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Simply put, this is the first of my deep-dives into the background of Rhenauld. Read if you want, rate if you like, I just ask you enjoy.
The armored man huffed a sigh as he followed the riverbed. Pausing in his stride, Rhenauld tilted his head back, turning his tired gaze upwards towards the waning sun. "Maudits bandits," the Villiers snapped out, grumbling some choice words under his breath while he walked. The locals of the village had told the Knights that the bandits had floated their stolen cargo down the river, and Rhenauld being the newest graduate from the Cloister, he was the one delegated to trudging through the muddy bank. Doing his best to avoid slipping on the slick rocks and taking an unwanted dip in the brisk waters, the Knight began to let his mind wander. Reaching up to pull his helmet free, the Knight cursed under his breath as his golden locks got caught in one of the many buckles of his armor, shaking it loose with a grumble. His mentor's voice rang clearly in his head, "Why do you insist on wearing your hair that long?" Thodoris chastised to the young man in the same manner he had done so many times. As Rhenauld opened his mouth, the older Knight already knew the answer before it was even said.
"A great battle is a terrible thing," the old knight said, "but in the midst of blood and carnage, there is sometimes also beauty, beauty that could break your heart."
-George R.R. Martin, 'A Song Of Ice And Fire'
"It's an Ithanian thing, old man. You wouldn't get it."
The teenager quipped through clenched teeth, staring in the mirror as a flowing purple ribbon hung loosely out of his mouth. Gathering bundles of blonde curls within his hands, Rhenauld began to tie his hair back, only paying the exasperated look of his mentor a quick side-glance through the mirror. Thodoris scoffed, dropping a folded tunic on the bed within the shared room of the Inn. "An 'Ithanian' thing? Since when did your heritage become part of your Knightly duties?" The question hung in the air as Rhenauld simply rolled his eyes, the telltale sign that he didn't have a comeback half as strong as the jab he had just received. Cinching his hair back, he turned around, tucking his fingers into his belt. Handsome features split into a charming smile, that only slightly wavered beneath the Etosian's glare. "Listen. I'm only going out for a drink, stretch my legs, that's it. Promise." Holding a hand up open palmed, Rhenauld quickly followed it up with a, "Knight's honor." Thodoris's gaze bore into the young man's eyes, and only when Rhenauld flinched, did the Etosian crack. "..fine. Just one drink. We have to make our way to the Embassy tomorrow, and you will not make me late." Rhenauld nodded quickly amidst the verbal barrage, backing towards the door at the same time. "Yep, got it, thanks Thodo!" The young man yelled that last bit, shutting the door before his mentor could get onto him for the shortening of his name.
"As a squire, your first duty is to your knight's armor. Your knight's armor is more important than your own life. If you damage or mislay a single piece of your knight's armor, I will personally damage or mislay a piece of you. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart."
-Catherine Jinks, 'Pagan's Crusade'
Rhenauld sat up with a start, coughing and hacking the water from his lungs. Thodoris stood above the drenched man, holding a now empty bucket that had, presumably, just been dumped over the man on the floor. "You're late." The Etosian said simply tossing the bucket to the side. As Rhenauld gathered his bearings, he realized quickly that it was still pitch black outside, and he could see the stars twinkling through the water still in his eyes. "..it's still night out!" The young man protested. As he tried to sit up, wincing as he realized he was on the bar floor; he was then thrown back to the floor, a pained wheeze escaping his mouth as the sack of armor that had just landed on his gut forced the air from his lungs. "Right. ..and you haven't cleaned the armor yet." Thodoris replied simply. Pulling a stool up, the older knight sat down, kicking his booted feet up onto a table. "Why can't you ever help?" Rhenauld grumbled, shoving the sack to the side, holding his hands to his now bruised stomach. Thodoris merely held up a text, pointing at a line in fine print. Rhenauld squinted as he leaned forth to inspect the text, only for a groan to escape him as he recognized it immediately as the explanation of the social structure of Ithania. Thodoris, then, said one simple line, which only served to make Rhenauld's head fall back against the wooden floor.
"It's an Ithanian thing."
″'Well, this was a brave youth,' said Pellinore, 'and if he lives, will be a mighty knight.'"
-Roger Lancelyn Green, 'King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table'
Rhenauld found himself smiling as the memory faded, pausing in his walk down the riverbed. A second pair of footsteps behind him caused him to tilt his head around, a youthful smile growing upon his face as he eyed the newcomer. As the cheerful expression was met with a confused stare, he began to chuckle, then broke into a full-bellied laugh. The sound echoed off the riverbed, accompanied by the rushing water of the rapids, and the clanking of the knight's scabbard against his armor. "What's got you laughing in this muddy hellhole?" The aging Etosian asked, crossing his arms as he studied his giggling squire.
"You wouldn't get it." Rhenauld replied, bringing a hand up to wipe a tear from his eyes.
"Why's that?" Thodoris asked with a huff, perking an eyebrow.
"It's an Ithanian thing."
"His worthy steed he then bestrode, and forth upon his way he glode. Like sparkles from a flame, and his crest he bore a tower, and stuck thereon a lily-flower, God guard him from all shame!"
-Geoffrey Chaucer, 'The Canterbury Tales'
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