"Ser Don!"
The boy burst across the clearing, his boots kicking up dew-damp grass as he ran straight toward the old knight standing near them. Thunder lifted his head at the sudden movement, ears flicking forward in mild curiosity, but the stallion did not move from where he stood. Instead, he watched the scene calmly, tail swishing once as he continued to graze.
Soap reached the man a moment later and threw his arms around him in an eager hug.
The old knight staggered back half a step from the sudden impact, clearly caught off guard by the boy's enthusiasm. For a brief moment he looked almost startled—then a booming laugh burst from his chest, rich and warm, echoing through the quiet forest clearing.
"Well now!" Ser Don laughed as he steadied himself, one arm instinctively wrapping around the boy's shoulders. "Would you look at that! You're shorter and balder than I last remembered!"
He clapped Soap lightly on the back as his laughter faded into a broad grin.
"How have you been, my boy?" Ser Don asked.
Soap stepped back, though he still held onto the old knight's arm as if making sure he was really there. His face was bright with relief and excitement at seeing a familiar figure again.
"I'm fine, ser," he replied quickly.
Ser Don hummed thoughtfully, the sound low in his throat as his single visible eye studied the boy's face for a moment, as though quietly judging whether that answer was entirely truthful.
"And what of Dym?" he asked next. "Did he cause any trouble?"
Soap hesitated—only for a moment.
His expression shifted slightly as he considered how best to answer.
"Well… Ser Dymitr is… fine," the boy said carefully. "But he did almost cause some… problems in the castle. It had been handled peacefully though."
Ser Don's eyebrow lifted beneath the edge of his eyepatch, though the genial smile remained.
Soap suddenly seemed to remember something else.
"By the way, what are you doing here, ser?" he asked, blinking in surprise as he glanced around the clearing again. "Wait—where have you been, ser?"
Ser Don shrugged casually, as though the answer were the simplest thing in the world.
"I was sleeping nearby," he said. "Then I heard some yelling and cheering that woke me up from my deep slumber."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the open clearing where Thunder still stood, lazily swishing his tail while inspecting a patch of grass.
"And as for where I've been for the past week…" Ser Don continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I've been… busy. Business."
He leaned slightly closer as he added in a quieter tone.
"I can't tell you much. It's… Leithanien business. I've only just returned here recently."
Straightening again, Ser Don glanced around the clearing until his eye settled on a fallen wooden log lying near the bushes. With an easy motion he gestured toward it.
"Come," he said. "Let's sit."
The two of them walked over and settled down on the rough log, the wood still cool from the morning dew. Thunder wandered a few steps closer as well, as if curious about the reunion, his large shadow stretching across the grass beneath the steadily brightening sunlight.
Ser Don rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at Soap with open curiosity.
"So," he asked, "what did I miss?"
He waved one hand dismissively.
"Apart from the grand opening that Fremont described as…" he paused, then suddenly straightened his posture and stiffened his voice in an exaggerated imitation, "'dour and boring.'"
Soap blinked in surprise at the sudden impression.
Ser Don snorted loudly.
"Pah. Dour and boring, my glorious behind," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Everything that's not about ancient knowledge or scholarly nonsense is dour and boring to that old coot. I'd wager my last eye he wasn't even paying attention there."
Then his eye narrowed slightly with curiosity.
"And the castle?" he asked. "What castle? What did Dym have to do there?"
As he spoke, Ser Don reached out and casually patted Thunder's head when the stallion wandered close enough. The horse snorted softly but accepted the touch without complaint.
Soap took a small breath before beginning his explanation.
"The grand opening was amazing," he said eagerly, his hands already beginning to gesture as he spoke. "Knights of the seven nations showed their mettle against Kazimierz's finest."
His eyes brightened as the memory returned.
"One of them even threw the spectators the fallen opponent's gold ornaments," Soap continued. "One of them landed near Ser Dymitr. We kept it."
Ser Don gave an amused grunt at that.
Soap continued.
"And the champion was a young Kazimierzan knight from House Nearl—Ser Oskar Nearl. He crowned his wife as the queen of love and beauty."
The boy paused briefly before continuing with a slightly more uncertain tone.
"And well… about the castle thing…"
He shifted slightly on the log.
"On the first day we arrived, Ser Dym tried to sign up for the lists," Soap explained. "But his knighthood wasn't acknowledged by the master of the games."
Ser Don hummed thoughtfully.
"So for the past week," Soap went on, "we've been asking nobles and knights—both those he knew and those he didn't—from his days squiring under Ser Arlan to vouch for his knighthood using Ser Arlan's name."
Ser Don hummed again.
"And none of them were willing?"
Soap nodded.
"Yes, ser."
He drew a breath before continuing.
"That is, until recently when Ser Dym had the brilliant idea of going to the castle and arguing for his knighthood directly in front of the Nearls, the Prince of Victoria, and the lord of Rudnicka Vale."
Ser Don blinked.
Soap quickly added,
"Which he did not explain to me beforehand…"
Then his face brightened again.
"But fortunately, it ended well! He got his knighthood vouched for, and now he can enter the lists!"
Ser Don leaned back slightly on the log, absorbing the story with a thoughtful expression.
"Ah," he murmured.
Then he tilted his head.
"And if I'm not mistaken," he said slowly, "Fremont also told me the two of you visited him yesterday, yes?"
Soap nodded eagerly.
"Aye, ser! We met Fremont too!"
The memory seemed to excite him again as he spoke, his hands moving animatedly as he described what happened.
"Well," Soap began, "after Ser Dym was vouched for by Ser Mlynar Nearl, witnessed by everyone in the room, he told Ser Dym to also request another letter of acknowledgment from Lord Fremont since Ser Dym had mentioned his name earlier."
Ser Don listened quietly, one hand resting loosely on his knee while the other absently scratched Thunder's neck. The stallion leaned into the touch with a satisfied snort.
"So after we watched a puppet show, we tried to find him," Soap said. "Luckily we found him quickly, because Ser Dym remembered a Leithanien tent near Ser Wladyslaw Kamiennego's pavilion."
Ser Don's eye narrowed slightly at the name, though he said nothing yet.
"So we went there," Soap continued, "and by pure luck we ran into Fremont."
The boy's voice still carried a hint of surprise.
"He invited us inside, mentioned you a little, and gave Ser Dym his letter."
Then Soap suddenly brightened again.
"Oh! And he also offered to sponsor Ser Dym—coins, armour, horses, everything—and said we could serve him as well!"
Ser Don's brow rose slightly.
"He did?"
Soap nodded quickly.
Ser Don leaned back on the log, folding his arms thoughtfully.
"I don't recall asking him to do that…" he muttered.
Then he shrugged.
"Oh well."
His eye returned to the boy.
"So," Ser Don asked, "did Dym take the offer?"
Soap shook his head.
"No, ser."
Ser Don tilted his head slightly, waiting.
"Ser Dym didn't reject it outright," Soap explained carefully. "But he said he wants to make his own story first before deciding to serve anyone, since he's still a new knight with… questionable origins."
Soap glanced briefly toward Thunder.
"So he wants to build his fame first in this tournament."
Ser Don hummed thoughtfully.
"But…" Soap added, scratching the back of his head.
"We didn't have much time with Fremont. He suddenly had business and said he'd be busy for days ahead. So we were escorted out."
Ser Don nodded slowly.
"Well," he said after a moment, "at least you managed to meet him."
He patted Thunder's forehead again.
"The old coot may be rude," he added with a faint smirk, "but there's a good man buried somewhere beneath that unbearable attitude."
He glanced at Soap again.
"And from the sound of it," Ser Don said, "you were lucky to catch him in a good mood."
The two remained seated on the fallen log for quite some time after that, the quiet clearing settling comfortably around them again. The sun had climbed higher, spilling warm light across the grass where Thunder lazily grazed near the bushes. Every so often the stallion flicked his tail or snorted softly, but otherwise he seemed perfectly content to leave the conversation to the two humans.
Ser Don listened with patient interest as Soap continued recounting the events of the past week. The boy spoke more easily now, the excitement of their reunion gradually giving way to relaxed storytelling as he described everything that had happened since arriving in Rudnicka Vale.
He spoke about the crowds filling the town, the knights arriving from distant nations with their banners and entourages, and the noise and spectacle growing larger with each passing day as the tournament approached. Markets had sprung up outside the city walls almost overnight, and the streets had become a constant stream of armor, horses, merchants, and colorful heraldry.
Ser Don occasionally nodded when certain noble houses were mentioned, clearly recognizing some of the names.
Then Soap scratched his cheek thoughtfully.
"And… well," he said, glancing aside, "Ser Dym has also been… talking to someone."
Ser Don's eyebrow slowly crept upward.
"Oh?"
Soap shifted on the log.
"An Elafian girl."
That made Ser Don lean back slightly with sudden interest.
"Is that so?"
Soap nodded.
"Remember when I said we went to a puppet show?"
Ser Don hummed.
Soap leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"We've been going to the same puppet show for a week now… after looking for knights and lords to vouch for Ser Dym."
Ser Don stared at him for a moment.
Then a slow grin spread across the old knight's face.
"Oh ho."
His eye narrowed with playful suspicion.
"So tell me," Ser Don said, folding his arms, "did Dym actually speak to her…"
He tilted his head.
"…or did he spend the entire week staring from afar?"
Soap rolled his eyes.
"They did talk before we met Fremont."
Ser Don waited.
"But only to ask her to paint Ser Dym's shield."
Ser Don chuckled.
"And how did that go?"
Soap winced.
"…Ser Dym was very awkward with Avelyn."
Ser Don blinked.
"Avelyn, eh."
Soap nodded.
"She used to be Fremont's student in Leithanien," he added. "But she dropped out because of economic and political problems."
Ser Don leaned forward slightly.
"Well I'll be damned," he muttered.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before his grin returned.
"Well," Ser Don said, "in moments like that, you should always be ready to be a good wingman for your master if he freezes in front of pretty women."
Soap immediately made a disgusted face and gagged dramatically.
Ser Don burst out laughing.
The sound echoed across the clearing before fading back into the quiet rustle of wind through the trees.
But after a moment, Soap's expression changed again.
"Well… there's also another problem."
Ser Don noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
Soap stared down at the grass.
"It turns out Ser Dym can't use any of Ser Arlan's old devices anymore."
Ser Don frowned.
"He has to make his own," Soap continued. "And his own sigil too… since he isn't part of Ser Arlan's family."
Ser Don's eye widened slightly.
"So he has to start from zero..."
Soap nodded slowly. "Yes, ser."
Ser Don leaned back thoughtfully.
"Well," he said, "that meas you both have decided to use my present to pay for all of that, aye?"
Soap didn't answer.
The clearing grew quiet again.
"Well?" Ser Don pressed gently.
Soap remained silent.
The wind moved softly through the clearing again.
Noticing the boy's silence stretching longer than it should have, Ser Don shifted slightly in his seat and pressed the matter a little further, though his tone remained patient rather than accusatory.
"Soap," the old knight prompted gently. "If the money I gave you two went toward armor, then so be it. At least that would still cover you for a few months more. His protection comes before pride in a tourney like this."
Soap's ears twitched faintly at that, but he did not look up.
"It doesn't, ser."
The quiet correction slipped out of him before he seemed to realize he had spoken. Ser Don blinked, the response clearly not what he had expected.
"It doesn't?" he repeated, confused.
Soap shook his head slowly, still staring at the ground between Thunder's hooves.
"Ser Dym did managed to find a blacksmith willing to make his armor," he explained, his voice subdued. "And the smith even agreed to take Ser Arlan's old armor as part of the trade…"
He hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"But the armor still costs six hundred, ser."
Ser Don stared at him.
"That seems to be… more than I gave you."
Soap nodded faintly.
"Around three times more, ser."
The old knight blinked once, clearly trying to process that number. His mouth opened as though he were about to say something, but the words never came. Instead, he closed it again and lifted a hand to his face, pressing his palm over his brow before slowly dragging it downward across his beard.
Then he sighed.
"Of course…"
He leaned back slightly in his saddle, glancing toward the distant city walls visible through the trees.
"This is a grand, international tourney," he muttered. "Every merchant within a hundred leagues of the town will be raising their prices. Armorers, innkeepers, stablemasters… everyone is smelling the sweet-sweet coins in the air."
Soap simply nodded, letting out a small, tired hum of agreement.
Ser Don studied the boy quietly for a moment before another thought seemed to click into place.
"No wonder Fremont wishes to take you and Dym in," the old knight said slowly. "He must have known this from the beginning."
There was a short pause between them, the weight of that realization hanging in the air.
Then Ser Don tilted his head slightly.
"Then how did you two pay for the armor?"
The question was simple enough.
But Soap did not answer.
The clearing fell silent again, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the soft sound of Thunder shifting his weight in the grass. The boy's shoulders had gone very still, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground.
The wind drifted through the clearing again, brushing across the grass and stirring Soap's hair.
When he finally spoke, his voice trembled.
His dirty-blonde ears slowly folded down against his head, and his tail, which had been loosely swaying before, fell limp behind him.
"He… he…"
His words caught.
Soap sniffed softly, trying to steady himself.
"He sold…"
Another shaky breath escaped him.
"He sold Swift."
Ser Don's expression softened immediately.
The old knight leaned to the boy's side and reached out, placing his hand gently on Soap's shoulders to steady the boy as his composure began to crumble.
"Oh, tut tut," Don murmured gently. "That's alright. It's alright. I know how it is..."
But Soap shook his head quickly, tears already beginning to gather in the corners of his eyes.
"He sold Swift, ser," the boy choked out. "He sold one of his old master's horses… without discussing it with me first."
Ser Don's hands shifted, rubbing the boy's arms slowly in a calming gesture.
"I know," he said quietly. "I know."
Soap wiped roughly at his eyes with his sleeve, but the tears came anyway.
"But it's not his fault, ser," he insisted quickly, almost desperately. "He—we didn't have any other choice."
His voice trembled harder now.
"We can't go looking for Fremont whenever we want because he's suddenly busy that day, and we don't even know when he would be available. The tourney has already started, and everything needed to be ready now."
Soap sniffed again.
"A-And even if we accepted Fremont's offer," he added weakly, "we still wouldn't be able to repay that kind of debt even if we won."
Ser Don hummed thoughtfully. "That is… if Dym wins a tilt."
Soap nodded weakly in his grasp, his shoulders shaking again.
For a moment he tried to steady his breathing.
But the frustration boiling inside him finally spilled over.
"This isn't fair…" he muttered hoarsely.
His fingers clenched into the fabric of Ser Don's coat.
"Ser Dym is a knight of the realm!" Soap burst out, his voice cracking with anger and grief. "Why is he being treated like this by everyone?"
His ears flattened tightly against his head.
"The highborns are the same as the commonfolk," he continued bitterly. "They all try to cheat him, or squeeze coin out of him, or pile these ridiculous pressures on him and every other knight like him."
He shook his head, tears streaking down his face.
"They keep saying this is the greatest knightly realm in all of Terra, that this country was built on chivalry and honor."
His voice trembled harder.
"But none of this would be happening if things were actually fair."
Soap lifted his tear-filled eyes toward Ser Don.
"This is supposed to be the Land of Knights," he said, his voice cracking.
"Not a land of coin-grubbing merchant-lords and spectacle knights."
Ser Don hummed quietly at that.
He did not scold the boy for the bitterness in his words.
Instead, he simply pulled Soap closer and let the boy cry against him while the storm of emotions ran its course.
For a while Soap only sobbed quietly in the old knight's embrace, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to calm himself.
Thunder, who had been grazing nearby, slowly wandered closer during that time. The stallion let out a low rumbling sound in his chest before lowering his head beside them.
The horse nudged his large snout gently against the top of Soap's head.
The warm breath from the stallion puffed softly through the boy's hair as Thunder lingered there, standing quietly beside them.
Comforting the boy in the only way a loyal warhorse knew how.
...
......
..........
Ser Don let the silence settle for a moment after his last words, his hand still resting lightly on Soap's shoulder. The boy seemed calmer now, though the faint redness around his eyes and the way his ears still drooped betrayed how recently he had cried. The wind rustled softly through the trees around them, carrying with it the distant murmur of the tourney grounds far beyond the hills.
The old knight inhaled slowly before continuing.
"Based on what you told me about your week here with Dym," Ser Don said, his tone thoughtful, "I now understand something a little better of your situation."
Soap glanced up at him.
"Green boys like Dym," Don went on, "are often under a great deal of pressure to prove themselves. They must show their worth quickly if they want anyone to acknowledge them—lords, knights, merchants, even the common folk who watch the tourneys."
He shifted slightly in the saddle, the leather creaking quietly.
"Even if Dym promised to heed my advices to take things slowly," the old knight continued, "since a tourney of this size could last months… there are still limits to how long a man can remain patient when he is staring at a situation as… honestly speaking, as dire and bleak as his."
Soap lowered his eyes again.
"Every knights, especially hedge knights carries that burden in one form or another," Ser Don said. "But Dym's situation is made heavier because of one thing."
He paused.
"Because he gained a squire far sooner than he ever expected."
Soap winced slightly at that, his ears twitching as though the words had struck him personally.
Ser Don noticed immediately.
The old knight reached down and gently patted the boy's head.
"I am not blaming you, Soap."
The reassurance came softly but firmly.
"Neither did Dym," Don added. "No true knight would ever throw his problems onto someone else instead of facing them himself, head on. That is not how it works."
He gave the boy a small squeeze on the shoulder.
"And I am certain Dym has never once blamed you… or regretted taking you as his squire. Am I wrong?"
Soap shook his head quickly.
"He... he never did, ser…" he said quietly.
Ser Don nodded with approval.
"Good."
The old knight looked ahead again for a moment before speaking once more.
"You do not have to think about it too much, Soap," he said. "Well… you should still think about it. Thinking is good. But do not let those thoughts grow so heavy that they piled up and weigh you down until you cannot move forward and see the light at the end of the road."
Soap listened carefully.
"The same goes for Dym," Ser Don continued. "Slow and steady wins the race. If you rush too soon, even if you manage to win… there will be consequences. And if you lose after rushing…" He gave a small shrug. "Then you will lose everything."
Soap nodded slowly.
Ser Don rubbed the boy's shoulder again in a reassuring motion.
"So take it easy," he said. "Well… easier, at least."
Then the old knight grew quiet again for a moment. His one tired eye blinked slowly, and something in his expression shifted—something softer, more distant, touched by an old memory.
"My… father once said something to me," he murmured.
His voice lowered slightly.
"Rezeki itu sudah ada yang mengatur, ga usah buru-buru dikejar."
The unfamiliar words hung in the air.
Soap blinked, confused.
"What does that mean, ser?" the boy asked after a moment. "And what language is that from? Is it Sargonian?"
Ser Don looked down at him.
For a brief moment, the old knight's expression grew strangely sad.
He nodded slowly, pressing his lips together before answering.
"Aye… aye, it is," he said quietly. "It's... a dialect… from... from southern Sargon."
His voice trembled faintly at the end of the sentence.
Ser Don rubbed his left eye with his fingers, as if trying to clear something from it, before continuing.
"It means… don't... don't rush things too soon," he explained. "Because fortune… fortune is already arranged by God."
He paused briefly, then corrected himself with a small, thin smile.
"Or well… the Gods," he added. "Depending on how one chooses to interpret it."