The old me

"You're far more talkative now." Vannol says while stirring a pot stew hastily made using jerky and wild vegetables. It was nighttime now and they made good pace with the cargo no longer slowing them down. "Willing to share what was up with you? I meant it when I said I was questioning whether I had hired some kind of golem".

 "I'll tell you if you share what the cargo was." Harold says, not expecting an answer. "Sure!"

 Vannol sees his surprised face "What? It's nothing illegal, I assure you."

 Well shit, he hadn't actually intended to share his past with anyone. He thinks for a moment before shrugging, "I left my house". Vannol scoffs, "Yes, I have two working eyes, what led to it?"

 Harold sighs, realizing he's not going to be able to get out of this conversation. "I got into a fight at the academy, a boy named Jacob accused me of charming his older sister and requested a duel. I accepted and accidentally broke his arm". Vannol laughs at this "Accidentally he says, ha! Harold the 'brute' indeed."

 Harold glares at him for a moment before continuing. "Father got mad at me, said that Strength is to be found in restraint, if you can't even resolve a conflict with someone 3 years your junior without beating them senseless, then you're no better than a chicken rooster" said Harold, impersonating his father, badly.

 "I refused to apologize to Jacob and argued back against father, I called him a spineless coward, he threatened to disinherit me and soon enough I was rushing out of my home" Harold finishes his story, closing his eyes.

 There was a moment of silence, "That's it?"

 "What do you mean 'that's it'?!"

 "Well, I was expecting something more dramatic is all. Plenty of young'uns come to the frontier in search of a new life. Usually they tell tales of loss and future revenge, yours is tame in comparison. You can return home at any time if you wish, the only thing to lose would be pride" Vannol says, with that same smirk that Harold was starting to hate.

 Harold does his best to push down the anger welling up within him "I'm not going back, I've decided to make a life here and a Lyon never goes back on his word!"

 Vannol laughs "Stubborn as a stallion! That's good, hold onto that, stubbornness is prerequisite for surviving the frontier." he digs through his pocket before throwing Harold 7 silver coins.

 Harold is shocked by this "Didn't we agree on 6 silver in total? You paid me 3 earlier so shouldn't it be 3 now?"

 Vannol holds up his index finger "First lesson every mercenary has to learn. If you're risking your life fighting someone else's battle make sure you get properly paid for it, you're a former knight in training with a full plate harness and a mount, take no less than 5 silver for 2 days of work. You can jack up the price from there depending on how desperate your client is."

 He holds up his second finger "And clean yourself up! Your current disposition just screams 'please take advantage of me', you have to make your demands from a position of authority. Remember! They need you to save their life, you on the other hand can go without pay for a few days. You have the room to negotiate, clients usually don't."

 Harold listens attentively as Vannol continues to give advice, he's been in this line of work for nearly a decade after all. As uncouth as he may be, the wisdom that comes from years of experience is to be respected. He soon realizes that Vannol taught these lessons with practiced ease. 'Plenty of young'uns come to the frontier huh'.

He finds himself respecting the marksman in front of him, helping out a stranger like himself, and likely many others, even if he has no reason to do so. "You've certainly got a bleeding heart, I'm surprised you're smuggling illegal goods"

"Well, I'm not a brute like you, within me lies a pure maidenly heart. And like I said earlier there is nothing illegal about my cargo!" Vannol answers with mock offence.

"What is it then? You're telling me you bring grain and cloth through Altena Forest to the middle of nowhere?"

"Spot on actually"

"Horseshit, no one risks their life to sell grain beyond the walls."

"What can I say? This is a strange world we live in. Anyway, give me your bowl, the stew is ready, I'm sure you're sick of eating nothing but beef jerky." Vannol fills his bowl, it's a brown broth with a few pieces of meat and vegetables floating in it. He's surprised by the aroma; it promises to fill him up and keep him warm throughout the night.

 "Well? Try it." He does, it's surprisingly good. He realizes that this is the first real meal he's had for the last month or so, since he left home. He couldn't cook, nor could he be bothered to learn while caught up in his depressive mood and he didn't have the money to buy meals from taverns. He's been subsisting on nothing but roasted game meat and whatever minor provisions he could get his hands on.

 Taking a moment of clarity to truly look at the last month, he realizes what a complete and utter fool he's been. Neglecting his armor, his physical health, and his training. Reviewing his battle with the army ants, the realization that this neglect could've gotten him killed sets in.

 An entire month of struggling with his thoughts, and of all the things that could've snapped him out of it (a pretty girl, legendary adventure or a new great calling etc), it was a bowl of stew made by a crossbowman.

 "Thank you, Vannol." the mercenary just smirks "Any time, the stew's good right? The wonders of Altena's bounty, and my cooking skills ofcourse."

 "Heh, with all the mentions of your pure maidenly heart and you showing off your household skills, maybe you should just find a good husband to settle down with in some farmstead." Harold jokes.

 "HA, I'll consider it if it means I don't have to deal with burning ant flesh again." They both share a hearty chuckle at the shared trauma of all frontiersmen.

They talk little after that, and soon enough it's time to go on his watch. It's the same sky and the same forest, but his thoughts are very different from the day prior. 'I'll return and apologize to father eventually, but not yet', He decides.

To return now would be to tarnish the name of his house. The House of Lyon was built upon the back of the competence of its advisors and the prowess of its knights. He would return home, but only after he has proven himself.

What that meant, he didn't really know. But unlike yesterday, he was prepared to try.