Why did I become a paladin? When did I know this was my path?
Chachanji’s question had brought about a long period of quiet, for she had no ready answer. The paladin lowered her hand with the apple down onto her lap, her brows furrowing in thought. Her gaze strayed from the Lalafell youth to the desert fields behind him, memories drifting before her like a warm summer breeze.
It was on a day not far different from this one, when the air was dry and the sun shone high above in a cloudless sky. Roen and Brenden Deneith were just returning from the nearest market town back home, the same trip that they had made many times before. But on this day, they came upon a group of bandits who sought what little gil that they had gained from selling their produce. Her adoptive father resisted, for the hard-earned coin was supposed to feed his family through the drought, but even as Roen and Brenden fought them off, one of the bandits left the merchant with a grievous wound.
Two days later, on another hot and suffocating summer day, Roen saw Brenden’s life fading from his eyes, his ragged breaths shallow. That was when a Sultansworn had found them, a paladin in glorious armor--blue trimmed in silver and shining in the sun. He had come and laid his hand upon the wounded merchant, and with a prayer and a wondrous display of aetheric magic, the paladin had brought her adoptive father back to health.
That was when Roen had sworn to herself to seek out the Sultansworn again. To ask him to train her, so that she too could do for others what he did for her and her family. To save someone who was beloved. To have the power to restore life and light onto those fading into death and darkness.
How long had she been trying to find that path? It was for as long as she could remember. Why?
Memories of that day in the desert were swept away as if by a dust storm, and before her appeared another scene she had long wanted to forget.
Everywhere she turned, there were bodies. Swords clashing, fireballs exploding, guns flaring, and Magitek mounts and chocobos alike carrying more soldiers to their deaths. Roen froze, her sword in hand, unable to move. As blood rained around her, she found herself unable to take part in the battle she had convinced herself only weeks past to be the most important thing in her life. But seeing the fighting up close and the death it brought, she found herself unprepared. She was unwilling--unable--to kill people she did not even know.
So she ran.
As she did so, she passed numerous people on the ground. The ones that still lived...she still remembered their desperate expressions--and there were so many--as they tried to crawl away. They too wanted to flee, just as she did, even though she could tell that they knew their death was imminent. Still their limbs clawed at the ground in their attempt. Roen paused more than once, hesitant to leave someone behind. But then another explosion would rocked them all to their knees.
She remembered hearing only the hammering of her heart in her chest. It was her fear that made her run. Tears stung her eyes as she passed one frightened face after another, some of them not too much older than she was.
I ran like a coward. I did not save anyone that day, Roen thought bitterly to herself as she forcibly dismissed those visions from her mind. And yet she had snuck into that battle underaged, pretending to belong in an Imperial regimen, for the very purpose of saving one person in particular.
She never did save him.
“I am afraid he will not be present for dinner again, Miss,†Gerbert had said in his usual monotonous tone as he laid the bowl of soup in front of her. He then retreated back into the kitchens before she could engage him in any conversation, the echoes of his booted heels against the stone tiles sounding harsh to her ears.
Roen sat in the dining hall by herself, in a chair that was too tall for her and at a long polished table that could easily seat twelve, much less one lonely young girl. Her father was away again, choosing to work through the night in his laboratory. She could not remember the last time they had dined together…not since her mother had passed away. She looked to the other end of the table, where he used to sit, and next to him her mother. The ghosts of that memory filled the room as Roen saw her younger self seated on her mother’s lap; her father had bent towards her with a delighted smile allowing her to pop a small piece of mushroom into his opened mouth. He crossed his eyes suddenly with his nose only a few ilms away from her face, which made her burst into a fit of giggles and fall back into her mother’s arms. Their laughter had filled the hall then.
But since her mother’s death, she no longer saw him laugh or smile. There was only darkness that followed him, sadness that dulled his gaze. It was as if he too had lost his will to live when the love of his life had lost hers.
How desperately she wanted to save her father then…she promised herself to find whatever way she could to bring him back to the land of the living. To restore the light that she used to see in his eyes. To rekindle the warmth that used to radiate in his smile.
Was it then?
The paladin blinked, the apple rolling along her lap towards her as she had lost the grip on it in her reflections. She glanced to Chachanji when she realized that she had fallen into a long spell of silence in trying to respond to his question.
“I lost someone,†Roen said quietly. “I…could not save him. And then I saw many others fall.†She felt the wave sadness rise from within, but restrained it with a determined frown instead. “So when I met a Sultansworn, I finally thought that was what I could become. So that if I was given another chance, I would not fail them. That I did not have to lose anyone again, not if it was in my power to save them.â€
Roen exhaled slowly, trying to focus back onto the topic at hand. Ser Crofte had set Chachanji on this task for his sake, she reminded herself. She should be giving him counsel that would lend him some wisdom, rather than sharing her own inner demons.
“Do you know why Ser Crofte asked you to pose such a question?†The paladin thought it best to focus the conversation back onto her pupil. “Did she ask you the same?â€
Chachanji’s question had brought about a long period of quiet, for she had no ready answer. The paladin lowered her hand with the apple down onto her lap, her brows furrowing in thought. Her gaze strayed from the Lalafell youth to the desert fields behind him, memories drifting before her like a warm summer breeze.
It was on a day not far different from this one, when the air was dry and the sun shone high above in a cloudless sky. Roen and Brenden Deneith were just returning from the nearest market town back home, the same trip that they had made many times before. But on this day, they came upon a group of bandits who sought what little gil that they had gained from selling their produce. Her adoptive father resisted, for the hard-earned coin was supposed to feed his family through the drought, but even as Roen and Brenden fought them off, one of the bandits left the merchant with a grievous wound.
Two days later, on another hot and suffocating summer day, Roen saw Brenden’s life fading from his eyes, his ragged breaths shallow. That was when a Sultansworn had found them, a paladin in glorious armor--blue trimmed in silver and shining in the sun. He had come and laid his hand upon the wounded merchant, and with a prayer and a wondrous display of aetheric magic, the paladin had brought her adoptive father back to health.
That was when Roen had sworn to herself to seek out the Sultansworn again. To ask him to train her, so that she too could do for others what he did for her and her family. To save someone who was beloved. To have the power to restore life and light onto those fading into death and darkness.
How long had she been trying to find that path? It was for as long as she could remember. Why?
Memories of that day in the desert were swept away as if by a dust storm, and before her appeared another scene she had long wanted to forget.
Everywhere she turned, there were bodies. Swords clashing, fireballs exploding, guns flaring, and Magitek mounts and chocobos alike carrying more soldiers to their deaths. Roen froze, her sword in hand, unable to move. As blood rained around her, she found herself unable to take part in the battle she had convinced herself only weeks past to be the most important thing in her life. But seeing the fighting up close and the death it brought, she found herself unprepared. She was unwilling--unable--to kill people she did not even know.
So she ran.
As she did so, she passed numerous people on the ground. The ones that still lived...she still remembered their desperate expressions--and there were so many--as they tried to crawl away. They too wanted to flee, just as she did, even though she could tell that they knew their death was imminent. Still their limbs clawed at the ground in their attempt. Roen paused more than once, hesitant to leave someone behind. But then another explosion would rocked them all to their knees.
She remembered hearing only the hammering of her heart in her chest. It was her fear that made her run. Tears stung her eyes as she passed one frightened face after another, some of them not too much older than she was.
I ran like a coward. I did not save anyone that day, Roen thought bitterly to herself as she forcibly dismissed those visions from her mind. And yet she had snuck into that battle underaged, pretending to belong in an Imperial regimen, for the very purpose of saving one person in particular.
She never did save him.
“I am afraid he will not be present for dinner again, Miss,†Gerbert had said in his usual monotonous tone as he laid the bowl of soup in front of her. He then retreated back into the kitchens before she could engage him in any conversation, the echoes of his booted heels against the stone tiles sounding harsh to her ears.
Roen sat in the dining hall by herself, in a chair that was too tall for her and at a long polished table that could easily seat twelve, much less one lonely young girl. Her father was away again, choosing to work through the night in his laboratory. She could not remember the last time they had dined together…not since her mother had passed away. She looked to the other end of the table, where he used to sit, and next to him her mother. The ghosts of that memory filled the room as Roen saw her younger self seated on her mother’s lap; her father had bent towards her with a delighted smile allowing her to pop a small piece of mushroom into his opened mouth. He crossed his eyes suddenly with his nose only a few ilms away from her face, which made her burst into a fit of giggles and fall back into her mother’s arms. Their laughter had filled the hall then.
But since her mother’s death, she no longer saw him laugh or smile. There was only darkness that followed him, sadness that dulled his gaze. It was as if he too had lost his will to live when the love of his life had lost hers.
How desperately she wanted to save her father then…she promised herself to find whatever way she could to bring him back to the land of the living. To restore the light that she used to see in his eyes. To rekindle the warmth that used to radiate in his smile.
Was it then?
The paladin blinked, the apple rolling along her lap towards her as she had lost the grip on it in her reflections. She glanced to Chachanji when she realized that she had fallen into a long spell of silence in trying to respond to his question.
“I lost someone,†Roen said quietly. “I…could not save him. And then I saw many others fall.†She felt the wave sadness rise from within, but restrained it with a determined frown instead. “So when I met a Sultansworn, I finally thought that was what I could become. So that if I was given another chance, I would not fail them. That I did not have to lose anyone again, not if it was in my power to save them.â€
Roen exhaled slowly, trying to focus back onto the topic at hand. Ser Crofte had set Chachanji on this task for his sake, she reminded herself. She should be giving him counsel that would lend him some wisdom, rather than sharing her own inner demons.
“Do you know why Ser Crofte asked you to pose such a question?†The paladin thought it best to focus the conversation back onto her pupil. “Did she ask you the same?â€
