A scarred warrior stood filling the doorway, dressed only in simple white short pants, his powerful shoulders brushing either side of the door. Thick white hair fell in a short braid, pointing down between the thick muscles of his back. He looked down at his first grandchild, cradled in his arms, and said “Grandpappy’s gonna let you choose your weapon right now. Are you excited? Yes you are! Yes you are! Look at those big eyes, you can’t wait now can you? Ooh you’re smiling now eh, goochy goo! Goochy goo!”
A similarly-dressed younger man with a short buzz of black hair, middle-aged, approached the white-haired warrior. “Daaaad! We asked you to speak to him properly! We don’t want him growing up speaking baby language, he’d get teased by the other kids!”
The white-haired warrior looked back at his son, his entire expression changing from doting grandpa to menacing killer in an instant, rumbling out a warning from deep within his abdomen. “Any family who dares bully my grandchild will answer to me.”
“Thank you Father, please count me in. I’d be happy to… talk… to the Heads of any family involved.” said a blonde woman as she leaned against the middle-aged man.
“Goodness, you two! He’s not even 3 months old!. Now, shall we start the ceremony? Or would the two of you prefer to continue planning vengeance for imagined slights against my son that haven’t even happened yet?”
Grandpa became solemn. “Alright. Let us begin.”
*****
Grandpa entered the candle-lit room that was filled with weapons of every description. Straight-bladed and curved swords, short swords and claymores, battleaxes and maces, battle hammers and mauls, spears and shields. Every weapon was sharp, polished, and ready for use.
He looked deep into his grandson’s eyes. “I, Gridwolde Stoutheart, present this child, first of the new generation of Stouthearts, for his bonding ceremony. May the choice made be wise and true.”
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He held out his grandson towards the nearest weapons, then began a slow tour of the entire room, holding his grandson out to the weapons, so close the baby was almost touching them. The baby’s hand sometimes seemed about to stretch out, but then went back to more baby-like activities, like exploring his mouth or grabbing his foot.
When they had made almost a full circuit of the room, the baby’s hand shot out to touch a black metal haft about 5 feet long. It was attached to a gently curved single-edged blade, 3 feet long, with a sturdy pointed hook on its reverse non-edged side. It, too, was made of black metal. In fact, both blade and haft seemed to be a single piece, instead of being crafted separately then joined together.
Gridwolde’s grin was apparent even under his thick, short, beard, but he kept silent. As his grandson’s tiny fingers slid off the black metal haft, he continued his circuit of the room a second time. Again, his grandson reached out to touch the black metal haft.
For a third and final time, Gridwolde made a circuit of the room, reminding himself to be slow, to give his grandson ample chances to touch any other weapon, but he might as well have just zoomed right back to the weapon his grandson seemed to prefer.
For a third and final time, he approached the black metal haft, his grandson in his arms.
For a third and final time, his grandson’s chubby little arm shot out to touch the same weapon. This time, his other little arm stretched out, and his tiny legs kicked out, as though wanting to get as close to the weapon as possible. He was even making little “Goo! Gah!” noises, as though trying to express what he wanted. Through it all, Gridwolde grinned so hard, his eyes almost disappeared.
At last, Gridwolde said “Witness the bonding!”
Both the middle-aged man and the blonde woman stood beside him, looking fondly down at their son. “We witness the bonding, and it is true.”
Again, Gridwolde looked deep into his grandson’s eyes. “You are bonded to the Glaive of the Ancients. Be true to it, and it will be true to you. Tomorrow, your journey on the Path of the Paladin begins. Tomorrow, your bond will be recognized. Tomorrow, on your Name Day, we announce you to the world, as Glaive Stoutheart!”
The middle-aged man gave Gridwolde an incredulous look. “Good going Dad, that won’t be confusing at all! Hey Glaive, pick up your glaive, it’s time to practice your glaive, Glaive my boy!”
The blonde woman brushed her son’s dark hair, grinning as hard as her father-in-law. “Awww, I think it’s a good name, a strong name. It feels… indomitable.”
-- Prologue, End --