Caj looked at the beast before him uneasily. It was his current hinderance, obstacle and object of hatred and no little dread. It was an old, decrepit, Strawberry Roan. The animal was just about the least healthy-looking animal Caj had ever laid eyes on. The young man wasn’t fooled though, no, he had seen the maliciousness lurking in the dark corners of the stallion’s beady eyes, and felt its malevolent intentions brought to life. Stable-Master John Cob liked to affectionately call the old pony Ole Red, although how anyone could view the beast with anything other than hatred and fear was beyond Caj. This horse made him wish that he could have just sparred all morning. It was even starting to haunt his nightmares. Caj gulped as he stared at his equine oppressor.

“HA, Ole Red isn’t liable to saddle ‘imself now is ‘e Ser Donovan. You best be getting to it then.” Caj turned to see the owner of the voice, and his heart skipped a beat.

Stable-Master John Cob was bald and wore an eyepatch over his left eye, just like Narm had. The similarities ended there, as John’s remaining eye was blue, and he was unscarred, as well as being well below two meters in height. Still, it was enough to bring a flash of Narm back to Caj’s mind, and a sharp pain to heart.

Focus, Caj berated himself, Maudlin fool. Narm is dead. Live in the now, not in the past. Narm’s voice came back to him, as clear as if the old man was standing right behind him. He could even smell the tobacco smoke that always marked his presence.

Pain is just pain Caj. Nothing more, nothing less. It is just another feeling, another emotion to be put aside when there is a job to do. Acknowledge it, feel it, embrace it, and then set it aside. It will always be there for you to pick up later. Pain, like love, anger, fear, or hatred has no place in battle. IT is not conducive to success, in those situations. So, wait to acknowledge and take care of it until you are in a safe place, until you are no longer in danger from taking care of it.

Caj didn’t know about the battle part, but he definitely wasn’t at the point yet where he could deal with this emotional pain. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it, to notice it. So, he turned to the old pigeon-toed horse that was now behind him. He would seek distraction in riding if nothing else. He hefted the leather saddle onto the horses back, and tried to be gentle. He received a bite for his trouble. He gave Ole Red a swat instinctively. The pony glared at him and John Cob Cackled.

“Well, at least yer showing him who’s boss, eh lad? That’s half your problem you know? If you are scared of ‘im ‘e can tell, and he wants to keep you there. It’s not so different to fightin’ it isn’t.”

Caj thought about that and smiled. Was it really so simple? Maybe it was… With renewed spirit, Caj mounted the Strawberry Roan. Less than a second later he was hanging onto the saddle-horn for all that he was worth, reigns forgotten. He clenched his knees, only focusing on staying on the horse for the foreseeable future. The old horse spun in circles, and bucked so hard that its back hooves practically touched its nose. About a minute into the jumble, Caj realized that this was the longest he had managed to seat Ole Red. He gritted out a grin, and tried something that he had never had the stability of mind to do before. He grabbed for the reigns. He was done for as soon as his right hand left the saddle-horn. He was airborne in a blink, hurtling through the air. Caj briefly considered if this was what it felt like to fly, but discarded the idea almost immediately. He imagined flying to not be accompanied with the fear of a hoof smashing your skull. Caj hit the ground hard, and rolled to the right immediately, ignoring the ache in his side. He immediately sprang to his feet, but rather than dart out of the paddock as he usually would at this point, he ran at the Strawberry Roan.

***

Caj was in the middle of nursing a bruised ego, and even more bruised buttocks when he ran into Countess Isabelle. Quite literally in fact. He had been unable to remount Old Red, unfortunately, and had received a fair share of bruises and scrapes for his trouble. Caj had a feeling that Old Red was a considerably more difficult mount then he had been led to believe. After all, if he were so easy to ride, they would train all the soldiers on him. So, Caj Donovan was walking down the hall, cursing and swearing to himself about the stupidity of Horses, Horse Masters, and anything equine related. Distracted as he was, he had hurtled around a corner at a hast walking pace, and almost knocked over the middle-aged countess. He caught her of course. It would’ve been ungentlemanly to do otherwise. Well, it was impolite to run into her bodily, sure as sure, but it would be truly unbecoming to simply allow her to fall. A smile tugged at Caj’s lips, attempting to follow the parade of his thoughts into good humor, even as he apologized.

“Apologies Countess Isabelle, are you all right? I really must beg your pardon, I was walking much to fast, and not paying adequate attention to my surroundings.” Narm and Bietre’s voice seemed to battle for attention at the back of his mind.

Rule Number 6: Giving you enemy your front is no better than giving them your back if you don’t know that they are there. Pay attention, or die.

Don’t go prancing about willy nilly Caj. Really, I thought I taught you better. Move with a purpose, but not so damn fast that you can’t control yourself.

Caj’s smile widened at his memory of Narm’s voice, something that surprised him. Isabelle’s voice pushed its way to the forefront of his attention.

“No, no, Caj, that’s quite alright, you did catch me after all.” The matronly woman smiled at him and patted his cheek with a sigh. “My, my Caj, it’s good to see you smile. It’s been too long since you have. Remember, great loss stems from greater love.” Caj’s smile took on a sad tinge, but not distraught. Instead, it seemed more filled with the reminiscence of days gone by. He was surprised by it. Was grieving truly this easy? Did the pain just get suddenly easier to bear? Isabelle let out another sigh, a sad one this time. “Some days are easier to bear than others, and sometimes, it seems you can barely hold the weight at all.” Caj nodded, unable to speak. She smiled at him.

“Tell me Caj, have you read your letter yet?”

“No,” Caj replied thickly. Isabelle gave him a pointed look.

“You will. Tonight.” She said, her voice brooking no argument. “There are things you need to read. Promise me Caj.”

“Countess-” Caj began, but Isabelle cut him off, her voice trilling into that of a mother of three children, even if all three were grown and two gone by now.

“Caj Donovan,” she said warningly, “Promise me…” Caj sighed, and did the only thing he could. He capitulated.

“Yes, Auntie.” He said, sounding remarkably like a twelve-year-old in a grown man’s body.

“Good!” Isabelle said, releasing his arm. “Now that that’s done, I have to see about tea with Lady Natalia. With that she marched away, leaving Caj with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. The day he had been dreading and waiting for had finally come. What would reading Narm’s letter mean? Would he let go of Narm forever? Or would it cement all that he knew and loved of the man into his mind forever? It was for the former that he dreaded reading the letter. Some small part of him still did not yet want to say goodbye. The other part said that goodbyes are a part of life, and that though everything must end, its memory does not have to. It was this part that sang with joy at the prospect of finally reading what was left for him.

***

Emma was quite worried about Ser Caj. The man had certainly not taken Narm’s death well, falling into the bottle and taking a long swim. When he had finally emerged from the well of sorrows, he was a changed man. He rarely spoke, and threw himself into training, day and night. He had neglected both her and Rai, preferring the company of his sword to that of people, and the conversation of his steel to that of civilized society. His hair had grown long and untamed, and he washed infrequently. At least, until Lady Natalia had a conversation with him. Straightened that right out she did, Emma was happy to note.

Caj started eating regular meals again, and teaching lessons to Rai and Emma in the evenings. He started making real progress back to where he had been. But there was something in his eyes, something deep and dark and insidious. It was something the likes of which Emma had seen too many times in her life: the helpless fury of a good man. She could recall adults on the streets, adults who had lost everything to the injustice of the world, who knew who to blame but were unable to do anything about it. It never ended well. The look in Caj’s eyes worried her, but what scared her more than anything else was the chest.

The wooden chest had intricate steel locks, too finely made to pick. It was covered in carvings of wolves, and the mosaics of battlefields. Emma recognized Narms work. It currently sat on a table in the middle of Caj’s living room, with a ring of seven keys atop it. Every night, after Caj had taught Rai economics, and reviewed Emma’s history notes, he would sit down in front of that chest. How long he would sit varied, but never less than an hour, or more than three. He would sit and stare at that chest, as though it contained the secrets of the world. He would sit for a long time, and then he would open it.

There were a number of things in the chest’s black velvet lining. The first was a bearded battle-axe, bearing a fine steel head with gold inlay that also spiraled down the oak haft. A pawprint was carved into the haft, a symbol that Narm carved on everything that he made, a maker’s mark of sorts. Below the axe rested two considerably mor used knuckle-dusters made of worn steel. After the weapons there were an assortment of carvings of people and animals, some who Emma was familiar with, and some which she was not. One was obviously of a much younger Ser Caj, wearing a bright smile that had been ever so absent these last months. Behind him Narm had an arm thrown over his shoulders, pipe held in his teeth, and his signature grin splitting his face. There were other carvings though, some that seemed to be just as delicate and important to Narm as the one with Caj. One depicted a matronly woman in a nurse’s uniform, her hair pulled back in a strict bun, but a mischievous smile on her lips. Another one depicted what appeared to be Count Isaac and Narm looking roughly twenty years younger, and standing with a young man with a weak jaw. Narm appeared to have both his eyes in that carving, although he still had his pipe, and he had his arm thrown around the both younger men’s shoulders affectionately. His grin was soft and happy rather than hard and dangerous. He looked almost normal. There were others too, more than one might expect Narm to fit in the trunk.

It wasn’t the axe, the knuckle-dusters, or even the carvings that always held Ser Caj’s attention though… It was the letters. There were three. One for Caj, one for a woman named Imogen, and one for an unnamed man, simply addressed to “Brother.”. None of these letters had been opened. No, they had not even stirred from the case. These were what Caj sat and stared at, what he refused to touch. Emma had seen him reach for the letters a time or two, but never, not once, had he touched them. His hand would get a hairsbreadth from the page, shaking like a flame-fern addict three days late for a fix, before he would snatch it back and slam the lid closed, bank the fire in the fireplace, and go to bed.

Emma was nearly certain that Ser Donovan knew that she watched, but he pretended not to, in an attempt to save her dignity. She was supposed to be a fledgling informant after all. She had become used to the routine. After dinner, the three of them would read for an hour, Caj in that highbacked chair of his, with one leg thrown over one of the chairs arms, and his back resting on the other. Rai preferred to pace while he read, book braced in the crook of his left arm, while turning the pages with his right. Emma personally would lounge on the couch. When Rai got tired, she would ostensibly follow him to their quarters, but would actually just stay by the door and watch Ser Caj.

So used to the routine was she, that she didn’t even notice the change in Ser Caj’s expression as he sat down. The first sign that something was different were his hands. They didn’t shake. Caj practically threw open the chest in his impatience, and immediately pulled out the letter that was addressed to him. He hesitated for a moment before breaking the seal and opening the envelope, indecision on his face. He finally did so, and removed 6 sheets of paper, filled with Narm’s fine and elegant penmanship. He spent a long time reading that letter. A long time. When his finished, he re-read it twice. He then began to weep. He began to cry great, wracking sobs. Emma’s eyes widened. What should she do? Should she go to him? What would she do in that instance? It wasn’t exactly like she could provide comforting words, she thought wryly. In the end she decided to just quietly shut the door. Boys could be quite awkward about crying, she knew, and could get embarrassed. It didn’t make any sense to her, as any girl knew that the best thing for the soul was a good cry, but boys weren’t always so smart. So, she left Ser Caj to his weeping. As she did, she found that she was surprisingly less worried for him that she had been before. A good cry could do wonders for the soul after all.