Crackling by the Fire
"I hope you have good ale," Maximillian joked.
"For the likes of you, it should be enough," the man replied with a laugh.
"Man, Ronan, you are something else," Adam remarked. "And I won't drink any ale. I've had enough for the next while, I'd say."
They walked through the camp, the dim light of campfires casting flickering shadows. Ronan led them to a larger fire where several other figures were gathered, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames.
"Found a couple more stragglers," Ronan announced, gesturing toward Maximillian and Adam.
The others around the fire nodded in greeting. A burly man with a patch over one eye waved them over.
"Pull up a log and join us," the man invited, his voice gravelly.
Maximillian and Adam settled down, feeling the warmth of the fire against the cool night air.
"What's the topic tonight?" Maximillian asked, glancing around at the expectant faces.
"Tales of the road," the man with the eye patch answered. "Or anything that's worth a good story."
Adam leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I've got a story, but it's more of a cautionary tale. One about what happens when you don't remember what you've done."
Maximillian chuckled. "Ah, sounds like a night I'd rather forget."
Ronan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do tell."
Adam glanced at Maximillian before continuing. "Well, it started with a bit too much ale and ended with accusations of kissing someone I shouldn't have."
Laughter erupted around the fire, and someone quipped, "Sounds like a typical night on the road."
Maximillian joined in the laughter, sharing a knowing look with Adam. "Aye, but this one's got a twist. Turns out, it was a noble he kissed."
The men around the fire turned their heads toward Adam, their expressions curious and tinged with a hint of hostility. One man spoke up, his voice laced with suspicion. "Which noble did Adam kiss?" The others nodded in agreement, their eyes fixed on Adam, awaiting his response.
Adam felt the weight of their collective gaze and the sudden shift in the atmosphere around the fire. He raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement, trying to defuse the tension.
"Whoa, hold on a moment," Adam began, his tone light but cautious. "It was all a misunderstanding, I assure you."
The man with the eye patch leaned forward, his demeanor intense. "Misunderstanding or not, you kissed a noble. That's not something to be taken lightly around here."
Maximillian interjected, trying to lighten the mood. "Now, now, let's not jump to conclusions. Adam here is a man of honor, aren't you?"
Adam shot Maximillian a grateful look before addressing the group. "Look, it was a mistake. The lady thought I was someone else, and by the time I realized, well…" He trailed off, hoping his explanation would suffice.
Ronan, the man with the scar, spoke up. "A case of mistaken identity, eh?"
"Exactly!" Adam exclaimed, relieved that Ronan seemed to understand.
The others exchanged skeptical glances, but the tension in the air began to ease slightly. The man who had initially questioned Adam leaned back, crossing his arms.
"Well, let's hope that noble doesn't hold a grudge," he remarked, his tone still wary.
Adam nodded earnestly. "Believe me, I've learned my lesson. No more mistaking nobles for anyone else."
The men chuckled, the tension dissipating like smoke in the night air. Ronan clapped Adam on the shoulder.
"Lesson learned, lad. We've all had our share of misadventures," Ronan said with a grin.
With this, Adam felt a mixture of relief and guilt. He was glad that the tension had dissipated and that his comrades accepted his explanation, yet he was troubled by the necessity of deceiving them. Deep down, he knew that revealing the truth—that he had kissed Elara, the crown princess, and their commander, while intoxicated would have dire consequences. The men around the fire were not novices, they were seasoned veterans who had fought alongside Elara in multiple campaigns. If they were to discover Adam's actions, they would never forgive him, nor would they forget it as easily as they seemed to have done tonight. No rather they would execute him on the spot.
With these thoughts weighing on his mind, Adam was lost in his own reflections and didn't pay much attention to the soldiers' banter around him until Ronan, one of the seasoned warriors in their squad, began to share his story. Despite his aged appearance, Ronan possessed a surprising agility that defied his weathered exterior, capable of executing maneuvers that could dislocate a novice's joint without effort.
"Ah, lads, life's a curious thing, isn't it?" Ronan began, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "I was a nobody before Elara's warband arrived in my province. Sure, she brought destruction and death to my world, but I'm grateful to her nonetheless. I've never felt more content, never had more purpose in my life."
He paused, a wistful look in his eyes, before continuing. "I'd heard tales of wars and noble levies, but I never thought I'd be caught up in it. That was five years ago. Now, I've got enough coin to buy a house in the capital—or I did, until a month before we set off to campaign against Lord Denholm."
Ronan's expression turned somewhat rueful. "Cost me more than my soul and a fair few pieces of skin and flesh, but it was worth it. She treats me better than anyone I've ever known," he admitted, his voice lowering.
Then, with a sudden burst of joy, Ronan's tone shifted. "She treats me better than my own wife!" he exclaimed, the declaration punctuated by raucous laughter from the soldiers around the fire.
"Aye, Ronan! Aye!" they cheered in unison, their voices filled with camaraderie and understanding.
Maximillian nudged Adam, a grin playing on his lips. "Looks like Ronan's got himself quite the story," he remarked, amusement evident in his voice.
Adam chuckled softly. "Seems like it. Who knew behind that gruff exterior, he's got a soft spot."
Together with Maximillian, Adam whispered to a few nearby soldiers, suggesting that they inquire more about "Gramps'" past, knowing it would catch Ronan off guard. Within moments, the soldiers around the fire took up the chant in unison, their voices rising jovially, "Give us more, Gramps! We want to know about your past!"
The unexpected nickname visibly caught Ronan off guard. He blinked, a faint flush coloring his weathered cheeks, before his surprise turned into feigned outrage. "Who's a gramps, you idiots? I'm young, still fresh like a vegetable just plucked from the garden!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the chuckling soldiers.
The soldiers around the fire erupted in laughter at Ronan's theatrical response. Ronan, now mollified by the laughter, settled back down with a grin and began to regale them with the tale of how he transformed from a mere household servant into one of Elara's most esteemed soldiers.
"It all started years ago," Ronan began, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. "I was nothing but a servant in a noble household, toiling away without purpose. Then came Elara's warband, sweeping through our lands like a tempest. It was the order of the King, since some rebel faction tried to establish in my Province of Bimernia. It is in the southeast of our Kingdom, and at this time, our commander was still nothing more than a kid. Her arrival caused quite the uproar in my province. The King had sent his own daughter, a mere child, to take down the rebels. But damn, she was efficient. Not one rebel was left. She purged everyone. If you had a cousin in the rebel movement, you had two choices: either join her or be executed. Well, I didn't just have a cousin in that rebel movement—it was my own goddamn brother. So, I had to choose: die for a cause I didn't really know or support, or join her as a soldier."
Ronan paused, his gaze distant as he recalled those tumultuous days. "I made my choice. It wasn't an easy one, but survival often demands difficult decisions. I joined our Commander Elara and her warband, but dear lord, I was a terrible soldier at first. I could barely hold a sword, yet I wasn't alone. Many others from my province joined her cause; it seemed the rebel movement was more substantial than anyone anticipated. Elara's camp swelled with recruits, but now, most of them have retired or fallen in battle.
"Elara didn't demand a lifetime of service from us. She asked for a commitment of two years, which was quite generous considering the circumstances. We hadn't seen much war until then."
Ronan's eyes narrowed slightly as memories flooded back. "My early days as a soldier were filled with struggles and setbacks. I stumbled through training, but Elara didn't cast me aside nor the other guys from my province. Instead, she invested in us—taught us, drilled us, made us into the warriors we needed to be. It wasn't just about wielding a sword, it was about embodying the spirit of her cause."