Roen watched her pupil carefully as she noted his mood turning sober. She had not seen such seriousness in his young eyes before, and at certain moments as he looked over his apple, he seemed almost lost.
The paladin canted her head, studying Chachanji. What did she really know of this Lalafell? Not much really, other than the fact that from the first day they had met, she had immediately recognized their similarities; his eager enthusiasm reminded her of her own, younger self. She recognized his pure idealism all too well and found herself fiercely wanting to protect it.
But she had never wondered--or perhaps even cared--why he wanted to help others. In answering his question, she had realized where her own desire to aid others had risen from. Her mother had instilled within her a need to lend kindness to others, but it was the loss of her father to his grief that had given rise to a purpose. This yearning for fulfillment, this sense of duty that always seemed to push her from within...
She believed that it was following this path that she could feel right in the world, to balance the scales even just a little bit.
As Roen looked back to Chachanji, she doubted he had a similar obligation that burned in his heart. At least, she desperately hoped that he did not. The innocence that shone brightly in his eyes from the first day that she met him, she would never suspect that there were shadows in his past. Was it then that in sharing her own, he wished for some gravitas to add to his own purpose? He thought that his simple need to help others was already too shallow in meaning.
The paladin smiled with sympathy when the youth looked back at her. She leaned in towards him, her apple now back in her hands. She rolled it absently between her two palms as she curled a brighter expression for her pupil.
“Just wanting to help others should never ever be considered shallow,†Roen said softly. “That in itself is an admirable trait. But being a paladin or a Sultansworn...it is not an easy road. It is not just a job. It takes conviction and resolve, and often those very things will be tested.†Her voice lowered slightly, as did her gaze. It was her turn to idly study the fruit in her hands as she turned it over.
“I think that is why Ser Crofte was prodding you for a deeper answer. There are easier roads to take, and you can still help many people. Taking up the sword and shield, and dedicating your life to protecting others, sometimes it can take a toll on you. She wants to be sure, and I do as well, that you are committing to it for the right reasons.†There was a hint of caution to her words, as if to silently prepare him or even dissuade him, if there were any signs of cracks in his determination.
“I will help you in any way I can, Chachanji.†Roen glanced back up at the youth, her expression intent. “But know this. You are choosing to live a life in servitude of an ideal. That is the path of a paladin. To dedicate your life to an Oath, one you will swear, to protect others that are in need. You are meant to bind yourself to this purpose.†She locked her gaze with his. “So why are you so intent on dedicating your entire life to this?â€
The paladin canted her head, studying Chachanji. What did she really know of this Lalafell? Not much really, other than the fact that from the first day they had met, she had immediately recognized their similarities; his eager enthusiasm reminded her of her own, younger self. She recognized his pure idealism all too well and found herself fiercely wanting to protect it.
But she had never wondered--or perhaps even cared--why he wanted to help others. In answering his question, she had realized where her own desire to aid others had risen from. Her mother had instilled within her a need to lend kindness to others, but it was the loss of her father to his grief that had given rise to a purpose. This yearning for fulfillment, this sense of duty that always seemed to push her from within...
She believed that it was following this path that she could feel right in the world, to balance the scales even just a little bit.
As Roen looked back to Chachanji, she doubted he had a similar obligation that burned in his heart. At least, she desperately hoped that he did not. The innocence that shone brightly in his eyes from the first day that she met him, she would never suspect that there were shadows in his past. Was it then that in sharing her own, he wished for some gravitas to add to his own purpose? He thought that his simple need to help others was already too shallow in meaning.
The paladin smiled with sympathy when the youth looked back at her. She leaned in towards him, her apple now back in her hands. She rolled it absently between her two palms as she curled a brighter expression for her pupil.
“Just wanting to help others should never ever be considered shallow,†Roen said softly. “That in itself is an admirable trait. But being a paladin or a Sultansworn...it is not an easy road. It is not just a job. It takes conviction and resolve, and often those very things will be tested.†Her voice lowered slightly, as did her gaze. It was her turn to idly study the fruit in her hands as she turned it over.
“I think that is why Ser Crofte was prodding you for a deeper answer. There are easier roads to take, and you can still help many people. Taking up the sword and shield, and dedicating your life to protecting others, sometimes it can take a toll on you. She wants to be sure, and I do as well, that you are committing to it for the right reasons.†There was a hint of caution to her words, as if to silently prepare him or even dissuade him, if there were any signs of cracks in his determination.
“I will help you in any way I can, Chachanji.†Roen glanced back up at the youth, her expression intent. “But know this. You are choosing to live a life in servitude of an ideal. That is the path of a paladin. To dedicate your life to an Oath, one you will swear, to protect others that are in need. You are meant to bind yourself to this purpose.†She locked her gaze with his. “So why are you so intent on dedicating your entire life to this?â€
