Nothing Lasts

Server crashes are an anathema to writing... -nuff said.
-----------------------------------------


Tybalt was crushed between two short but extremely squat spice merchants in the back of the annex when he heard his name called again.

"Tybalt son of Ulf, step forward, your leige demands it."

The only thing Tybalt wanted at this immediate point in time was to run back to his farm and pretend that none of the past week had happend. He had never asked for anything remotely like this back home. His only wishes since he had been old enough to wish had been a healthy ox to help him plow, good rains for his field, and maybe an orange each year to celebrate the height of Sarnay, but even that had seemed like an extravagent expense. "Nothing lasts" his father had told him.

The crowd began to murmur. "Who denies the king an audiance?" The palace was full, not just of courtesans, dukes and nobility but dignitaries from across the 9 kingdoms. Merchants had travelled for days knowing that their purses would be lined by nobility trying to out do one another. There were more people in the annex to the palace than Tybalt had ever seen in his life, even at the height of market day.

"Excuse me." Tybalt said meekly, trying to shoulder his way past the merchants. The soaps and perfumes were making his head hurt and his eyes nearly water. While he was a full two heads taller than the merchants they stood their ground glaring at this dirty intruder. One of the merchant's wives covered her face with her fan, eyebrows knotted in disgust at his presence.

"Don't waste the court's time peasant, the King is waiting for a knight. Not a flea ridden sack of potatoes with rocks for brains."

Tybalt thought of leaving right then and there. He didn't belong here. The king could keep his title. He could keep his throngs of sweet smelling people.

He turned to leave the annex. This was simply too much for him. He'd make up a story for his mother about how nice everyone at the palace had been, since she had been too sick to make the journey to the castle.

Sunlight and freedom were only a few steps away, his back to the spectacle when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Wrong way son, the King is this way."

Tybalt's shoulders slumped.

"I also thought we said to dress for the occasion. Never mind this will have to do."

Tybalt, Son of Ulf looked down at his tunic. His father's best tunic. He had thought it appropriate since his father had served in the King's army. Looking down at the faded colors it hit him that the arrow holes through the sleeves, the small scorch marks on the back didn't hold the same stories for those around him as they did for the boy who heard his father tell them. He suddenly felt quite foolish as he shuffled behind the Man-at-arms towards the king. The crowd grew silent as he walked past them. He hadn't had any money for makeup or wigs. He had traded three chickens for a hot bath three days prior.

"Head up boy. Shoulders back." The man-at-arms whispered to him. "That's it. When we get to the throne you will go to one knee and swear allegiance. Do you understand?"

Tybalt nodded, impressed that the man beside him had the power to part the crowds of people just by moving through them. "Yes sir." Tybalt said, trying to remember all the words to the allegiance.

By that time Tybalt and the Man-at-arms, Gwain was it? It had been a very hectic week with many people coming and going, had reached a large clearing of people. The throne sat atop a diaz ten feet above the floor. Glints of mica shown in the polished granite steps.

"There you are boy, go to the end of the carpet and kneel. I'll be by your side shortly." Then in a powerful voice the Man-at-arms called "Presenting before you sire, Tybalt, son of Ulf, hero of the Wheat fields. He has come to swear his allegiance my leige."

Tybalt took that as his cue to begin.

"I, Tybalt, son... Son of."
"Speak up!" someone yelled from the gallery. Tybalt's cheeks reddened.
"I, Tybalt, Son of Ulf do pledge my allegiance to King..." Tybalt stopped again. King who? What was this king's name? He had grown up with King Ardus but he was an old man, then there was that brief time when the King's brother had taken the throne, and Tybalt had never known his name. Then there was this king. King... King... There was a rustling beside him and Gwaine was kneeling next to him quite closely. Barely audible Tybalt heard: "King Maran, and in pledging my allegiance to my leige I will do whatever I can to protect King and country..." Tybalt, feeling the part of the fool mimiced the words Gwain passed to him without listening to them. What seemed like ages later the King finally stepped down and stood before him.

"Tybalt, son of ulf. Hero of the wheat fields, protector of my daughter at the ambush of lance's crossing. I hereby declair you Sir Tybalt the Wheat knight. You are granted full priveleges and rights as any knight of the realm. Please stand and receive your medal."

Gwain stood. Tybalt, by this time was so flustered he hadn't heard anything the king had said. He was dimly aware of Gwain subtly pulling on the right shoulder of his tunic. He rose, head down looking at the floor like a man being sentenced to the gallows.

"Smile, this is a happy day." Gwain whispered.

"Sir Tybalt, you may make three requests and I will grant them." the King said. "What would you like? Money? Lands?"

Tybalt was taken aback. No one had said anything about this when he was told to arrive at the castle on this day dressed in his finest.

"Go ahead, Sir Tybalt, name it and the prize is yours." Gwain said.

"Um, thank you sire. I do not need, nor expect anything sire."

"Modesty becomes you sir knight, but you must want for something?"

Tybalt scratched the back of his head, aware of every eye in the hall staring at him. Or rather he was aware of every eye in the hall staring at each imperfection of his tunic, each patch of dirt that hadn't come off in the bath. The fact that he had one shoe and one boot (the best of each set) on.

"Hurry, son, as for anything!" Gwain whispered.

"Ummm, might I have a new ox then?"

There was silence. He'd asked for too much. He knew it. He should have just asked for new shoes.

"An ox? Sir knight?"

"My Sybel is getting on in years, so another ox to help her would make the work go faster."

The corner of the king's mouth upturned in bemusement.

"Get this man a herd of oxen then, no fewer than two score. Next?"

Tybalt's knees nearly gave out. That was more ox than in his entire village. How would he feed and water them all? But if this was how it worked...

"Might I get some help then to dig a new channel from the river to my pond so I can water the ox? With your highness's generosity, my.."

The king's smirk continued. "Gwain?"
"Yes sire?"
"This man harkens from abbenathy correct?"
"Near enough so sire."
"Weren't we needing to find someone to steward gull ridge with its eel pond and the river fork? If remember so the fields there were also in need of some tending."
"You are correct sire."
Tybalt knew exactly where the king was talking about. It was only a 1/2 day walk from the smithy, the inn and the stables of his village.
"Sir Tybalt, would you and your future family accept, instead of the offer of labor for your farm, be willing to manage and maintain gull ridge? The manor there needs some repair but you appear to have craft enough to restore it well."
Tybalt felt Gwain's arm steady him as he nearly swooned. The fields alone at gull ridge take a day to walk across, not including the forest, the river and the eel pond. The manor was two full stories. Definitely in need of repair but it had nine rooms!
"And what is your last request, sir Knight?"
"Might I have a word with our new Knight?" Gwain asked.
"Certainly, but make it quick we have much pressing business to contend with."
Gwain took Tybalt aside.
"Think carefully sir knight. This is your final request..."
Tybalt could barely keep his mind from reeling. What could he possible ask for that could compare to this?

His father had been right, be it his innocence on the farm, or the tranquility this trip to the market had started out as. Nothing lasts.