Ash to Iron

Chapter I

The sun was blinding at its peak. Its light spread over the field where mice scurried about, and gulls cooed in delight. The farm was a day's ride from the ocean, something that Yoric took advantage of. He would often find himself there before the morning, watching as the sun rose above the horizon. The icy water would make him shiver, but the delight made him beg for more.

Yoric was peculiar, at least to his father. All he wanted to do was swim, work, eat, and repeat. His father always gave a perplexed sigh as he leaned on his hoe, the dirt underneath being pressed in under his weight. Yoric knew what he wanted, though. He often thought about it, in fact. I want to make father proud. He would overwork himself to near exhaustion, so his father didn't have to worry. But Delric didn't seem take notice, making Yoric work harder and harder. So much so that Yoric begrudgingly accepted his father's lessons on top of the field work. Yoric often thought these to be boring lectures, gestures he didn't need to know or understand. He would never need to speak to someone in the royal court, much less expect to for that matter. But he did it anyway for his father, finding himself somewhat proficient after a few years of practice.

"Yoric! Come inside!" called out his father, Delric, from the small cottage.

"Coming!" He called back, sweat saturating his hair.

"Yoric!" Bellowed his father, his deep, rugged voice sounding labored under the heat of the sun.

Yoric finished his work before placing his sickle down in the settled soil, scrambling his strong legs towards the cottage of straw and stone. He was no more than 14 years old, but his size would convince you otherwise. His light brown hair and green eyes stuck out like a sore thumb in the village, but it only meant that Yoric was a true Faolan, as his father would often tell him.

Yoric brushed by the crops as they swayed around his body, and rushed towards the oak door, nearly slamming it on the stone walls leading into the cottage. There, he saw his father sitting at the circular table, slightly rotted from age.

Before him was a small book bound in leather, a thing of immense value to Delric. If there had ever been a fire, Yoric was sure that would be the first thing he'd grab.

"Yes, Father?" answered Yoric, his voice sounding confused.

"Have you done your chores? Swept the floor? Fed the cattle? Weed out the harvest?" ranted the man, looking older than his natural age of 40.

"Yes sir, each one has been done, just like it has been for the past 8 Winters and Summers." Replied Yoric, feeling slightly anxious as he glanced quickly at the book. Yoric was a curious creature of habit, and Delric always took advantage of it. Even when reluctant, Yoric still would ask more questions, or find some way to cause unintended mischief.

"What a fine day it is today, yes?" Delric asked, stern as chiseled stone.

"...It is..." said Yoric bluntly, clenching his hands anxiously behind his back. What could he want? There is bound to be a reason. A delivery? Maybe something I broke?

"You know what makes today so important?" Delric questioned, his speech unaffected by his class. He remained a mystery, despite all the time they spend together. Delric often kept a distance, but still found some small occasion to demonstrate his affection. Yoric found his father to be more militaristic, strict if that. Always concerned about his wellbeing, his character, his manners. But Yoric just wanted to be close to his father, to understand, not to follow.