![]() ![]() He watched them all snake past him in the rosy dawn and he knew he would never forget that sight in all its wondrous and fairytale glory. So the king his father sallied forth with his best to ride into a distant land and seek vengeance. Rarely did a king leave his throne and yet he knew his father could never take such an insult without seeing it as a personal affront to his honour. ![]() This Baron had raised up high his banner in revolt and now his father as a matter of honour rode forth at the head of his household guard to settle this upstart once and for all. He knew they rode out to war with a rebel Baron far to the south amidst the marshes and arid plains which fringed the sea. Only once did it swivel in his direction and for an instant tip as if in recognition. Even the mask which was his father’s helmet seemed carved from some cold metal, distant and otherworldly. ![]() He would remember the beaten bronze of the sunrise, the golden warmth of the stones he stood next to, the towers and battlements rising up in hues of honey and copper, and through all that wound the silver and ice of the knights, upright and martial, like caryatids from a lonely Winter land. This was what all sons were born to see and he being the son of the King was no different. Even the cold of the morning which made the horses’ breath steam like dragon’s fire did not quench his pride. No, that sight would never leave him for what young man will ever forget the sight of his father riding out to war? He could not remember ever having felt so proud in all his life. It was a Flemish tapestry come alive like a woven snake uncoiling across the landscape. ![]() He watched the knights canter past the outer battlements in all their panoply and knew he would never forget that sight - the jangle of the harness, the pennants flapping in the slight breeze, fire glinting from the bassinets and cuirasses. ![]()
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