u/felpancake

I was elated to arrive on the doorstep of Le Vesperre. Although it is difficult to recollect my time as a young page, I distinctly recall the stories they told of the man. He was a pinnacle of bravery, a master tactician, and even an experienced scholar. Most of all, I was in awe of his position; bearer of the Oriflamme. That title alone held weight, for despite drawing every modicum of the enemy’s ire, the man yet breathed. He emerged the victor, nigh unscathed, every time. To be his squire would be the greatest honour of my life.
I imagined the man would be distant - to have experienced so many battles, what warrior would not revel in peace and solitude? That first day, barely a word was shared between us, and I can distinctly remember how he carried himself. He had an unmistakable presence, but his shoulders were low, and his arms dangled by his side, careless. When I greeted him, he could scarcely make eye contact, as if he was distracted by something I could not quite see. He spoke in short sentences or offered one word responses, commanding me to brush his steed or clean his armour. In fact, I polished his helmet over five times on the second day, not that there was even a single speck of dirt there to begin with.
Once I had done my duties on the second day, it occurred to me that the good Lady Vesperre was nowhere to be seen. Of course, I had not developed a strong enough standing with the Lord to even dare ask her whereabouts, so for whatever reason, whatever compelled my young, foolish mind, I crept into the master bedroom. Lo and behold, no sign of her, and the room was bathed in darkness, curtains drawn shut. In fact, the entire room seemed bare; there were shadows where the paintings once sat, and bar the unmade bed, there was little in the way of furniture. Where I expected the Lady’s grand dresser to be, nothing, and a great big blanket covered the outline of a mirror. Understanding quite suddenly that the Lady had likely long since departed, I hurried out of the room, swearing not to over step again.
However, the following night, I was compelled to enter his chambers. As to be expected, my room was far smaller in comparison, likely a converted pantry. As such, the walls were quite thick, an issue that impeded my attempts at waking in a timely manner. However, I shall never forget that third night, for a great caterwauling came from somewhere in the house, loud enough to breach the density of my bedroom walls. I practically fell out of bed, scrambling for my blade, before dashing into the mansion proper. The sound was coming from Le Vesperre’s bedroom, so fearing some vengeful rogue had snuck inside to slit his throat, I burst into the room. Vesperre stood there in only his undergarments, sword drawn, screaming in what could only be described as terror. He continued so earnestly that it appeared all the life had left his lungs, reducing him to a hunched husk. With great care, I aided him back to the comfort of his silks, where he stated he did not know who or what he had taken up arms against. This was the first of many night terrors, but whether or not it had been the Lord’s first experience of such horror, I did not know. I dared not ask.
One morning, I had mustered the strength to rise from my chambers before the cockerel cried. To make sure Le Vesperre slept soundly, I parted his door but an inch. To my surprise, he was awake. At least that was my first assumption. The man sat on the edge of his bed, and upon his head he wore a polished helmet - only one piece of his armour; no cuirass, no pauldrons. There is little to say. He simply remained there, statuesque, completely disregarding my intrusion. He must have been comfortable in that world of his, for I had never seen him so sound.

-

In truth, but a month into my tenure as his squire, I wondered why I had been sent, I even wondered if the legendary tales had even been written about this man. This was the great bearer? We had not even gone to battle, let alone left the woodland surrounding our town. Granted, there had been no call to arms, though surely the most mundane expedition would be warranted given my nascent knighthood. Ere many days passed until, as if driven by whim, Vesperre called me to duty. We rode into the countryside, saddlebags swollen with supplies and rations. I felt inspired - it seems the great Vesperre had returned, possessed by a great deal of energy. I learnt much that week as I crossed blades with the swordsman, broke lances, and recited passages from de Charny’s book on chivalry, all the while probing Le Vesperre for any tales he deigned to share. My time in the woodland was a dream come true, a promise of my future.
Having developed a stronger bond with the man, I felt confident to ask more of his experiences. Many more stories were shared over countless suppers, and before I knew, years had gone by. I had grown accustomed to his odd behaviour, and quickly considered the man a surrogate father, aloof as he might have been. No stronger could I have felt that bond than upon the eve of our departure to battle when, after putting him down after a rather grisly terror, he entered my room, helmet in hand, and drew a chair. He placed the helmet upon his head, exhaled in what can only be described as comfort, and sat before the windows. Like a sentinel, he took watch. It was comforting, but afore I could enquire about his arrival, he uttered a passage, likely inspired by Geoffroi de Charny; 

“Your waking hours shall be plagued by terrible hunger and exhaustion. Even if you are to sleep, you shall do so uncomfortably, likely to be woken by the ringing of steel and the sound of screams, screams sounded by your allies. Men will fall around you, both friend and foe, but it is your decision whether you shall join them or not. You could certainly escape, but in doing so risk endless dishonour. On the other hand, should you draw your blade, stand and fight, you will emerge the honorable victor or die a martyr.”

If it was to be a lesson, I did not know at first. I had heard similar words before, I knew the dangers of this dream perfectly well, but I quickly came to the realization that Le Vesperre uttered it for himself. Even after my following inquiry, he acted as if I were a ghost. The next morning, what I overheard during our prayer lent more credence to my theory. I was instructed to utter my own, but I had finished long before the Lord. I could only hear seven words, but they brought into question everything I had assured myself about the man;

“Lest I be ashamed and reproached for timidity.”

I put those doubts at bay on the long ride north. We had arrived at the campgrounds just in time. I stood in awe of all the men around me, their steel shining and singing, the vibrancy of their standards, and the chorus of huffing horses, war horses, with muscles strong enough to crush the enemy with scarcely a stomp. The camp itself sat in the trench behind a great hill, and the thought of what awaited beyond set my mind aflutter. A legion of scoundrels, brands bared, doomed to suffer at the hands of the godly men I found myself blessed to be in company with. It is worth noting by this point I was well on the way to knighthood - I could handle a sword as if I had been born with it in my hands, and I could command a steed to drive fearlessly into any heart of darkness. But as I handed Le Vesperre his equipment, having just armoured his stallion, he ordered me to remain in the campgrounds, to mill about, guard the gear, the provisions, and the horses. Unfitting of my station, I erupted into a tirade of complaints, condemning the Knight for his lethargic treatment of my journey, and for expressing hesitation. The latter, I admit, was a slip of the tongue, a lapse born from juvenile frustration. As to be expected, I received a heavy blow to my shoulder, spawning a terrible scar I spent the afternoon nursing as I sulked among the rations. So overcome with envy, I could not lift my eyes to see the men crest the hill and ride forth to battle.
I must have fallen asleep, for when I woke, night had fallen, skies glittering. Daring to defy my command, I crawled from my tent and snuck to the hill, peering over the summit. As if by some divine miracle, I appeared in time to see the men return victorious, their armour glistening crimson, their steeds slick with sweat, and the Oriflamme… The Oriflamme was nowhere in sight. The men passed by in silence. Had they forgotten their triumph? Perhaps they had experienced so many that this was but another notch on their belts? In my excitement, I had forgotten the fate of the standard bearer, my mentor, Le Vesperre. It was only when I heard the rattling of an approaching cart that I realized his fate. He laid beneath a blood-stained blanket, eyes wide. I hurried to chase, my heart inching closer to the depths of my chest. Guilt overcame me as I pleaded with his lifeless body, though my guilt quickly turned to doubt as I gazed upon his visage. In all my years as his squire I had experienced his terrors from the faintest of whimpers to the most ear-splitting of screeches, but I had never seen such profound fear in his eyes as I had in that instance. Whatever he saw, the horror he must have witnessed, it had reduced his pupils to wells of midnight ink, ink so deep and thick that the longer I stared, the quicker I felt myself drowning in despair.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die. Vesperre’s season had come to an end. At the dawn of another, he was laid to rest. The local clergy gave an honorable service, attended by all manner of noblemen; knights, lords, ladies, and their retinue. Great names came to pay their respects, men who rivalled the great Vesperre in his skill, men who had been blessed, saved from death. To my surprise, the Lady herself arrived. While I could see an undoubtable sadness in her eyes, I found myself distracted by the even clearer disappointment that weighed upon her wrinkles. How could she feel such a way? The man had given his all for king and country, for god; safe passage to heaven. This question nestled itself in the recesses of my mind.
A year later I came into the service of another master, a man whose enthusiasm for battle and glory nigh-outmatched my own. I was relieved to no longer bear the burden of easing terrors and suffering Vesperre’s behaviour, a sentiment I do, in hindsight, feel great remorse for. On the eve of my ascension, I contended with this in vigil, soon surmising my late master would certainly express pride for my accomplishments. As I received the accolade, the tap upon my shoulder brought me back to that moment in the campgrounds,* the only instance where Le Vesperre ever struck me out of combat. I realise now the action in ceremony brought back that pain. Had Vesperre, knowing his fate, delivered upon me his final judgement? His blessing? An end to our partnership, and the beginning of my duty? If only the man were there to allay those notions.
The time soon came, as it did for all brave men, to ride for war. I arrived at the staging grounds, and for the first time, I could look upon those shining sentinels of my youth and see them as equals. We shared mead and broke bread, regaling one another with many tales of derring-do until the clarion call. It sounded through the camp, rolling from fire to fire, man to man, and steed to steed, until all had risen like a great field of steel springing from the earth. United not only in brotherhood but in our loyalty to god, we broke the horizon to see our quarry far in the distance, their banners held high, soon to fall. Within a few breaths, we descended from the hill like the tide, primed to wash away all memory of those at the tip of our brands.
The battle was a blur, ugly strings one might find at the back of a tapestry, bathed in blood and dirt. Just as my eyes fluttered shut, there before me was a pale horse. Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. 
To have been claimed by the rider would be a blessing. Please know I take no pleasure in reciting the events that followed. It comes with great difficulty. I woke in a sea of steel, glistening shadows beneath the sky, a sky so endless it evades my comprehension. Bleary-eyed, I endeavoured to rise, but my knees faltered, drawn to the earth. My flesh soon trembled without rhyme nor reason, and the sight of dirt beneath my being, the trees over yonder, and the clouds above brought a great sickness to my mind. It can only be described as nature going against me. But what I saw when I raised my eyes was no product of that vast garden. Beyond the horizon, some impossible eikon emerged, its skull shining in the dim moonlight, its vast body no doubt exceeding known space. I cried and I screamed, as if such sounds would guide me back to slumber, but such a reprieve never came. My eyelids were torn asunder by this unbearable abstraction, leaving them sore, sore until the sun clawed back victory, finally granting me peace.
I now understand the Lady’s disappointment, but as much as Le Vesperre might have fought the very foundations to appease her concern, it is not a luxury we shall ever know. It is our duty to brave that abyss, never to blink. I recall my master shared words spoken to him by an abbot;

“To behold a knight in shining plate is to witness a man doubly prepared: his being by steel, and his soul by faith. Such a spirit shall thus carry out their duty undeterred, for no conceivable creature - nor mortal nor demon - can shake them from the path.”

Such words inspired me, as it no doubt would for generations to come. Yet I wonder whether the good abbot had looked into that abyss at all. While we are equipped to never falter against man or demon, nothing can prepare the soul for what lay upon that battlefield, waiting. Even so, in the face of such impossibility, we are bound to carry on our duty, to maintain the cycle.
I write to you now, my would-be squire, from the desk of my bedroom, having woken from another terror. I could beg of you to dare be reproached and ashamed for your timidity, but such prayers would fall on deaf ears. I can only warn you, lest you suffer the pangs of horror
that haunted both my master and I. Steel yourself and fortify your soul, for the day will come. Do not blink.

May Almighty God protect you with His blessing.