On the Old Days 2

Sartor sat at the fountain, contemplating the writings and paid little heed to the noises around him, there was always somebody else in the garden, after all, it was one of the most popular leasure spots on the academy grounds. But at some point he could not ignore it any more - a group of his fellow students were being rather noisy, having, what seemed, an overly energic dispute of some sort. Young Sartor frowned inadvertently for he noticed a bottle of wine in the hands of one of the students. Drinking on academy grounds was not forbidden, but it was strongly discouraged, moreso in the garden. He tried to decide wether to leave or to confront the noisemakers, but then the disruption escalated as one of the students got up and left, obviously in similar mood as Sartor. Sartor wanted to find out what had transpired so, as the student passed the place at the fountain where he sat, Sartor spoke up to the unfamiliar boy, inviting him to sit down and share the story. The other student wavered, looking back at the noisy group he had just left, looking dissaprovingly at Sartor and looking at the exit. This gave Sartor the pretence to reveal his name, which he had witheld, not to silence the student, but to keep him from possible silence or departure. "My name is Sartor Fon'holm.." The other student did not react. "The Third. Prince of Il'daven?" 

"Your Majesty, I know who you are, alas, while I know it would be disrespectful to reject your invitation for an audience, there are some extremely pressing matters I have to attend to. With your permission, I would like to leave." This the young boy said with a grave voice while bowing deeply. Sartor clapped his book shut, stood and replied as gravely: "Then let me go with you and you can tell me while we walk!" This cought the boy off guard and he seemed somewhat shook up by Sartors unexpected movements. Rabid thoughts reflected on the boys face, as if he was struggling with himself and then, defeated, invited Sartor along. 

"I do not know your name." 

"My apologies you majesty, I am called Rubens Gull."

"Rubens, I want you to call me by my name, can you do that?"

"Certainly, your.. Sartor. It may take some time to get used to."

"Take as much time as you need," both boys laughed.

"So, where are we going and what was going on back in the garden?"

"I was trying to talk to the northern province nobles, try to get them to help up."

"Who is "us"?"

"My father. He is a lord in the far south, there has been a bad raid."

"I hear raids in the south are quite common, Rubens." 

Rubens came to an abrupt halt: "All due respect, your majesty, but just because something is common, it does not make it less horrible." 

Sartor stood corrected; that had not happened in a long time. He had almost forgotten that he could be wrong, he had suffered too much ass kissing. "I.. I'm sorry, I must admit, I have never been to the far south and know little of the severity of the raids. Please, tell me more.'' 

The dark expression cleared from Rubens' face and the boys resumed their march. "It seems that the obliviousness is widespread between the nobles beyond the raid borders. They do not realize that their peace and prosperity is bougth with the blood of the people on the borderlands. While our lands get pillaged and burned, they sit in their lavish rooms and wave us away when we plea for help. Even the king does nothing! All the times my father has sought audience, written letters and reports, nothing has been done!'' 

Sartor was sympathetic to what Rubens was saying; while he had not been aware of the situation on the borderlands and was somewhat sceptical about the extent of the raids, he had no reason to distrust Rubens and what he was saying. "I can not believe my father has ignored so numerous pleas for help. I am sure he will not leave you to your own devices forever." 

"Well, it seems like it has been forever. By the seven spirits! It can not get any worse! My.. my brother was killed in that raid!' 

Sartor did not fake his sincerity. "I am sorry Rubens." 

Rubens suddenly jumped forward and took off, leaving Sartor confused, but he followed suit and ran along: "Rubens! Wait! Please, I know you are mad, but can we put that aside for a second?"

"No! Do you know what your problem is? You do not take this for reality, as you said yourself, you have never seen a raided village. Leave me alone, even if I tell you about it, there is nothing you can and want to do!"

"Stop right there! I am not my father and I promise you, I will do all in my power to see that this situation is turned around."

"Certainly, your majesty," Rubens returned coldly.

"Please, give me a chance! And where are we going?"

"I have to tell my father that I could not negotiate any help and that I will return home after exams, at least I can help my people."

"I see.. that gives me an idea, how about I go with you to the borderlands and see for myslef what the situation is?" 

Rubens stared at Sartor, assessing the degree of insanity: "Your are fooling around, right? No way you want to come to the South.."

"No, I am absolutely serious. I cannot believe I have been neglecting such a major part of my future kingdom. I will accompany you; if you want to, that is," and Sartor smiled madly at Rubens, daring him to an invitation, which Rubens was both eager and reluctant to give, he saw the great jesture his majesy showed him, but he had no desire of putting Sartor in danger, which was plentiful in his homeland. 

"There is not like here, you know, my fathers lands are savage and unforgiving. You migth find your final moments there if unprepared."

"You seem to have gotten through them just fine. I am going." 

"As you wish, your majesty, I would be glad if you accompanied me."

"Splendorous. Tell your father I'm coming.. or don't. And it's Sartor, Rubens, remember that! Good luck in your exams!" Sartor kept smiling madly and turned around to return to his quarters. 

"You too," Rubens added and entered the Note office...

On the Old Days

King Sartor had invisioned the building of a new, massive castle in the near midlands, which were constantly raided by the savage hordes from the southern bortherlands, to gain a strong position there and stop the raidings once and for all. His forfathers had built his kingdom from scratch, for that he we ever grateful and in great respect for them, but he also realised that there was no reason why he should stop at the conquest just because some nobles from the safe northern shore refused their support. After all, while the fertile lands were perfect for farming and woods full with game, the southern lands were like an open wound in his kingdom, raiders would come and go, leaving villages burnt to the ground, citizens slaughtered, crops plundered and fields left to desolation. It was hard to repopulate such lands, as people were slow to forget and king knew that no man wants to work in constant fear of the possibility of losing everything he owned. He had long thought about it, consulted many who shared his vision and had ideas to contribute, in fact, many of these people were his former peers in study. So in spite of the noble's reluctance, Sartor issued the construction orders.
Among the most prominent developers of the idea was Rubens Gull, a former fellow student of Sartor's.
During his time in the royal academy, Rubens was a looked down upon young noble's son from the far southern provinces and his more "aristocratic" peers referred to him as savage and barbaric, however, Sartor, as future king, had made his business to know everybody and know what they thought in regards to the future of the kingdom. Truthfully, he had to do this as a part of his spying duty for the king. Sartor's father, king Hurken, was a somewhat paranoid individual; he would spend hours dissecting the proposals of his advisors, looking for any way they could fail and damage his reputation. At some point he had came to the conclusion that the youth were the root of all his problems and the rebelious attitude he recieved from his nobles (at no point did he blame his incompetence, indecisiveness and sheer apathy), so he had bid his son, Sartor, who was a student at the time to "acquaint" himself with the situation in the student community and report back to him any "suspicious" activity. Soren had been oblivious to the reasons behind this request as he had litle knowledge of his fathers condition - they did not spend much time together, Sartor was busy studying, training at swordplay and horseriding, bowshooting and some caligraphy while his father was busy going insane and scheming his own demise.
Sartor remembered well the day he sat in the centre of the academy garden on the round bench surrounding the fountain, facing south and letting the dazzling sunlight blind him, as he was slowly browsing through some centuries old poetry in solitude. It was the spring gratitude week, most students had departed for their home provinces, getting their last bit of good time before the hectic examination period and the subsequent career path in either military or civil life or the summer exploratory trip. The 'summer trip' was not all fun and games, in fact, for those who could actually afford to travel the kingdom, it turned out to be a gruelling experinece of bad food, little sleep in dreadful beds and sunburn. It was not uncommon for the southen province highborn to send their offspring on a trip to the rich northern lands, but it was a cinical, almost cruel errand - they young nobles, no matter the education, would always grow under the impression that the northern provinces are heaven on earth, lush, rich, full of beauty, miracles and easy life for anybody fortunate enough to be born there; then they would bitterly curse their birthplaces, led to believe that the southern lands were akin to a dry, uninhabitable hell. Make no mistake, the southern provinces were indeed not as pleasant as the north, but with work and perseverance one could make a living for himself and with some luck, a bit of happyness too. So the young nobles would be extatic when they would learn of the trip, they would lie sleepless for weeks before the departure, conjuring in their minds the great adventures they would have and the sweet delight the north would offer them, however barely any of them invisioned their return home, somehow that was of no importance. On the faithful day of departure mysterious grins would come to shape their parents' faces, but as the young nobles would take the horse lead from their parents, they would mistake these grins for smiles wishing godspeed. They would also pay little attention to the single horse they would be given, less attention to the single set of clothes packed for them, less attention to the scant food and water supply in their packs, less atention yet to the meagre amount of money in their travel purses and absolutely no attention to the warnings and advice of their parents, who would struggle no to burst in malevolent laughter. High in spirits, the youngsters would kick the horses to full gallop immediately, only to realise minutes later that it is an awfully bad idea to exhaust the only horse they have, but at that point they would already need a watering spot, which would be the first among miriad problems they would have to face on their trip. They would awfully soon run out of water and food, being forced to stop somewhere to purchase food. Their garments and the time of travel would betray them as young nobles and as rule, shopkeepers would charge them triple the price, knowing that the youngsters have no idea of how much things cost and oddly, they would pay up, almost proud to be on their own, "taking good care of themselves". Being over anxious they would push themselves and their horses for longer hauls, relying on their youthfulness to compensate for the lack of rest and sleep. Soon they would come to face the consequences - sore butts and backs, blisters all over, bad sunburn on their faces and arms and a weird headache that made them extremely tired and sleepy, sometimes they would also catch a cold from sleeping an exhausted sleep on bare ground in the still colds nights. Most of them would soon realise that the provisions packed for them are inadequate, but no one ever returned home - the trip was far too anticipated to return home beaten, that would be far too shameful. Eventually, by the time they would have reached the northern provinces, their stamina long depleted, money gone and the anticipation they once had turned into a weary apaty and blunt longing for a soft bed and a warm meal; but their young minds would trick them into pushing on, after all, they had made the trip, given all to it, and they told themselves that they Will have a good time, no matter what. And so they would visit the old cathedrals and castles with a revenge, thinking to themselves: "i better have a good time here", so they would walk through the busy trade streets, only to gawk at the unaffordable trinkets in an empty realisation that they would never fill their stomachs or do any other good, they would bite their thongues when bypassers would comment on their apperiance and smell. Soon enough they would be filled with a silent rage, willing only to get home, rattling feebly in desperation as they would be unable to afford even the most modest room and food, for everything would be so unbelievably expensive. But they would persevere, naive as they would be, the southern upbringing had given them enough to pull their weight. Some would get themselves a job and earn themselves a couple of coins doing errands for traders, whoremongers, anybody who would pay enough coins to enable them to get home. Some would try their hand in pickpocketing, few in prostitution, others in fraud. Anecdotes portrayed young nobles on such trips giving in to their most base desires and methods and often requiring their parens come and get them from inprisonment or worse. While such situations were possible, the vast majority of young nobles got home in one piece, their bubble of easy life in the north shattered and their eyes to reality and themselves open for good. To smooth over the bruised prides, parents often had scouts informing them of their child's return in advance and preparing a feast to congratulate them on their "expeditious" return. The children would sit at the table and look at the food in newfound awe, appreciating, finally, the bounty their land gives them and savouring each bite, letting it not only to rejuvenate their bodies but also to flow through their spirit, recieving the land's blessing and thinking to themsleves: 'it's good to be home". The parens would explain what they had done and apologise, but their offspring would wave their heads and dismiss their explanations, affirming what they knew in their hearts - that this trip was the best part of their lives and that they were grateful to their parents for putting them through it.