Aid

OF GODS AND MEN

Chapter 3: The Gift at the Good Shepherd

             The Good Shepherd was a humble tavern.  Bare wooden tables, with benches and stools, lined one half-side of the place while the other half-side was consumed with a bar.  It ran from the back-end of the building almost entirely to the front, but stopped just short of the entrance to the tavern.  Opposite the entrance, at the very back of the tavern, was a modest fireplace.    

It was always striking to Tarsus, this fireplace.  The woodwork adorning it was simple, but done with a measure of skill.  Atop the hearth, at either end, were columns carved in the shape of sheep.  They stood on hind legs, supporting a bench shaped like a wide shepherd’s staff that curved at one end.  Above the bench was carved the shoulders and head of a shepherd.  He was looking down on the sheep with a smile.  

It was only natural the fireplace looked that way.  Briarden was a way station for shepherds traveling along the northern continent of Arden.  With so many comings and goings, the village itself had an heir of impermanence to it.  Very few folk actually settled in Briarden, and those that did had no need of anything elaborate.  It was a village that people came to with every intention of leaving one day; it just so happened that for some, that day was later rather than sooner.  

As such, the Good Shepherd looked very much like any cottage or barn or storefront in Briarden in that it looked precisely like what it was meant to be.  It was a tavern, not good for much more than a warm bed and a tall pint.

Tarsus sat with Finnian at a table in the far back.  It was their favorite table; an out of the way place for them to drink and laugh without feeling as though they were shoved together with folk they did not know.  Though, they needn’t have worried about that tonight.  Tonight, the drinking room of the Good Shepherd was sparsely peopled.  So sparse, in fact, that the laughter of Tarsus and Finnian rang throughout the drinking room, to the annoyance of the few other patrons sitting alone with their faces in their tankards.

The door to the tavern swung open.  All save for Tarsus and Finnian turned to see a white knight enter.  They were stunned.  This man wore the white armor of the knights of Malthus: of the KingsGuard.  At each of his shoulders, holding up his majestic white cloak were the seals of the GodKing.  Both were the same: a cone, narrow at the top and widening as it reached the bottom.  It was embedded perfectly atop a golden disk, and encircled by a raised rim of gold so that the cone showed no beginning and no ending.  This was the Sunstroke of Malthus, and his knights represented these rays.  For while Malthus had been a sun eclipsed from the world for a thousand years, ever his light still shone on the people by way of his knights.  Ever would they expose the darkness in the kingdom of Malthanon. 

Everyone knew what the Sunstroke meant, but none here had ever seen one before.  Indeed, no one from Briarden had ever seen a knight of the KingsGuard, save for Tarsus and Finnian.  The GodKing’s city was not a far trek; perhaps a few hours away by horse.  But what purpose could such great knights have in so simple a place as the Good Shepherd?

The knight approached the bar.  He took off his great helm and looked down on the only barmaid serving ale.  She was young and plain, but he knew her.  He offered her an old smile; one he had not used since last he’d been home.

“In my dreams, I had never thought to see you here Madeline,” he said to her.

“Pardon milord,” Madeline replied in a shaking voice.  She lowered her gaze, choosing to focus on the bar.  “What can I get ya?”

“Surely I do not look so different?”

“No,” Madeline agreed quickly without looking up.  “I know your face.”

Drake turned to see his two friends.  They were sitting at their favorite table, drinking and laughing, still oblivious to the fact that he had entered.  

“Two ales, if you please,” he said turning back to her.  “I’ll be at that table of fools in the back.”

He put a gold coin to the bar and slid it across to her, placing it just beneath where she had kept her focus.

“For your trouble,” Drake said as he turned and walked to the table.

Finnian was in the middle of regaling Tarsus with a saucy tale of his prowess when an armored hand came down on his shoulder. 

“His highness has graced us at last,” Finnian said as he stood and fell into Drake with a full-bodied hug.

“Sit Finnian,” Drake pushed the younger man up onto his feet.  “How can you be drunk already?  It has only been an hour and a half since last I saw you.”

“You have answered your own question,” Finnian replied with a wide smile.  “No need to worry though.  I’m not drunk, but when I am I will tell you.  I promise.”

Finnian stumbled back down onto the bench across from Tarsus.  Drake set his helm onto the table and sat next to the smaller man. 

Tarsus had to smile at this sight: a knight and a warm-hearted braggart.  These were his friends.  How lucky he was, to have such wonderful friends.  

        He caught himself suddenly.  The ale had done its work.  Very good.  That meant he needed more.  

        Behind the unlikely pair, Tarsus could see the bar in the distance.  He waved and saw Madeline nod and begin to make her way over.  Remembering Finnian’s tale, Tarsus had what he thought to be a very funny idea.   

“Finnian!” Tarsus bellowed, likely louder than he had meant.  “Are you happy?” 

“Very happy,” Finnian said, putting a hand on Drake’s shoulder.  “I have my two best friends here.  Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Good!  A question, if you please,” Tarsus clapped his hands together.  

“Tarsus.  Don’t,” Drake warned sternly.

“No no no no…Drake.  It will be fine.  Look at me.  Drake, look at me.  Are you looking at me?” Tarsus asked leaning forward to show how serious he was.

“Obviously I am,” Drake replied dryly as he gave Tarsus a level gaze that the larger man could not, in any way, reciprocate.

“This will be funny,” Tarsus said without the trace of a smile.  “Finnian…”

“What?” Finnian said, snapping to attention.

“Won’t this be funny?” Tarsus asked.

“Of course it will,” Finnian said without hesitation.

“Tell Drake.”

“It will be funny Drake.”

“Good,” Tarsus said and then paused.  It seemed his eyes were stuck in thought, looking up above somewhere, at something over both Drake and Finnian’s heads.  After a moment, he returned.  “Tell truly, what do you think of Madeline?”

“Don’t answer,” Drake ordered Finnian.

“You’re not my father,” Finnian replied defiantly.  “My father’s dead.  Why must you bring up such painful memories Drake?  What was the question?”

“Madeline,” Tarsus reminded.

        “Right.  Yes,” Finnian sat in thought a moment, stroking his chin whiskers as though he had a full beard.  “Madeline’s…plump.  Too plump for me.  I like smaller women…with fuller hair.  I think she’s losing hers.”

“Your ales milord,” a small female voice said.

Finnian whipped around, almost falling off the bench.  Drake turned more slowly, soberly.  There, standing above Drake and Finnian holding two pints of ale, was Madeline.  Her eyes were moist, but her face was steady.  

Drake took the pints from her.  “Thank you, my lady.”

“Madeline, I’m sorry,” Finnian said, standing quickly and hopping over the bench that separated himself and the barmaid.  “I was tricked.”

“You were bein honest. S’ok,” Madeline said without looking at him.

Tarsus laughed again.

“It’s not funny,” Finnian shot back, like a child who’d lost at a game.

“No, it is not,” Drake said finally.  He gently placed the pints on the table and slid off of the bench.  He stood next to Madeline now, a shining light in this den of debauchery.  “Tarsus Cole, you have wronged this woman.  Apologize to her.”

“Drake, this was all in jest…” Tarsus began.

“I said…” Drake interrupted loudly, looking only at Madeline.  “Apologize!”

“I am not a child,” Tarsus replied, his face sobering at the reprimand.

“No,” Drake agreed as he turned to look down at Tarsus.  “You are a grown man.”

Once again Tarsus had that feeling in the pit of his stomach; the same one he had in the Wandering Wood earlier that day.  His friend Drake was there, looking down on him…judging him.  He felt his cheeks begin to redden, and he felt ashamed.

“I am sorry my lady,” Tarsus obeyed, holding Madeline’s gaze only for a moment before he had to look away.  “I promise you, I did not mean to be cruel.”

Madeline nodded her acceptance of both apologies.  She turned to look up at the knight standing next to her.  Red returned to her cheeks and her eyes widened worshipfully.  She got onto her toes and offered Drake a small kiss on his cheek.

Drake took Madeline’s hand, bent low and kissed the top of it.

Madeline blushed even more at this.  She tried to repress a smile, but signs of it were exploding on her face.  She took her hand back, gave an awkward curtsey and turned running back to the bar.

Drake turned back to Tarsus with a stern, fatherly expression.  As Finnian took back his seat, Drake picked up the two pints he had purchased and put one each in front of his friends.

“This is my final gift to you,” he said.

Drake picked up his helm from the table then, and strode for the door of the Good Shepherd.

Both Tarsus and Finnian rushed after him.

“Wait!” Tarsus called.

Drake stopped.  He did not turn back to them, but stood facing the door.

“Turn around,” Finnian said.

“I will not,” Drake answered.

“What has happened to you?” Tarsus asked.

        Drake did not answer.  For a few moments, there was nothing but silence.   

“Why are you acting like a fool?” Finnian finished the thought Tarsus began.  “You’ve always been serious, even as children.  Ordered us around all the time.  I remember once running so fast in the forest that I tripped over a branch and flew into a tree.  I was bleeding.   You found me.  I can’t remember what we were playing, but you stopped the game.  Pulled all the children together and started commanding them.  One went to find the apothecary, one went back to bring my mum, another to bring some water.  But you stayed with me: told me you’d watch over me until help came.”

“And do you remember when I first came to Briarden?” Tarsus went on.  “I was different.  Bigger than most.  No one wanted to talk to me because they thought I would eat them.  I felt ashamed.  But you talked to me.  More than that, you taught me how I could use what made me different to make me better.”

“A waste of time, it would seem,” Drake said evenly.  “There is no point in continuing this conversation. Ever.  I am leaving Briarden tonight and I am never coming back.  We will not see each other again.  Those ales were meant to be my goobye,” Drake said.

“Never?” Tarsus asked incredulous.  “But…we’re friends.”
“I have no friends here,” Drake replied, calm and calculated.  “You have always misunderstood the way I see things.  I have dreamed of becoming a knight from the first day I knew they existed.  But I knew that to become one, it would take more than skill in battle.  Knights live by honor, courtesy, humility; so I trained as much in those things as with swords and axes.  What you took for friendship…was only practice.”

Neither Tarsus nor Finnian had anything to say.  No one had anything to say.  The tavern had grown silent, and what few eyes were in the place were on these three men.

“You suit each other as friends,” Drake continued.  “Because you are both the same: dreamers.  You talk and you joke and you laugh and you drink.  You work hard every now and again.  Tarsus, you are skilled with a broad sword.  Finnian, your agility and foot speed always surprise me.  But you have not pushed your gifts any further than their natural limits.  I have.  That is why I am where I am, and you are where you are.”

“Where is that?” Tarsus pressed.

“Beneath me,” Drake answered quickly.  “Let me give you this piece of advice.  To do is to be, and every moment of every day allows you to be what you do.  If I am noble it is because I choose to act nobly.  If I am chivalrous it is because I choose to act chivalrously.  Doing is all that matters; and greatness will only come to those who strive for it.  It cannot be inherited, and it cannot be conjured with words or…dreams.  Today, I am Sir Drake Mathix of the KingsGuard; knight of the GodKing Malthus.  I will serve, and I will be, and I will do…and when I die my name will live on in song.  Goodbye.”

Drake walked on, pushing the door open and disappearing into the darkness without.  

“Twenty seven summers I’ve been alive,” Finnian said out loud.  “I have never wanted to hit something so much as right now.”

Tarsus didn't say anything.  He fixed on the door, as though a shade of Drake was still standing there; confronting him with the shadows of himself that were, and that might have been.  The knight’s words echoed over and again in his mind, and he knew they were right.  He knew Drake was right.  

Finnian was the first to turn back and walk to the table.  He sat down heavily on his bench.  Tarsus followed soon after, sitting across from his only friend.

The two did not even look at each other.  Absently, each of them lifted their tankard at the same time.  They did not bother to toast.  Instead, they both simply took a sip.

As one, they each threw their heads back a bit in surprise.  They put their tankards down and looked at one another.

“ How is it?” Finnian asked.

“Bitter,” Tarsus replied.

“Yes it is,” Finnian said, breaking into a wide smile.

Tarsus could not help but give a small laugh.

          Then they each picked up their tankards, and drank again.