Ben led Aron into the deepest chambers of the castle. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning ash, the torches sputtering on and off. Sunlight had long abandoned these passages, leaving flickering shadows that danced along the moss cracked walls. Aron squinted, his boots scuffed against uneven brimstones as he struggled to keep Ben's cloaked figure in sight.
They halted before a great wooden door, its iron hinges groaning like a wounded beast as it swung open. Inside lay an armory, a cavernous chamber where the metallic tang of oiled steel hung heavy in the air. Knights clustered round a central table, their voices fell silent as Aron entered. Atop the table lay an injured man, tunic stained dark with blood, his breath dragged.
Aron's heart remained steady, but mind raced. The whispers around him died as he followed Ben, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. The weight of every stare lay heavy on him.
"So you're my replacement," the injured man said coughing. And holding his side which was wrapped in thick bandages, the color a dark red. The blood had hardened, giving it a shell look.
"What happened to you?" Aron asked.
Ben grabbed Aron from the scene. "Don't mind him for now, just put this on." He thrust a ceremonial armor into Aron's hands. It gleamed with silver laid with glittering sapphire.
Aron puzzled by the events. "This is royal regalia. What is going on exactly, Ben?"
"That man was meant to deliver the kings message to the Talorans. Now he can't." Ben said placing his hand on Aron's shoulder. "You have been chosen in his stead." He smiled for the first time. "Congratulations, Sir Aron of Bran."
"This is a lot," Aron said.
His mind spiraled with thoughts. "How did he get injured and why me? Since when does the King know me? Could it be Sir Barnabas' doing?"
"Hey!" Ben snapped him back. "Get your head out of the clouds, we didn't call you to site see."
"Right!" Aron exhaled, the weight in his heart dropping slightly. He donned the armor, the cool against his skin despite the stifling air.
The injured Knight barked a laugh. "Come here you lucky bastard!" He said to Aron.
He thrust a black wooden box with a letter into Aron's hands. "A gift for the Taloran general, from Edward himself. It would have earned me a lordship if I'd delivered it." He laughed which soon turned to coughing. "I still don't know how a nobody like you got the honor."
Aron stiffened by the remark but bowed regardless, swallowing the insult.
"I guess screwing the princess has its perks." The injured knight muttered under his breath.
"What?" Aron said, boiling with anger, he grabbed the man by his collar, hauling him up until their faces were inches apart. The man's sour breath-reeking of ale and blood-washed over him. "Who told you that? Say it again!"
The man shouted in agony. "I didn't say a thing, let go please!"
The other knights dragged Aron off him, his fists barely relenting, they tossed him away as he tore the man's collar off. They surrounded him clenching their fists and keeping their hands close to their weapons.
"Are you mad, Aron?" Ben hissed, dragging him away.
Aron's fists freed open, his rage faded, leaving only the drum of his pulse in his ears. "…My apologies."
Ben sighed calming himself. "Just go. And don't open them till you've met the general."
With the letter and the black box secured, Aron mounted his steed-a towering beast with coat like polished obsidian. As he reached the chambers exit, a roar of cheers erupted like fireworks. The heat of the stuffy helmet pushed back against him. Sweat trickled down his temples. Not from the stifling air but from the weight of what lay ahead.
A pathway was made by the sea of knights leading to the castle's main gates. Their Armor seemed to blend together like a sea of metal and brass. Some waved their unsheathed swords in the air, others the banner of kindrea.
"Ha! I thought I was being led into a trap," Aron laughed. "This…this is the real deal." He paused and looked to the sky. "Why me?"
But he shrugged his head, shaking the doubt off himself. "Don't question it, Aron. It's not about you. Just do your duty!"
Sir Barnabas stood among the knights. "Good tiding's Sir Landor." He said waving at Aron.
Aron puzzled. "Sir Landor? Right the Helm! He must think I'm the injured fellow." He wiped the steeds ropes and carried on, not giving much thought to it.
As he reached the castle gates. He paused taking one last glance at the castle. Seraphina's window stood open, her curtains sprawling out of the room. The pink contrasting with the castles grim stone.
"I will be back, my love." He whispered.
"Hiyaa!" He launched his steed forward, and bolted through the gates, racing through the city in moments. The citizens roared as he thundered past. It was custom to praise a knight with ceremonial Armor, but their cheers still sent a thrill through his bones.
As the towering walls of knidrea loomed ahead, He laughed. "I won't be missing you!" Racing past the gates and into the wilds beyond. The fresh breeze zipped into his helmet, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain.
"Ha ha!" He threw his hands into the air, the world rushing past in a blur of green and blue. "I am sir Aron of Bran! Talorans beware!"