The Warden | A For Honor Fanfiction

One and All

One and All
It was an uncomfortably familiar feeling that washed over me, standing watch on the elevated walls of that fortress. Despite the age of the structure, much of it still held steady and firm, much of the faded wood still unblemished by the passage of time. What little bits of rot had formed in the wood appeared almost frozen solid, reinforced by the frost encroaching on it like a parasite. Small openings were periodically spread out among edges of the walkways, each topped with a single torch and only just large enough for a single person to look through, or fire an arrow at advancing invaders. I'd been positioned on similar fortresses many times early in my service as Warden, and during my brief tenure with Blackstone. That it reminded me so clearly of such days unsettled me in ways I couldn't quite understand.

Atop the wall itself was a small team of rangers, three locked in place beside the openings with weapons ready, arrows held tight. Two others, Berrat being one of them, patrolled the remainder of the wall, watching the surrounding tree line from every angle they could. Just behind the gate were twelve of my Iron Legion, separated into two rows of six and standing at the ready on horseback, ready to charge if the gates were to open. Beside the second row was what remained of the militia, five spear and shield toting souls on the right, and six on the left. Despite their efforts to appear uniform, their discomfort was plainly visible, between the clattering of their weapons and constant shifting of their heads, watching for a threat that they knew was coming. I understood their fear, and my heart ached for them. As did much of the rest of my body. Only a single scout group, one cavalryman and one ranger, had ventured beyond the wood, and there were still no signs of them.

In an attempt to keep my mind off the growing discomfort, I gently pulled Deborah's knife from its sheath at my side, and looked down to inspect it more closely. It was an interesting thing, to put it plainly. It had clearly begun as a simple cooking utensil, I could tell from its meager length, only slightly longer than half a foot. Despite this, I could still see the works of a blacksmith tuned to war. The once vibrant oak handle had been modified for a better, sturdier grip, and two small circular pieces of steel had been added to act as a pommel and as a cross guard. The blade itself was single edged, and well cared for, coming to a fiendishly sharp point. The entire construction seemed a strange, yet effective mixing of cooking knife and rondel dagger. Turning it over in my hands, I wondered if it had been her father that had commissioned such changes to the weapon, or Deborah herself.

Even amidst the growing chill of evening air, and the lingering aches of my body, I could not help but be enraptured by the blade. How many times had Deborah been forced to use the weapon? Had she ever taken a life of her own volition with it? Had this knife been given to her before her father's murder, or had she taken it after his passing? I suppose it made little difference, at the moment. She had entrusted it to me in an hour of great danger, it was a sign of her affection, and her trust. A gift of that magnitude was no small thing, and just staring at it was enough to remind me of the intensity of what we had said to one another.

"Good to see you up and about, brother." I suddenly heard from the right. Looking towards the well worn steps leading up to the wall, I could see Stone gingerly making his way up towards me. For a moment I considered hiding the knife. I had never been romantically involved before, and it felt like a private matter, not the sort of thing to be presented in a boisterous manner. I was also in no mood for Stone's taunting, however good in spirit it may have been. Still, if this were to proceed as I expected, and even hoped, Stone knowing would certainly be inevitable. So, I turned to acknowledge my friend, making no move to either hide, nor flaunt the weapon.

"If I am to lead, then I will do so from the front." I said in response to him. Stone simply nodded as he skipped the final step, more leaping onto the crosswalk than stepping. There was a calmness, a serenity to him even in the face of what was coming. Part of me wondered if he was genuinely at ease, or if he was simply acting as unworried for the sake of the others. Either way, I was grateful for it.