A Scene of Aethos

“Aye!  I saw ‘im!” the knight captain exclaimed, “’e was a meek lad, no taller than Sir Glades was before ‘is knight’ood!  ‘bout as young as all ‘at, ‘e was!”



The king sat forward anxiously in his throne.  He had heard reports from his men of a youth that had entered into the Saudacian Cathedral and helped Sir Glades rescue kidnapped townsfolk, but had not heard just who the youth was.  “Where is this lad?” he asked, shifting a bit upon his throne.



No sooner had the king finished his sentence than the doors to the throne room creaked open slowly, with all eyes locked back toward the doorway.  The knight captain squinted a bit to get a better look, but then his face broke into a wide grin, “Aye!  That’s ‘im, sire!  ‘e’s the boy!  Come up ‘ere, lad, we were just talkin’ ‘bout ye!”



A meek lad he was, with ebony, neck-length hair a matted mess, obvious that his hands had run through it many times out of nervousness.  He appeared no older than seventeen, but his pale blue eyes exposed a child-like innocence, and the apprehension of the situation dulled them.  Whether his skin was naturally pale or if it, again, was from his nervousness, one would not have been able to tell.  His attire was not suited for the horrors of the war that they were fighting, nor was it at all familiar to the king or any of those gathered in the court.  A white T-Shirt, slightly drenched with sweat around the neck, was only barely exposed under a striped button-down shirt.  A pair of denim shorts draped down to his knees, which were rigid, as if the young man feared that the king’s guards were charging at him to arrest him, as opposed to welcoming him into their company as they were now.  He willed himself forward, the rubber soles of his white sneakers squeaking quietly on the tile floor as he approached the king and his court.



The king sized him up briefly.  A strangely-dressed one, this boy was.  Even so… he was a hero, and it would have been improper to thank him.  Even then, he could tell that the boy was hesitating to come forward, that anxiety and tension was wrapped around him like a vice.  The king smiled faintly.  It seemed obvious that the boy was not used to mingling with royalty.  If the lad’s clothes were any indication, likely not with many people at all…  Still, he raised a hand and beckoned toward him, “Come forward!”



Getting closer to the king was the last thing that the young man wanted to do.  He already had enough problems back home with social awkwardness, and that was just around people he knew everyday – kids at school, teachers, clergy… but this was someone important!  A king!  Still, he willed his legs to move at a brisker pace, yet still he would not go too fast.  When he made it up to the small stairway before the throne where the knight captain stood, the large man grinned and gave his back a comradely slap, causing the boy to stumble to a kneel before the king.  The captain guffawed, “There’s a good man!  Wot did ye say yer name was?  Malcom?”



“M-Micah.” Came a sudden, soft reply from the kneeling lad, “…M-Micah Tinsten.”