The night was calm and the air was warm, full of the promises of a Summer season yet to come, a promise that the fields will bloom full of rich arrays of color and sweetness, that trees will expand in lush foliage and smother the landscape in Green and Yellow, that the nights will be full of the sounds of the wild and the days be spent in the liveliest of dalliances and escapades.
As the Crickets sung their opera and the frogs accompanied the symphony; echoed over the moonlight waters of the Pond, fireflies and dragonflies skipped and danced upon the waters surface, glittering the moons reflection in the soft ripples they created. It was a pretty sight to witness and one never so peaceful for the ever thoughtful Dervenor. Many a night he could sit here outside his Home and no matter what was transpiring in his life, no matter what events occured, sitting here just this, it always calmed him.
Yet there was something tonight that did trouble him, a thought that no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake. Even with the will of Iron he held close to his chest and the strength he bore, a single thought was betraying him.
He knew in his heart he held emotion, feelings so strong they hurt, feelings that even attempts at writing about them failed to do justice to the page. So why, no matter how hard he tried, could he not show them? In all languages, body and voice, he failed. Even as a child he was plain and peculiar, much preferring to watch rather than participate in the children's games. He would get frustrated when people would not speak to him as a young man, with so many remarking he was sour and cross looking, but he never felt that way inside. He would laugh inside but appear solemn on the outside. Even his sarcasm would come off as serious and result in people feeling insulted.
But why is it bothering him so much now? He has had this problem for so long. Why now is it troubling his mind and keeping him awake tonight? That even the peaceful scene which comforted him for many a year had no power? Perhaps the most romantic of people would know. It was only when the conversation arose of his past time away did these feelings stir.
It is no secret to those who would care to know, that he spent some years away living with his Brother who married a Gondorian Lady. And whilst there, the hopeful wish of a boy, who for so long idolized the warriors life became a reality. He got to witness and part take in the methods and service of their Guards and Fighters, to train as one of them, to learn as one of them, even to be one of them. Yet he was not prepared to know that such a thing would sacrifice what spirit he had. So little it might seem to some of different spirit and heart, but for someone such as Dervenor, void of visible emotion, the training, the fighting, the drilling of the warriors life, it snagged away from him the traces that did exist.
"Don't show emotions, they becomes a weakness and removes your ability to concentrate"
"You must focus, don't let your Guard down"
"Keep looking ahead!!"
He was a horrible strict and ruthless commander, was Jaleron, bitter to the core. He would have Dervenor stand for hours, just watching the void ahead of him; wind, hail, snow, he cared not, it was his duty.
"Take your eyes off what is ahead of you and you could miss the critical moment. A slip up like that could cost us many lives and it would be because you could not focus"
The training was brutal, but it was what had to be done. If you wanted to fight, you had to expect bloody noses, busted ribs, throbbing headaches and stitches. What hurts you makes you stronger. What marks your skin makes it tougher than old leather. The rain may dampen you, the wind may howl against you, but it makes you strong, you will weather any storm that rages you. Yes, you ache now, but you won't soon.
Boy grew to man and despite being an insufferable Curr, the Commander was right. Dervenor became just as ready and war-born as many as the others by his side, and just as empty of visible feeling.
Yet sat here now, watching the fireflies dance away into the night against the waning moons reflection in the water; he was feeling. He was longing to show it, but how?
What must he do?
