Titles
An Entry from the Journals of Dyrmea
I dabble in writing of all sorts. Nothing seems to keep my attention for long: One day I write about philosophy and theology, the next I am doing a deep dive into the history of minimum wage laws, and then all that seems boring compared to a fantasy story I have been working on for a decade at this point.
I haven’t shared my fantasy stories much before, so I thought today would be a good time to do so. This is an entry from a series called, “The Journals of Dyrmea: The Crossing of Destinies”.
In this chapter, or scene, are two characters: Clark, the son of the recently deceased Grand King of Dyrmea, and Philip, a trained court apprentice. They are on an adventure of some sorts. I am not sure where their story fits into the grand scheme of things yet, but this story comes to me in small, distinct, and very clear scenes that I need to type out immediately before I lose them.
Please enjoy, let me hear your thoughts, and for the love of God: Ignore any grammar and punctuation issues!!
Clark woke to the sound of a crackling fire. He tried to keep his eyes closed, not wanting to be awake yet. He was having an odd dream which was slipping away from him no matter how hard he tried to return to it. Giving up, he opened his eyes, ready to face the start of his day. He sat up, feeling the aches in his back he stretched and cracked his neck and back to release the tension, but it wasn’t enough to relieve the soreness. He looked over and saw Philip tending to the fire.
“How do you like your coffee?” Philip asked without looking over.
“Till the spoon floats,” Clark responded, somewhat more indifferently than how he intended. Philip turned to look at him blankly. “I like it pretty dark. Clark quickly said, to move passed the moment. “How did you know I was awake?”
“Breathing patterns always change the second a person wakes up. They go from deep, long, and intentional, to short, uneasy, and hasty. It stems from a man’s need to control everything. When he’s asleep, he lets his body instead of his mind take over with efficient breathing. We are most vulnerable asleep, so men tend to avoid it; especially high achieving men like yourself.”
Clark pondered these words. Philip was talking about men as a whole, but it also seemed like he was addressing Clark specifically. He had just tried to go back to sleep, but he was unable to let himself not be in control. His entire life seemed to be spiraling out of his control. He now had no family, no titles, and no way to get anywhere with his life.
He knew these things, but now that everything around him had slowed down, he was able to feel the full impact. In just a few days, everything was taken from him. Clark looked over at Philip. He knew that Philip would remain loyal and was a good friend. It’s likely that outside of parents and family, Philip also started with nothing. And now, come to think of it, Clark had always been told that his father’s rise to King was nothing short of unprecedented.
“How did my father become King, Philip?” Clark asked, breaking the silence of the wood around them, “Were you there for the confirmation?”
Philip looked up at Clark. “Are you sure you want to go down that road?”
“I think it’s time I knew the full truth. People have always told me he was one of the greatest Kings in history, even greater than the ones we can no longer see.”
“All you need is a ladder and a library, or in this case you can talk to someone who was there. I was barely 15 when I was allowed to join meetings of the Knightship as a squire.”
“You were a squire? How come you never became a knight?” Clark interrupted.
“I was never able to form a clan,” Philip replied, “Everyone my age, slightly older or younger, had gone to the battle in Pillotrim. Although it all turned out to be a false alarm, clans were formed quickly. I unskilled in sword, undesirable for combat, and therefore was left behind. I have never been able to form a bond worth swearing life and fealty over. So, I gave up my dream and resigned to politics. It better suits my intellect, don’t you think?”
Clark nodded in agreement. He had never thought of the inability to form the brothers’ clan as an obstacle that could keep someone from achieving knighthood. His father had done it, so he just assumed it was easy.
“Sorry to bring that back up, what about my father?”
“Well, as you know members of your own clan cannot name you for King. It must be a knight outside who puts you up. You cannot ask for it either, for that you will be removed of all titles and futures. After the calling, it must be seconded by every member of your clan. For your father, that was easy. He had already achieved great feats in battle, and even his enemies spoke of his honor and integrity on and off the battlefield.
“I have never seen such a hearing within the Knightship. Three knights came forward to nominate him, and when he received the summons, he almost refused to go. He truly did not want to be King. Well, knowing that refusal was one of the most disrespectful things imaginable, he went. Four of the five Kings of Dyrmea were present, as well as the entirety of the Redding Knightship. They didn’t even complete a confirmation, for his nomination was met unanimously: the only one in history of the Redding Kings. It was, by far, the most authentic event in my life. Every man on his feet, applauding your father: the first Great King of Redding. And then, without direction, they all kneeled to swear their fealty to his Kingship.
“Your father, Clark, inspired the Halls of Victory to be filled with honor and cheer again. He considered all the Knights to be his brothers and they knew he would die for any of them. Songs were written in his honor. ‘For Edward, our King, now and tomorrow!’ Well, that all ended rather abruptly. To your pain, he isn’t with us anymore.”
Clark looked at Phillip and realized he had started tearing up, silently stared into the coals of the fire. He picked up a hotcloth and reached into the fire to grab the pot that held their coffee and began pouring it into two mugs. As he gave it Philip his mug, he looked at him and understood that Philip had more character than a politician: Philip was telling the truth about his father. So why did someone try to kill him? And why were his last words to Clark advice to be a better King than him? In what way did he fail? It was all a mystery to Clark, and the more he learned about his family’s history, the more questions seemed to arise.
“Philip, I think I know what we need to do,” Clark said resolutely. “We need to fulfill my father’s dying wish, the King’s dying wish. We need to seek justice and I need to be a better King than he. My father was good because he realized King was more than a title and position. For him it was a lifestyle, a mission he sought to carry out daily.”
Clark paused and looked up at Philip to catch his gaze. He didn’t want to be passive about what he was about to ask of Philip.
“I want to become a Knight, with the reputation my father had. I can’t do that without forming a clan. Philip, if you ask me, I will swear life and fealty to you to start our clan. Can I ask the same of you? Will you join me in pursuit of honor, courage, and loyalty?”
Philip stared back awkwardly. “You want me to become a Knight with you?”
“Yes. You are a far better man than a politician. What you lack in combat, you make up in dignity. Philip, I swear to you now, with nothing but the undying oaks of this wood as witness, to join you as a brother, to give my life to you, and feast with you in the ages to come under the banners of our Lords.”
“Yes. Yes.” Philip and Clark stood up together. “Clark of the Redding Kingdom, my brother in arms, I swear my undying allegiance to you as you have to me. Together, we join the pursuit of honor, courage, and loyalty.”
Clark nodded in satisfaction. He could tell that Philip meant it, and it was Philip’s greatest desires: the dream of becoming a Knight. “Yes, my brother.”