. It… it shouldn’t have happened,” she spoke as I began helping myself to the bread.
“I’m not troubled, my Lady,” I assured her. “You’ve just been made a lieutenant. ‘Tis a precious time; shielding me would be a waste of it.”
“…’Twas by spending time with you that I was promoted. Was it not?”
“Still…”
After that word, there stretched a silence between us. I had finished the last of the bread, but sensing it brusque to resume training—for it yet seemed Emilie had much on her mind—I remained by her side, biding the quietude till her next words.
“Say, Rolf?” came the broken silence.
“Yes, my Lady?”
“You spend your nights like this? Deep in this training of yours?”
“I do.” Morning and night both, to be accurate, but I left it unsaid.
“Is there…” she began to ask carefully, “…is there some purpose to it… I wonder?” Her words carried the same echo as that of Felicia’s on an evening not so unlike this.
“I believe there is, yes.”
“Rolf… I know you to be wise beyond your years. Forming strategies, managing operations… the sort of affairs that can change the Order from within—you’d be well off in them, I think. Just like when you recommended the whole lieutenant deal to me.”
“Yet yours are the only ears that will listen to those recommendations. ‘Tis not writ in the stars for me to have a hand in administrative affairs, I feel.”
“The mareschal may not have an ear for your counsel, but for mine, he may…”
“You are like to find favour in your superiors, my Lady, but I’m afraid the mareschal nurtures none for me.”
“Th-that’s not so! If we can all join hands and spare an ear for each other’s words, then surely…!” Emilie insisted. It was clear to me by then that she was truly, dearly worried about me. “Rolf… ‘Tis not a weakness to set aside the sword, you know. You can fight your battles from the war-table—it heeds little of odyl, after all. Am I wrong?”
You’re not, Emilie.
Not in the slightest.
But there was the rub: who in the Order would be gracious enough to leave a seat for an ungraced at that war-table? Emilie was most kind to believe in my capabilities, but I’m afraid any other person here wouldn’t have dared to entertain the mere thought of it.
Perhaps this truth was lost to her. But what’s more, I had no intention of throwing down the sword.
“Lady Emilie. Matters of strategy and administration comprise a knight’s duties, that much is true. And I am glad indeed that my counsel for such has been of some avail to you. But…” I explained, searching for the next words. “…Ever and always has the sword given me purchase. It is my bedrock; my heart ails to give it up.”
“Rolf…” Emilie said softly. Her next words, strained, came with great deliberateness. “…‘Tis a comforting thought, isn’t it? That the sword you’ve brandished in days yester will avail you in days yet to come. Perhaps… too warm a comfort for your heart to part with? Is that not simply it, in the end?”
“…I see,” she responded quietly.
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Another silence followed. The both of us, for the next wordless while, stared up to the sable skies. A familiar scene it was, together as we were, taking in the tapestry of the stars. We had often indulged in such moments back in our time at the Buckmann barony.Only, it now all seemed but a distant memory.
“Rolf…” Emilie started again. “My father… He’s sent word…”
I looked to her. “Of what?”
“…of a new fiancé he’s chosen for me.” For this, I had no words. Emilie continued on. “‘Kenneth’ is his name—eldest son to Lord Albeck. Perhaps you know of them?”
“I do. A mere twelve years of age, isn’t he? And his father holds the Albeck viscounty, next to the march of Norden, where we are.”
“Yeah. That’s them…” she said. Again, I found myself lacking words. “I wonder, Rolf… if you were made a knight, to everyone’s pleasure… then, perhaps…”
Then perhaps things would be as they once were. And as planned, I would succeed House Buckmann, and we would wed each other to a happy ever-after.
An impossible fancy, that. Such optimism bordered on madness, even. But the sudden sorrow of realising this for myself broke my heart in half.
Only, Emilie was desperately clinging on to that same fancy, and by its wiles was she beckoned here on this night, that we might discuss any other path that may lead to its fruition.
What could I say to her?
If she were to find happiness at any end, then I would be most content. Yet, that can’t be the way of it. I would be a fool to brush it off with a simple ‘I pray for your happiness’. I knew such words would be wrong. I knew it too well. Yet, I also knew not the right words to say to her.
Not once have I ever harboured shame in being denied of odyl. Where shame is to be found is in these moments, when I am empty of any and all words. Let us ask any other young man, both betrothed and sixteen years of age—certainly, he would have an answer prepared. Any answer at all. But after scouring my memories, I found none that may be of some avail in this moment.
Having exhausted all of my faculties, I gazed intently at the sombre side of Emilie’s face and left my lips to say what they may.
“…Ever the crybaby, you are. Even as lieutenant.”
She turned to me. “…I’m not crying.”
“But you are.”
“I’ve shed not a tear.”
To this, Emilie fell quiet.
How cruel can this world be? If I am to be made a man unblessed, then at the very least, make me also the sole harbour to this fleet of sorrow. I’d find some way to bear the berth, no matter the enormity.
Why in the name of all that is good must anyone other than myself be gripped with such grief?
“My Lady. You measure my worth with great generosity, but I’m afraid the world shares none of it—not for an ungraced man like me,” broke I this silence, my eyes firmly fixed on Emilie. My words were admittedly misshapen, but it was preferable to no words at all. For her part, Emilie, too, gazed deeply back at me. “I know little of what lies ahead, but of this I can say: even should I be knighted, inheriting House Buckmann is forever a fleeting fancy.”
“…Yeah…”
“But perhaps the path we tread wends to someplace worthwhile. We have but to follow and see where it leads. And perhaps you may be right. Perhaps swinging this sword over and over again is but a fool’s errand.”
To this, Emilie stayed quiet, listening intently.
“Yet, somehow… of this, I’m certain: the point I let go of the sword and renounce my means of fighting back, is the point where that path severs,” came to Emilie words from deep in my chest.
I felt then that with these words I was also confronting myself—my weak, pitiful self.
“As you said, there is comfort in brandishing the blade as I always have, hoping it attains to its purpose someday yet to dawn,” I continued. “Whether such will come to pass, I cannot know. But brandish it I must—this, my heart tells me. And for as long as its voice stays true, I can’t do aught else.”
Her lips remained unmoved.
“Flimsy maunderings of a fool, I know. But it’s all I have, my Lady,” I admitted.
“And so it is…” Emilie nodded. “If that’s what your heart tells you, Rolf, then I’ve but to join you in heeding its words.”
“Lady Emilie…” I said. “Forgive me.”
“How silly,” she remarked. “We’ve done little but seek forgiveness from each other as of late, haven’t we?”
“…That we have.”
The two of us gave strained smiles to each other.
Were they well-given? Well-received?
This I wondered, and of another matter as well: on this very night, what was it exactly that I chose to believe in? Which path was it that I chose in the end? Sadly, though it all pertained to my very being, my very soul, I was left with not a single answer.
Chapter 2 ─ End
♰
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