Post by Éadríc on Feb 14, 2013 21:57:02 GMT
A great many winters ago young Æþelbeorht King ruled over the Folk of Fyrna in a time of peace and calm. His House Guard were few but blooded like all who wished to protect the kings and athelings of the Fyrnings. Tall and bold was their captain Cynebeald, who had served and fought beside the young king’s father. Often he would spend time teaching his son Cénréd the duties of a captain of the House Guard as one day he hoped for him to rise and take his place once his own time had been spent.
The king’s most trusted thain, Randulf, was known to fight among the House Guard when the time came. He was a tall, slender man with many scars on his face, famed for his great sword work and skill in battle. He was of great account and feared by many. It was this Randulf who would teach young Cénréd the way of the blade, whilst his father Cynebeald showed him how to use the strength of his mind to win victory. Years passed as Cénréd began to show worth, growing into an able warrior and leader of men in his own right. The captain, becoming deeply proud of his son, would often take him along on minor duties to serve the king.
The summer month was a pleasant one and so the young man joined his father in escorting the king, for Æþelbeorht had a mind to hunt in the wilder parts of his kingdom. The road was narrow and the trees so thick there, it is said even Déormód the Hunter would struggle to find his bearings among them. As they rode Cénréd would watch the birds among the trees and listen to what songs they might sing. The morning air was crisp and the sun still rising when a flurry of axes and stones came hurling through the wall of trees. Cynebeald and his valiant men turned to face their foe but were soon drowning in a raging sea of steel and bodies. Battle had begun, and the guardsmen fought with great hardiness as men were falling to the dirt at all angles. The old captain, knowing his inevitable fate was soon at hand, threw down as many as he could and fought his way to his horse.
Blood and mud began to fill the boots of foe and friend alike, but the battle was turning sour for the Fyrnings. It was then that from the red hued trees a man stepped forth in glistening mail, his face hidden behind a helm. As he stood on a mound watching over the slaughter it was plain he was of some account among the enemy. That figure clad in armour drew his sword and made for the fray, taking lives once he got there, until an arrow landed firmly in his thigh and knocked him back. He turned to find more arrows whistling in from the trees and landing on his men – shadows grew bolder from the trees until at last a small number of hooded men with axes, swords and bows leapt into the fight. The king’s rangers had arrived.
Æþelbeorht King had his sword drawn yet his guardsmen did not give him the chance to swing it. Cénréd protecting his young lord saw his father ride towards him amidst the great bloodshed, before climbing off his raven black steed. In that moment the fair faced son of the captain knew where his duty lay, and so he mounted the horse with Æþelbeorht and rode off down the narrow road with a storm’s haste. A distance away it stopped and turned, so that the young warrior could look upon his beloved father’s face; but by duty to his king he spurred the horse and rode off.
As soon as they could the king and Cénréd mustered a chosen few of the Order of Déormód and returned to the blood stained ground under cover of darkness, only to find the bodies of many of their loyal men, looted of their mail and swords. Among them was mighty Cynebeald, lying over the armoured body and carven face of Randulf. Though it was uncertain who had slain whom, it was plain to all that the House of Fyrna had been betrayed. The new captain of the House Guard, unable to mask his grief, mourned over his lifeless father who lay with only his splintered shield beside him.
As Cénréd lived through many more winters his skills in warfare became all the greater, surpassing that of his father and of Randulf, as he served his king in due manner. But so did his grief within him grow, tormented as he was by nightmares. Although no weapon had wounded him on that fateful day in the forest, he bore a scar which could not been seen. Some say he would talk to his father in his sleep as though he were right there in the room with him and that sometimes he would scream as though he was in terrible pain. There was even rumour that Cénréd rued the choice he had made. At the very end, when Cénréd fought in the wars against the Northern hordes, he was seen halting in the midst of battle, wide eyed as if taken by a vision, right before he was slain. It is guessed by many that he saw his father, then and there, and that he found his peace at last.