Xavier (Medieval Fantasy)

Just don't open your eyes.

To spite me, my other senses heightened, putting out their feelers to force me to comprehend my situation.

I could smell the muddy grass beneath my feet, and the sweat of the man beside me.

Just don't open your eyes.

I could hear the constant mumor of human voices surrounding me, but I was alone.

"I'm sorry, Xavier, I can't help you this time." I wasn't listening - couldn't listen - didn't want to.

Just don't open your eyes.

I could feel a breeze caressing my face; the wool of my tunic itching my skin; a weight on my head. But most of all I could feel the piece of wood in my hand. My mind was drawn to it, unwilling to let me go until I understood: it was a wooden practice sword.

Just don't open your eyes.

I opened my eyes; peering through my helmet's narrow slot.

A thousand people stared down at me from on high, my Lord father among them. I was a child, surrounded by men. What was I doing here, in a tournament? I was here to prove my worth in mêlée. A battle royale. But I could not fight.

The End

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