» Tue May 17, 2011 12:14 am Reynard le Chasseur had six brothers and one sister; as such, his family was judged relatively small. His eldest brother, Rodrigue, had ridden out, accomplished all sorts of valiant deeds, including slaying the Writhing Wyrm of Rotherham, which had earned him the title Knight of the Realm, his own domain in verdant pasturelands by the River Grismerie, and a smiling, blond-haired wife of impressive assets. The two next oldest brothers had ridden off to prove their worth as Knight Errant, and were currently conquering the hearts of maidens the length and breadth of Bretonnia. Travelers constantly brought back news of the two brothers' adventures, and as the minstrels sang tales of their exploits, Reynard watched the proud faces of his parents with a sinking heart.
And then there were Girauld, Reynard's older by a year. With his curling fair hair, his good looks, his skill at arms and his personal charisma, he was his parents' golden son. Girauld was gifted with the best weapons, specially made armour, and the best grey colt to be his warhorse. On the day that Girauld left home, a huge crowd gathered to see him off. As he watched his brother spur his prancing horse round in circles, Reynard wondered if he were the only person who wouldn't be sorry to see him go, then felt guilty when he saw the tears running down his mother's face.
For the first few months, news drifted back slowly: Girauld had defeated some Goblins, rescued the odd maiden, hunted down a rampaging beast or two. Nothing spectacular really, but enough to keep his parents spirits up. Then nothing. No news for months and months. Reynard's mother became more and more worried, though his father remained stoical. Reynard, in the meantime, flourished in his brothers absence, and concentrated on his knightly training - sword fighting, horsemanship and learning the codes and rules of chivalry. He was always made subtly conscious of the fact that though his skills were good, he wasn't quite as good as Girauld, who of course could wield a sword, master a spirited steed, play a lute etc better than anyone else.
A year had passed since Girauld's departure, and Reynard was nearly sixteen himself. Like his brothers before him, on sixteenth birthday he was expected to face and pass the tests of advlthood and be declared a man. Then, as family tradition dictated, he would ride away from his home as a Knight Errant, bound not to return until he had earned his spurs as a true Knight of the Realm.
In truth, Reynard felt no great desire to go out and stamp his mark on the world. He was not by nature very ambitious, and the fire of combat didn't burn in his veins the way it had for his elder brothers. He was a proficient swordsman, but he viewed combat as the means to an end, rather than an end in itself. He took pleasure in hunting - who wouldn't? - but never went out of his way to pick a fight the way other men did, just for the joy of it.
On the eve of Reynard's birthday, gloom hung over the castle like an invisible shroud. His mother hardly spoke to him anymore, and it seemed to Reynard that she hated him, though he couldn't understand why. His father tolerated him with cold politeness, and the only person who treated him like a human being was his sister, Malfleur, who was uncannily perceptive for a girl of her age."How can you declare what your quest will be, when you don't even know what you want?" she said to him. "You must absolve the demons of the past before you can conquer the perils of the future."
Reynard spent the night kneeling on the cold stone floor of the castle chapel, praying to the Lady for guidance. Inspiration struck him as the light of the rising sun shone through the stained glass window, bathing the altar before him in multicolored light. Now he knew clearly what he must do.
The day passed in a blur of activity, during which time Reynard passed all the ritual tests set him, and proved himself worthy to carry the arms and armour of a Knight Errant. The final part of the ceremony was for the young Knight to publically declare the object and purpose of his quest. Reynard strode up to his parents, removed his helmet, and saluted his father. His mother, he noticed, wouldn't look him in the eye. "For the honour of the Lady, the king and my family," he announced "I declare my quest shall be to search for my brother, Girauld - to bring him back home, if he still be alive, or, if he be dead, to avenge his passing. Thus I do swear on my sword and on my honour."
As he guessed, his statement caused no small amount of commotion. His mother rushed off crying, his father just glared at him, and all the servants started whispering to each other. "Maybe I should have just said I was going to kill the Black Boar of Borrobil," he thought randomly. "So much for altruism."
Reynard left as soon as he could gather his possessions together - some battered armour, a plain but serviceable sword, and the only horse his father was prepared to let him have, a beast so bad tempered the grooms were going to kill it for the meat in the Autumn. It was raining, and no-one could be bothered to see him off except his sister, who seemed quite cheerful, considering. "Take this," she said, pressing a cloth-wrapped bundle into his arms. "It's mine to give, and it will serve you well. Ride west, and search for Melys Gau. I can't help you more than this, but... good luck." She blew him a kiss, and waved goodbye as he rode through the castle gate into the great outside world.
When he was finally out of sight of his father's castle, Reynard stopped his horse and unwrapped his sister's present. It was a sword like no other he had ever seen. He had never heard of such a thing, it must be worth a king's ransom - how could she have come by it? Despite the damp chill of the day, the gold and pearl hilt felt warm to his touch, and when he swung the sword around, delicate runes along the blade sparkled in the air. Feeling distinctly more cheerful, Reynard strapped on the sword, and rode off down the road to meet his destiny.
After seeing her brother off, Malfleur went back to her bedroom and flung herself on her bed to think. There was only so much she could do for the moment. Girauld's vanity had led him to his doom like a moth drawn to a candle. It was perhaps a risk sending Reynard after him, but her need to be rid of the damning evidence of the sword overweighed any problems that would be posed by Girauld's return. She wasn't yet skilled enough in the magical arts of prediction to tell whether Reynard would succeed in his quest or not. The sorceress part of her soul cared nothing for any of her family, they served merely to support and protect her while she was young, and gathering her powers, but for the part of her that was still a little girl of six summers hoped that he would, because he was a far better person than any of his brothers... and because of the way he tousled her hair when he teased her.
