With the goblin expedition concluded and their settlement reduced to ruins, the military company began its return journey to the city. Throughout the march to Locksley, Tristan was enveloped in silence. His mind incessantly replayed the earlier scene of the goblins fleeing in terror. Their screams and shrieks of horror echoed hauntingly in his ears, and the raw fear etched on their faces was seared into his memory.
“Hey, Tristan,” Oswald’s voice pierced through Tristan's introspection. “You still mulling over those goblins? They’re monsters, you know. You shouldn’t let it weigh on you.”
“I understand that,” Tristan acknowledged with a nod, his lips curling into a wry smile. “But the terror in their eyes... it mirrored ours when we've faced attack.”
“Well, we’re different from them,” Oswald quipped, arching an eyebrow. “For starters, we don’t sport green skin.”
Tristan shook his head at his friend’s attempt at humor and let out a reluctant chuckle. However, a heaviness lingered in his heart. “I should check on James. I'm certain he's still reeling from the ordeal.”
With an understanding nod from Oswald, Tristan navigated his way to where Robert and the two children were. Pushing his own turmoil deep within, Tristan mustered a smile as he approached his brother. “So, how was your first foray into battle?”
“Ah, Tristan,” James responded, turning with a start and then casting his gaze downward, clouded with distress. “It was terrifying. The screams, the blood... it was really scary.”
“That's the harsh reality of a battlefield,” Tristan replied with a somber tone. “The key is to remember why we fight: to safeguard our city and everyone we cherish within its walls. That's the purpose behind our struggle.”
James looked up at his brother, absorbing the words, and then gave a nod of understanding. “I get it.”
As Tristan offered reassurance to James, he realized those words served more as a mantra for himself. That’s right. I mustn't let my emotions sway my judgment. We fight to prevent any more tragedies. Yet, the memory of the fleeing goblins resurfaced, causing Tristan’s expression to stiffen, and a sinking feeling to grip his stomach. Were those goblins the aggressors, or mere victims caught in a situation as bewildering to them as the apocalypse had been to humans?
His thoughts drifted to his father's imposing figure, how his commanding words sliced through the chaos of battle, guiding their actions with clarity. I need to speak with him, Tristan contemplated, feeling a tightness in his chest. Glancing around, he realized the company had dispersed, leaving only a few knights near their mansion. Lord William had already retreated into the manor.
He must be in his study, buried in paperwork. With that thought, Tristan made his way through the main gate and headed towards his father's office. As this mansion was positioned closer to the gates than the palace, Lord William had been using it more frequently when it came to dealing with annoying paperwork.
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After a respectful knock on the door, a voice from within beckoned, “Come in.”
Upon receiving the acknowledgment, Tristan stepped into his father’s study. He found Lord William, immersed in a sea of documents, his focus unwavering on the task at hand.
“Oh, it's you, Tristan,” William glanced up at his son, peeking through the mountain of documents. “Please, have a seat.”
Tristan wordlessly complied, settling into the chair across his father's desk. A heavy silence filled the room.
Perceiving the unusual quiet, William set aside his paperwork and focused on his son. “You’ve sought me out, yet you remain silent. Is there something troubling you?”
“Yes,” Tristan confirmed with a nod. “It’s the goblins. Their terror-stricken faces... When I saw them fleeing, I was taken aback. They seemed... almost human.”
“They might well be,” William conceded. “Our knowledge about them is minimal – their language, their culture. We barely understand how they live.”
Tristan's eyebrows arched in surprise, and his heart thumped erratically. “So... did we just attack them unprovoked? We don’t even know for sure if they were the ones who attacked us.”
William exhaled deeply, his gaze dropping in contemplation. “This dilemma is age-old in warfare. When we retaliated against the barbarians after their relentless raids, what do you think happened to their people? They, too, fled in terror, crying out in fear.”
Tristan felt a painful tightening in his chest. “Was that... the right thing to do?”
“Was it right?” William leaned back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “At the start of every war, you're always armed with justifications and reasons. The barbarians had slain many of ours, and they would've continued if we hadn't struck back. But the moment you launch your assault, when you breach their walls and witness their civilians fleeing in dread, all those justifications fade into insignificance. In the face of a pleading mother, what truly defines right and wrong?”
A lump formed in Tristan's throat, rendering him speechless in response to his father's profound questions.
"It's a difficult question, isn't it?" William said with a knowing smile. "Is it right to take the life of an elderly man or a mother if their nation has waged a devastating war against you? Is it just to kill a child trying to defend his sister from invaders with nothing but a stone? Or to kill a soldier who fights on the front lines for the safety of his family and loved ones? What truly defines 'right'?"
Once again, Tristan found himself unable to articulate a response. He simply gazed at his father and sighed deeply.
"There is no definitive answer," William said, his smile turning gentle as he patted his son's shoulder. "Every action we take is a choice, laden with its own set of fears and uncertainties. No one wants to be despised. So, what do you do? Do you cower in your palace, shunning the harshness of life and its decisions? Do you turn a blind eye and flee from responsibility? No. You confront these choices head-on, comprehend their repercussions, and accept them. That's the essence of being a lord, of being a man."
Tristan's eyes widened, then softened into a sad smile. "I've shown you a weak and ugly side, haven't I? What kind of man falters before the stark reality?"
"A good man," William replied with a gentle smile. "Fear is not a flaw. A man who never experiences fear is a man who's lost touch with his humanity."
At those words, Tristan's smile broadened, the tightness in his chest easing, and his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Thank you, Father," he said, rising from his chair. "I won't take up more of your time. I know you have a lot to prepare for your expedition tonight."
William chuckled warmly. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
With that, Tristan left his father's study and ventured into the backyard. He picked up his sword and began his usual training regimen. Sword practice had always been Tristan's refuge in times of confusion or contemplation. The rhythm of his swordplay brought him joy, momentarily freeing him from the burdens of the world.