oath
"Papa, what's this?"
The old barkeep looks up from his books to see a child enter, carefully cradling an object in their hands. He recognizes it immediately: the white gauntlet that represented his oath, his devotion to Torm. The battle scars that mar the surface of the glove send a trickle of memories running through him, and his hand aches for the familiar weight it once held. Tiaren must have uncovered my armor, he thinks idly to himself, noting the smudges of dust across the child's dark cheeks and tangled hair.
Pushing himself to his feet, he steps over and scoops up Tiaren, the fluidity of his movements assuring him his body still remembers how it used to move, even if his bones ache. Tiaren gives a squeak of surprise and snuggles in as Aethelstan sits down at a table, cradling the child in his arms.
For a moment he struggles to find the words. How to summarize decades of fighting and bravery, devotion and hope, courage and… failure. Lying crosses his mind briefly, but he knows he cannot, especially about this. He looks down at the child in his lap. At ten, they're already so wise and in tune with the world. A maturity in Tiaren's eyes promises something greater to come, and Aethelstan decides in that instant to tell the truth.
"I was a soldier, once. A paladin. A mighty warrior, general at the head of an army. My knights trusted me, and I protected them as best any general can. And this," he says, taking the glove from Tiaren and turning it over, admiring the nicks across its surface, "was a reminder of my oath — to my people and to my god."
"What god is that?"
"Torm. He's the god of courage -"
"Oooh…"
"- and self-sacrifice."
"... ah." The look of confusion that crosses their face makes it clear to Aethelstan he's lost them. Patiently, he continues.
"Self-sacrifice means you put others before yourself. It means you help them wherever you can. You take the pain so they don't have to. You don't take help when others need it more. You protect those who need you. You give everything. And you die so no one else does."
Aethelstan's words hang heavy in the air, an order and a confession all in one. The silence seems to ring around them. Aethelstan isn't sure if he hears the echoes of clashing swords and screams or if it's his own heartbeat pounding in his head.
Tiaren breaks the quiet, their small voice steady and sympathetic. "What happened?" It isn't a question that needs to be asked — the answer is already written across the dented armor and Aethelstan's dark stare into nothingness.
"I failed," he said with a sigh, handing the glove back to Tiaren. "I made the wrong call, and I led my soldiers into a massacre. I couldn't pull them out, couldn't negotiate a peace to let them survive." His voice does not crack, but tears begin to fall, wetting the top few strands of Tiaren's hair. "I was at the front of the charge, standing among my knights, and I couldn't protect a single one. I woke up two days later on the floor of a healer's cabin. She informed me that I alone had survived." He shakily inhales and hugs the child closer to his chest, finding comfort in the little warmth provided by another person. "I failed. The most basic tenet of my oath, and I failed."
The silence that follows is nearly deafening. Aethelstan can hear the screaming even more clearly now. He hears the crackling of flames and the beat of heavy wings. The sting of fire and metal. Awash in memories, he finds himself using all of his willpower to look back at the child.
Tiaren studies the gauntlet, turning it over in their small hands, running tiny fingers across the grooves carved into its surface. Though he shares no blood with his grandchild, there's something intensely familiar in their careful movements, in the way Tiaren talks about the world and what they see in it.
Even as he thinks this, Tiaren freezes, and he knows a similar thought has occurred. Even so, the question surprises him when it comes.
"Papa?"
"Hmm?"
"How do you become a paladin?"
He studies the child, meets their curious brown eyes. Somewhere in their depths he sees himself, and suddenly he sees a chance at his own redemption.
"You pledge an oath." Adjusting his position, Aethelstan moves so that he holds his right hand up, palm facing outwards, and recites the words he's always kept close to his heart. "I swear to be honest: my words are my promise; I will not lie or cheat. I swear to be compassionate: I will bring aid where I go; I will be a shield for the weak and judgement against those who abuse them; I will show mercy to my enemies when they accept it, but will be wise enough to act when they won't. I will be honorable: I will treat others fairly and let my own actions show them the way; I will do as much good as I can while causing as little harm as possible. I will be dutiful: I will answer for my actions and their consequences; I will protect those who rely upon me. I will be courageous: using caution but never fearing to act. I will be selfless: putting other people before me and not allowing anyone to die in my stead."
Tiaren listens silently, etching the words into their memory.
*******
Once they've made camp for the night, Tiaren pulls out the package their mother had handed them at the end of this latest stay. They unwrap it slowly, gradually revealing a set of armor they haven't seen in nearly seven years. As they push back the chainmail, a familiar white gauntlet reveals itself.
Tiaren picks it up carefully, thoughts drifting back to the conversation they'd had with their grandfather just before he died. The sadness he'd felt was just as palpable today, but Tiaren can remember how his back had straightened, the pride he'd shown in the squaring of his shoulders. His oath seemed to make him sad, but only because he'd left it unfulfilled. More than that, it had given him purpose.
Timidly, Tiaren rises to their feet. They slide the gauntlet on — a bit of a challenge with an uncooperative left hand, but the size of the gauntlet means it is easier to slide on over the right. Taking a deep breath, Tiaren squares their shoulders and holds up their right hand, palm out, channeling the strength they had always associated with Aethelstan.
The words are easy to remember. Their importance had been clear even seven years ago, and Tiaren had dutifully memorized each sentence.
"I swear to be honest: my words are my promise; I will not lie or cheat. I swear to be compassionate: I will bring aid where I go; I will be a shield for the weak and judgement against those who abuse them; I will show mercy to my enemies when they accept it, but will be wise enough to act when they won't. I will be honorable: I will treat others fairly and let my own actions show them the way; I will do as much good as I can while causing as little harm as possible. I will be dutiful: I will answer for my actions and their consequences; I will protect those who rely upon me. I will be courageous: using caution but never fearing to act."
Tiaren looks out, eyes trained on the trees around them, blinking back tears. "I will be selfless: putting other people before me and not allowing anyone to die in my stead."
There is no physical change, no white light or angelic choir. Even so, Tiaren can feel something different within them: a newfound sense of purpose. A direction. A calm.
Determined, Tiaren picks up the warhammer wrapped among the armor. Testing the balance, they give a few practice swings. The weapon is cumbersome and foreign, and the momentum sends Tiaren stumbling.
Once they catch their balance, Tiaren studies the armor and the new weapon. Learning to use them will be difficult, but out here in the wilds, all alone, they have all the time in the world.
