"...King Patrick. You told to warn you when an hour had elapsed," Edward broke in cautiously. Along with the rest of the soldiers, he had seen their King, and his closest two n training with their swords as the others dwelled in their exhaustion. A light sheen of sweat coated the three of them. Their breathing was unsteady from how they pushed themselves. Their pursuit was a frantic one, the sort that would have been angry were it to be interrupted. However, as soon as that call ca, the look in Oliver Patrick’s eye changed in an instant.
He sheathed his sword, and looked upon his n, his eyes narrowing as he drank their condition in. ’Like my own slash, these n need to be sharpened,’ he thought as he looked upon them. They were far too ragtag a group to accomplish what he needed of them. The sort of distance that they had covered that day was the sort of distance that they needed to be able to rush across easily, if they were to have the advantage of mobility that Oliver aid for.
Hearing Edward announce that their ti was up, the exhausted n cast their attention in the direction of their King, doing what they could to seem relatively attentative, despite the tiredness that plagued them. "Check the condition of your horses, and be prepared to mount," King Patrick told them.
With sluggish movents, the n began to heft themselves to their feet, many of them groaning, and the entirety of them not wishing to spend another minute in the saddle.
Edward stood nervously waiting. He was not in the sa poor condition as the rest of them, owing to his strength as a man of the Second Boundary, and a good couple of decades of hard living and relentless travel. His discomfort was an entirely different thing. King Patrick had asked him to accompany him, as part of the Winged Unit – as he was calling them – but the King had not exactly explained his reasons as to why. Nor had he even really called upon Edward for any sort of conversation since the mont that Edward had first arrived at the Erson Capital.
"Ready your horse," King Patrick told him, seeing him still standing there as the others had already begun their movents. "You will fight alongside us, will you not?"
"...I serve the Order of Claudia," Edward said, uncertain of himself.
"Then why is it that you have stayed so close to my side this past week?" Oliver asked him. "Why is it that you kneeled to in the Erson Capital?"
"Because your cause seems to be the cause of Claudia," Edward replied.
"Then your place, Edward?" Oliver asked. "Is it as my soldier?"
"I had co to guide you, King Patrick," Edward said. "To offer you advice, so that you might not stray from Claudia’s path."
"Is that right? And in the anti, will you simply stand by and watch as I battle?" Oliver said. "Is that armour and sword of yours rely for show?"
"To take direct part in the Kingdoms conflicts..." Edward said.
"You are already taking part," King Patrick told him. "I cannot have a man near who I can not rely upon to fight. If you are here, you are part of my Winged Unit. You are no re advisor."
"..." Edward fell silent.
King Patrick sighed. "Give your advice, then. You who follow the Order of Claudia. What would she have do? Does she disapprove of the actions I take?"
"I have seen no signs that indicate that," Edward replied.
That was good enough for King Patrick. "Then you have naught more to say. Find your mount, and join the rest of them."
He was a difficult man not to obey, Edward found. A small war in his own head. Indeed, he’d kneeled before King Patrick. Was it him that he now served? To serve him, was it certainly to serve Claudia? Could he serve King Patrick directly, whilst still being a mber of the Order?
’What Order?’ A small voice in his head asked. The Order that he had returned to find no longer existed. The faded wings on his surcoat seed an almost symbolic indication of that.
’Indeed, what Order...’ Edward found himself thinking, as he pulled himself into his saddle. His long-sword was there, slapping at his side. He had not drawn it against any that were not monsters in the longest ti. He was being dragged in a direction that he would not have been able to anticipate a month ago. Even if he had not wished to fight, he was not sure that he would have been able to. There was sothing about King Patrick that compelled him. A violent flow that he was powerless against.
The idea of a choice all of a sudden seed laughable. This was the way things were. He was being pulled along by a current that he could only attribute to the Goddess that he served. If this was her will, then so be it. He would fight, and he would watch with the more careful eyes that he could, the King that she had chosen.
King Patrick ca through the mass of n, on the back of that nacing white horse of his. Lady Blackthorn trotted behind him quietly, and Gar ca jogging at the other side, a grand smile on his face, anticipating the bloodshed that would soon enough follow.
At the edge of the forest, King Patrick turned back to face his n.
"This is our first mission together," he said. "Our target is the fort of Durem. We will approach at speed, making use of the terrain to conceal ourselves for as long as we can. We will put to death the Wyndon Garrison, and we will rid the fort of its future capabilities as a defensive structure."
Stern, serious, and ever so certain. A very different man to the one that Edward had seen practising his sword. That Oliver Patrick had been searching, almost vulnerable – there was a youth to him when he acted like that which made it impossible to ignore his true age. The man in front of him now was the opposite. It was difficult to see any sort of cracks in his armour. When he declared that they would take Durem, Edward could not feel the slightest hint of doubt that they would. That, Edward noted, was true for the rest of the exhausted n of the Winged Unit.
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