(XIV||20): 4. Clinch.
“So...” there is a pause from the voice sitting across from him. A voice made of both grinding metal and velvet, a gentle tone filled with warmth that never seems to escape any word to the rapidly growing child that sits at the table, his legs kicking nervously as they dangle off the chair. “...your Father tells me that you wish to speak with me, Obie?” she asks warmly, the same sapphire eyes that he holds countenance with gazing upon him lovingly.
“Y-yes, Mother.” the child stammers nervously as his gaze falls to the plate in front of him. The bacon laced salad being pushed around by his fork echoes the sentiment of fragile confidence he holds so dearly to. “...I want to..well, th-that is...” he mumbles as he shifts in his seat. Overcome with his emotions, the child sniffles, a pair of tears streaking welling in his eyes and streaking down his face.
A thick, broad hand reaches over and begins rubbing his back. “Go on, Obie. Nobody here is upset with you. Speak your heart, son.” comes the voice of the Father, a deep, rumbling voice that seems to touch every wall of the dining area as he comforts his son.
A young Oberic swallows hard, wiping at his eyes and nose with the dark green sleeve of his linen shirt before he takes a breath and begins again. “...Mother. I d-don’t w-w...” he stammers out, pausing again to gather his thoughts, emotions and feelings into one, rushed statement.
“You don’t want to be a blacksmith, as I am. Nor do you wish to be a jeweler, as your Father is.” the woman says with the same, gentle voice, her own eyes seeking Oberics’ in a compassionate smile and raising of brows.
“Yes. Mother, how did you know?” he asks quietly, amazed at the apparent telepathy that his Mother has developed in secrecy. “I want to be a Knight. Like in the stories that you and Father read to me!” he says excitedly. “...I want to help people and protect them from...from...bandits! And...Monsters! Yea! Big, scary Monsters! But they won’t scare me! I’m a KNIGHT!” he proclaims, causing his parents to chuckle.
His father chuckles, as does his Mother. “Then we’ll see about finding you a Mentor. Someone who will take you on as a Squire.” says his Mother, a smile reaching her face as amused, happy tears fill her eyes.
“You might be disappointed though, Obie...” says his Father, reaching over to ruffle the child’s hair. “...everyone knows. There’s no such thing as monsters.”
