Budding & Blossom

There are very specific things that Emil remembers.

The  good people he meets, the rough pommel of the sword between his fingers, the warm blood splash across his face, the soothing remarks given by people who were terrorized, adrenaline zipping through his veins, the calmness of his heart … Sometimes people had difficulty understanding that. Sometimes they forgot to remind themselves that they needed help, and that help can come from a stranger. Gentle hands, worked hands, so like that of a mercenary, yet nothing like the rough men who fought for money. No bargain struck, only a smile …

Sometimes it was more difficult. Sometimes he grew drained, dizzy, tired, unable to continue going. Forced instead to rely on himself in a different way, one he typically avoided unless he drew too much from situation he knew too little about. Sensed the fear of monsters and men, but could not help … Pushed, pushed so hard that his body collapses — only to rise up a second later with a biting tongue. For, once kindness had it’s turn, it was then ferocity’s turn. Unfortunately, this had given some pause, some back-lashing to people who did not deserve it, leaving Emil in a precarious situation …

Waking up on the road, with nothing but his own mess to fix, his own faults to stand trial for, a man with a black eye, bleeding nose, and teeth knocked in staring him down as a monster.

Forever would he be glad to see the ruler afterwards. She who saw reason, was careful to calculate and offered him a chance to get back up. Perhaps he would visit her again! The thought had come precariously to mind, quickly dismissed as a thought ‘too unlikely’, yet, as he wandered through the crowded castle streets, spotting the veranda not too far, did a brilliant thought come to mind. He was here, was he not? Why not … go and see her?

Sliding his way inward, he grabbed a handful of flowers, the bouquet nothing elegant or fancy, but a sweet gesture. No romantic ties came from such an object, tied together with some ribbon that looked —perhaps— a few rupees at most. The flowers chosen? Well, there was quite a few, wild flowers, mostly, a few weeds in the mixing pot. Yet, he didn’t stop, didn’t let his gift readiness (or there-lack-of,) stop him. Instead, going to a guard and whispering in his ear (the plea of a young child was always so convincing wasn’t it?) that he wanted to see the princess just to give her a gift.

He was looked down on, and then, with a fluster of nods, was given permission. Emil however, glanced away a bit bitter. He was much older than most ever gave him credit for … the twenty-year-old summon spirit did not complain, however, as he was drawn towards a library-esque room, books stacking the walls, catching his breath in intrigue and curiosity. What was here? What knowledge was hidden in the depths of these shelves? Yet, biting back his awe, the guard knocked sagely at the entrance-way, calling out there being a person to see her Highness.

Emil’s lips softly turned upwards, a green gaze much, much older than his form looked. Awaiting an agreement or a disengagement at-which he would merely set the flowers down, apologize for his intrusion and leave. The boy understand nobility, where-as he would prefer to say he did not, yet every society attempted a monarchy at one point or another, and the young summoned spirit had certainly lived through a few.