Yet Another Thing That Never Happened to Daeron Greyvale
He was unaware of the hands that guided him to a seat in one of the leather covered chairs by the office's fireplace, or the bitter taste of the restorative from the goblet held to his lips or even the sound of his mother's wailing voice on the other side of the room, rough with grief and sorrow. All he could feel were the burning tears that spilled down his cheeks, to drip from his chin and land, irretrievably staining the fine silk and linen, on his dress tunic as his mind tried to accept the words he'd just heard.
"I don't understand why you are going alone. You need a squire on a journey such as this. Please, take me with you!" Daeron begged as he followed his father from the bedroom and into the sitting room.
"Enough, Daeron! I am traveling alone on this journey and even if I were to take a squire with me it will not be you!" Laedren Greyvale snapped as he began putting maps, books and his journal into a small case. "This is no pleasure jaunt or a summer's camping excursion but a mission of grave importance."
"I understand that! I can keep up and be useful. Even Master Tirgoth says only Lord Faramir can best me with a bow…ah!"
The sound of the slap rang through the room as he lost his balance and fell against the desk.
"I said, ENOUGH!" Laedren roared. "You can't even stand on your own two feet, how in Arda would you manage fording flooded rivers, climbing icy mountain trails and sleeping in trees to avoid the wolves? Your bow would be useless, you would be useless! Swords are what are needed here and even you can't deceive yourself that you are competent with one. Get from my sight."
Daeron staggered to his feet and limped from the room without another word, his twisted leg dragging on the old carpet that covered the stone floor of the room. His father was gone from the house in an hour, pausing at the door only to kiss his lady wife and bless his baby daughter. Daeron stood back not quite in the shadows of the stairwell but Laedren didn't even glance towards him, much less offer a farewell or blessing to his heir.
Weeks passed without word of Lord Greyvale and Daeron busied himself with the management of his father's properties and with attending weapons practice in the training yards, insisting that Master Tirgoth work with him on sword and shield work despite his unsteady stance and weak leg.
Then at the end of summer a letter came to Lady Greyvale dated a fortnight previous, saying that her husband did not expect to be back until after midwinter.
Nothing was heard from him at midwinter and Daeron limped down the River to place the family's wishes and prayers alight to float with the other small boats down the Anduin in the company of his mother and sister. He tried to ignore the sniggers and rude comments about the sword that hung at his hip and the suggestions he trade it for a crutch as best he could.
The year turned and still nothing was heard. February was swiftly passing and on the 5th day of March there was a knocking on the front door that awakened the entire household.
Daeron was halfway down the stairs when the butler opened the door and the somber face of Boromir of Gondor met his eyes.
Gradually Daeron became aware of a strong but kindly hand on his shoulder and he looked up to find understanding in the grey eyes that met his own grey-green ones.
"We parted in anger," he whispered, begging for absolution from his father's commander and friend. "in angry silence without even a farewell."
The understanding offered in the Captain-General's silence was Daeron's undoing and he gave way to his grief.