Gjorn's Memories

Some thoughts during the Holiday wander far in time

"Remember my son, cherish the time you have. We may live longer than Humans, we may be stronger than Gnomes, yet we are not eternal. Take time with your life, Gjorn. Enjoy the youth you have, while the yolk of responsibility is ignorant of you. The days are long, but the years are short."
-Former Fourth King Of Dwarves, Tharic.

I remember, through the long halls of my mind, dimly lit as they are from the lanterns of time. Only growing dimmer the further time rolls out, bright lanterns of joy and lesson to light mark that passage of time. Back in my days learning how to sing and play the Lute with my Father. I fumbled every note, as the dusty smell of the trail filled my nose. The deep beel of the War Boar filling my ears.

Da, slapped me on my back and laughed, "Not bad boy! You are doing better than the first time I tried to play. Who knows one day you might become the most famous bard in the world!" He beamed down at me, eyes filled with pride. The smoke from his pipe sticking in his thick black beard.
"Now, lets try again. I want you to pay attention to how your fingers are missing the frets at you move. If you can learn to notice when your fingers miss them, you can correct faster. Just slow down, I'm not expecting you to play the song perfectly for me as you are learning. You learn more from your mistakes than you do your success, so learn." I missed that about him, I missed having that presence with me. I missed that while he was stern when he needed to be, he was always patient and kind. A trait I never appreciated until he was gone.

---

"Boy! What do you think you doing with that Boar?" I jumped as his deep roar caught me by surprise. The War Boar I was trying to make mine, caught onto my surprise and charged. Fanged tusks flashing in the hot summer sun, dust filling the air. I heard each hoofbeat as the world slowed before me. I didn't see it, I never saw him move.

Braced for the Boar to tear me apart, but it never came. Only dimly aware that a squad from the Company was running up to us, all my attention on my Father who had the tusks of the beast in his iron grip. Back boot touching mine from where I lay, deep gouge in the road were is boots slid back, he wasn't looking at the Boar. All his attention on me, a worry in his eyes as the behemoth struggled in his hold.

Turning back to his challenge, with a casualness I'd only imagined when the Warriors of the Clan talked around the fires, he smashed his head against the boar's. Sweeping its foreleg out from under it in a mighty crash, swinging the boar on its back squealing like a piglet. The world went quiet as both the boar and I heard his words for what they were. "Charge me boy again and I'll slaughter you here and now." The air filled with a fury I didn't quite understand at the time.

Father released the boar, sheepishly it rose and then laid down by my Father's side. They always respected strength, they always looked for a new king to follow, I had just hoped this one would follow me. Finally as the Squad came up to us, their armor loud, boot falls heavy. Father dismissed them, "I need a word with my son." The Squad obeyed without a second thought, attempted to take the boar back to the herd with them, it only roared at them. With a small movement of his hand, the Squad left without the boar.

He knelt down to me, taking a cloth out of his pouch he cleaned the dust off my face. "I'm furious with you Gjorn. You were a damned fool to think you could challenge the War Boars at your age. They can smell your hesitation, your fear, your nerves. If you wanted to challenge and prove yourself to the Clan, there were better ways of doing so at your age, You could have challenged one of the men in a duel, you could have composed a new song out of your wonderful repertoire. You could have met with Stjerkaler: Hjalti and openly accepted your right to learn our magic. But, you choose to take a dangerous path without support, you could have died if I hadn't noticed you were gone."
Each word hit me in the chest, he was right. I was barely seventeen, I hadn't grown to the degree the soldiers were yet, beard a scrubby little thing on my chin. He pulled me into a tight hug, "I am grateful you are alive. That you are unharmed." His voice shook back then, even then I didn't notice it.

As I sit here thinking about it, his tailcoat waving in the wind as he stood over me, boar's tusks in his hands it it towered over him. The way he dismissed the men before speaking to me, it was a front. He needed to appear strong for the Clan, but he needed to be a Father to me, not a King. Thinking back at it, he never raised his voice during that dressing down. Only now do I realize, opening my eyes in the City of Mhzuchet, the other Kings eyes on me as we finished our Sky Sight, that my Father's words were filled with joy that I was safe.