A little touch of heavenly light.
But all the choirs in my head said no."
"You should wear armor."
Said Amelina as she ran her petite hand along the chestplate. "It suits a man of your worth..." She whispered while observing every fine detail of the silver. "A body as beautiful and strong as yours, my love... deserves nothing less than armor." Her emerald eyes searched for his hazel ones, coming eye to eye. At her words, she reached to peck her lips upon the center of the chestplate, kissing his armor. Rodrigo brought a hand upon the back of her head, fingers caressing through the wavy locks of blonde as he put her forehead against his chestplate, holding her.
But how did it come to this? He couldn't help but ask himself. Rodrigo enjoyed sitting away from Regalia and observe the quiet of the night in the outskirts of the city. In fact, that was what he had been doing for the past couple of weeks, and to him, it seemed that a couple more couldn't hurt until he returned to politics. And who could judge him for his decision? To be away from the venom of the peerage was something that likely every noble desired in their minds, he thought. I'm not meant for that, he said to himself. But I have to be. During his venture into the woods, Rodrigo came upon a rather large tree, however it was divided from the rest of the forest, sitting by itself, alone, in the center of the field of green. He couldn't help but relate himself to this tree. Rodrigo thought he could turn it into home. It wasn't much work. Some torches littered around, a carpet laid by it. He hunted for some rabbits, perhaps a boar, maybe a lucky fox. He knew how to hunt, fortunately, and therefore it was easy to make food out of animals. My own vacation, he thought. This gave him the chance to contemplate upon his life, an the decisions that brought him where he is, with the company of none but his own.
A green cape, flowing wildly against the threatening gusts of wind, never daring to seperate from it's wearer. A Knight draped in silver, valiant and honorable, gripping the hilt of a blade with the strength of courage and willpower, fighting against all odds regardless of all the wrong that surrounds him. That was the image Rodrigo fantasized about when he was young. I want to be a Knight, and I want to make a name for myself. I want everyone to know me as the honorable Viridian Knight who saved many lives and paved his path in golds and riches. But that's not who he got to be. Instead of being the Honorable Knight, he became the Cleric in Cloth. It was not what he desired, not at all. But loyalty for family can sometimes drag you far away from yourself. Sometimes it's not all to good to be too loyal to your family, for it may bring you selflessness.
Selflessness was something Rodrigo thought of during his tenure as a Reverend. It was his self-diagnosed disorder. To want to be something, but to be something else, and to lose grip of yourself and your own being in the prospect of it. Why did he have to be the face of Unionism on earth? Was it truly necessary for him to work all the way up to becoming the High Reverend of the Holy Synod? If it was not, then why did he do it? Questions plagued his mind. Somewhere along the road, his path was divided in two.
And from then on, Rodrigo walked two different paths in life. He was the divided, he was the Knight and he was the Cleric. He was the Viridian, and he was the High Reverend. He was Rodrigo, and he was Godeffroy.
He broke down, hands balling into fists, teeth gritting. Tears came from him, all strength of man vanishing from him as he began punching and clawing the dirt in fury and angst. This is not who I want to be, he screamed into his mind. I was meant to soil myself in the armor of a Knight, not the robes of a Reverend.
But in the end, he got what he wanted. No matter how much he complained like a brat who got the wrong toy, no matter how many times he shed tears and lashed out in fury in his immature mind, no matter how many times he blamed fate for his divide and ignored to realize his own mistakes in the ploy, he still got what he wanted in the end. Manfried II allowed him to remove himself from the cloth. A permission that allowed him to put the two pieces of himself back together. First he unbuttoned the purple robes, and allowed them to drape down his shoulders to the floor, puddling by his feet. Then he removed the Unionist chain from his neck, and allowed it to drop against the robes.
He traveled across the room and opened a cabinet, a chest made of glass in which was stored an old, dusted set of armour, covered by a cape of green. Rodrigo fumbled with the keylock of the chest and then brought it open, facing the armor with a look of longing in his eyes. He began putting the plates on, rushing the process to the point his muscles strained, trying so hard to lock every lace and do every belt as he furiously donned himself in the armor. But the trouble was tying the chestplate. Suddenly, a hand came to his aid. The petite, loving hands of his wife. She stood behind him and tightened his chestplate. He turned, looking down to her, the beautiful Amelina. She smiled to him, running her hand along his chestplate caressingly.
"You should wear armor. It suits a man of your worth... A body as beautiful and strong as yours, my love... deserves nothing less than armor."
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