Loyalty Fallen Hub

Chapter 5

Brenin was angry. Ren wasn’t sure why yet, but he could see that every part of his body vibrated with rage, and his fists were clenched at his sides when he burst into the cabin. Cal gave a little yelp of surprise and instinctively disappeared into the kitchen.

Ren sat at the table looking over Kathryn’s strategy notes as she sat across from him reading a book about herbs.

Kathryn said, “Brenin? What’s wrong?”

He whirled on her, and she shrank away, actually frightened by the look in his eyes. “You knew,” he spat. “You planned this right from the start.”

Ren stood up, his face reddening. “Sir, let’s talk about this outside.”

“And you! What kind of fool are you? You’re letting her take advantage of you and use you, and you’re going to lose your life for it. Is that what you want?”

“Stop,” Ren said sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Then you are not in fact planning to go to Tephraya to fight in the Contest? Did you think I wouldn’t see those posters? Did you think I wouldn’t guess why you’ve been training like a madman?”

Both Ren and Kathryn flinched guiltily. Kathryn said, “Brenin, it’s not-”

“Shut up! You’re not the one who will have to fight. You’ll be standing on the sidelines watching him risk his life,” Brenin hissed. “You don’t get to speak.”

Ren grabbed Brenin’s arm and hustled him outside, pulling the door shut behind them. “You can’t talk to her like that,” he said angrily.

“And why not? Is anything I said a lie? You’ve always been blind when it comes to that girl.”

Ren clenched his fist, but at the same time, his head lowered.

Brenin glared at him. “You aren’t going.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not! There’s no reason for it! You’d never win!”

“I’m a better fighter than you think, apparently.”

“You’re just an arrogant child who doesn’t know his own limits.”

Ren’s frame stiffened and he looked up, his eyes blazing even as he saw the instant regret in Brenin’s face following the harsh words. “I’m not a child, Brenin. And I know my own limits. I’ve been facing a lot of them lately. But unlike you, I won’t just sit back and be satisfied with them. I won’t run away. If you want to, then you should do it now, because I am going to Tephraya.”

“Why?” Brenin’s voice rose to a shout and he stepped forward as Ren instinctively retreated a step. “What do you think you’ll find there? Why do you do every whim of that girl without a single consideration for your own safety?”

“And what should I do instead, Brenin? Should I be like you? You don’t have anyone!”

Brenin flinched and his face turned ashen. His hands trembled at his sides, and for a moment, Ren was sure that he was going to hit him. The younger man fell back another step, raising his hands to shield himself without meaning to.

Brenin turned on his heel and walked away. Ren stood there, shaking.

After a minute, Kathryn opened the door of the little cottage and hurried over to where he still stood. She put a hand on his arm. “Ren? Are you all right?” she asked gently.

“I…I don’t know. He…Kat, you don’t think he’s gone to the tavern, do you?” Ren looked at her with tortured eyes.

She flinched but replied bravely, “I think he has his problems in check, Ren. Do you want to go look after him?” Her voice was gentle.

Ren hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said finally.

“Ren, I don’t know everything that happened back then, but I know he’s here now. He cares about you.”

“…But the things he said about you…”

“I don’t need you to defend me from harsh words, Ren.” She smiled at him. “Go find Brenin. Remind him he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.”

To his own surprise, Ren realized he’d stopped shaking. He even returned the smile. “All right,” he said. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the forest, heading for where he guessed the old man would be.

10 years ago…

“He won’t be a bit of trouble for you; I can promise you that.”

Brenin hated those last five words: “I can promise you that.” It was always a lie, he reflected angrily. Looking at the grumpy-faced little brat in front of him, Brenin felt sure it was also a lie this time. He was too old for this, he grumbled internally. The boy seemed to agree: he complained, “I don’t want to stay with this old man!”

In reality, Brenin wasn’t that old. But to a ten-year-old, a forty-year-old will always look ancient, even if he’s one of the strongest warriors in the kingdom. All of the scars and stress lines in his face made him look even older.

Ren’s father saw his son’s rebellious face and clutched his shoulder a little tighter. “Ren, say hello to your new teacher,” he invited. The boy flinched, and the rebellion seemed to drain out of him. Clearly, he was terrified of his father.

“I’m not his teacher.” Brenin’s tone was cold. “This is a ridiculous idea. I’m not in any sort of condition to teach a child.” He knew his appearance should have confirmed his words. He smelled too much of booze and looked too much like a bum. Surely no father would want to leave their son with such an obviously unreliable individual.

Ren’s father tried hard to smile. “I see. Well, it’s the king’s will, as I said. So I don’t think either of us have a great deal of choice.”

“Father, please.” Ren seemed to decide pleading was a better option than outright revolt. “Why would I become a bodyguard for some princess?”

“Watch your mouth, brat,” Brenin snapped, bristling. “She’s not ‘some princess.’ She’s YOUR princess.” If there was no way out of dealing with the small child glaring up at him, he wasn’t going to allow any disrespect.

“Yes, indeed,” the father said hastily. “As you see, General Eldred, my son lacks discipline, but for the most part, he’s still very obedient. You don’t have to worry about him. And if you have any problems, you can just-”

“I’ll handle him my own way.” Brenin grabbed Ren by the shoulder and pushed him towards his quarters. “Go find a place to sleep, brat,” he ordered.

Brenin could see the resignation in Ren’s eyes, a silent understanding that arguing was futile. There would be time enough to butt heads tomorrow, after they’d both had some sleep.

But Brenin had no intention of letting Ren sleep for long. The sun wasn’t even up when Brenin’s foot startled him awake by shoving him hard enough that he yelped.

“Get up, whelp. We’re training,” Brenin ordered.

“It’s too early,” Ren protested.

“Your father said I could teach you however I wanted, and that’s what I’m going to do. Get up now, or I’ll show you you’re better off doing what you’re told.”

Grumbling, Ren complied. As soon as they went outside, the general handed him a heavy hardwood stick. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Ren asked, swinging it experimentally. He seemed to like the feel of it in his hands.

“Defend yourself,” Brenin said briefly, picking up a similar stick. The boy was going to have a hard job, and one of the most important ones in the kingdom. So it wouldn’t do to be too soft on him.

“Wha-”

The hardwood stick came down so fast it made a loud ‘whoosh’ in the air. Ren barely managed to throw his up in time to block it, and he staggered under the weight of the blow. “What in blazes, old man!”

“Let’s see just how old I am, boy.”

Brenin demonstrated his prowess quite well. The hardwood stick came down several times on exposed knees or elbows, cracking quite painfully across the joints. Ren was clearly losing patience, and eventually he gave up trying to hold back or block and drove forward, striking wherever he could. But Brenin blocked every blow with ease, never backing up a single step no matter how much Ren tried to push him.

And in the end, it was Ren who fell, exhausted. “What in blazes, old man,” he said again, panting and rubbing his bruised elbows.

“Get up,” Brenin said coldly.

“Nuh-uh. I’m done for the day; I’m too tired.”

“Do you think an enemy will stop in battle? Get up. You’re fighting for your life.”

Somewhat to his surprise, the boy snatched up his stick and went back at it. Brenin no longer attacked. He simply defended, until finally the boy’s numbed hand could no longer hold onto the stick and it dropped from his motionless fingers as he collapsed to his knees.

Brenin raised his stick, and Ren closed his eyes against the expected blow. But it didn’t come.

Ren opened one eye and peered at the man, who was already walking away from him. Then Ren got up and tried to run after him, but his legs gave away and he staggered and fell. “Ouch! Hey, old man!”

Brenin paid him no mind. He rather hoped the small brat would simply quit and whine about needing to go home. Surely his father would take him back.

But Ren struggled to his feet and limped after him. “Old man! Teach me, blast you!”

Brenin paused. Then he glanced back over his shoulder at the determined youngster, who was bruised all over and could obviously barely stand.

“Why would you want me to teach you?” he said.

“Because I’m gonna beat you one day!” Ren glared at him. “I’m going to beat you twice as bad! And I need you to teach me to do it!” Brenin fixed his grim eyes on him for a while in silence. From the boy’s face, he could tell the kid was serious.

Then at last the old man said, “Fine. Get up to our quarters. I’ll make breakfast today, but starting tomorrow, you’ll do it.”

“Okay! I could eat a horse.”

When Ren trudged back to the quarters every day after training for the first several weeks, he collapsed on the pile of blankets that served as his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He often felt felt he would be far too tired to eat, but he was also too hungry to sleep. So he’d have to stumble over to the table to make some food. He always made food for Brenin as well without being asked, and it seemed like he was getting used to the grizzled former general’s gruffness.

Unfortunately, the old man had a bad habit that meant they could never quite get along. In short, he drank. He drank himself into oblivion nearly every other night.

At first, Ren tried to avoid him when he was drunk. But two months after his arrival, things came to a head when Brenin was busy sitting by the fire and drinking and he heard low sobs coming from over where the boy was sleeping.

Brenin snarled, “Why are you making noise? Stop that!”

The sobs stopped abruptly. But a moment later, they started again.

Furious, the drunken warrior stumbled over to the boy’s bed, grabbed his arm, and yanked him to his feet. “I said stop it!” he shouted.

“Let go, old man!” Though Ren’s face was streaked with tears, he was also angry. “Don’t you touch me!”

“Stop crying!” Brenin shook him hard. “Stop it!”

“I’ll cry if I want to! And I’ll scream if I want to! I’ll do whatever I want, because you’re not my parents. You’re not anyone I love or that I care about, and you’re all alone because you’re so mean no one cares about you! Just go away!”

Brenin hit him, hard enough to make him see stars. And Ren, in typical Ren fashion, hit back without hesitation. They struggled briefly, but in a moment Brenin shoved him away and stumbled back to his seat by the fire. “Worthless brat! Why don’t you just go home?” he grumbled.

“I WANT to go home! I’d love to go home! But I can’t, because my family don’t want me.” Ren held up the crumpled, tear stained letter from his parents and then threw it at Brenin. “You old bum!”

Ren grabbed him by the shoulders, and Brenin was surprised by the grip strength in those ten-year-old hands. “I hate you! I wish you’d go and die. Why won’t you die already? You don’t even want to be alive, do you?”

Brenin shoved him aside and threw the empty bottle in his hand at him. Ren caught it out of the air and threw it on the floor where it shattered, spraying glass everywhere. Brenin jumped up and gripped his arm. “That’s enough!” he snarled.

“I agree. It is.” Ren shook him off and went back to bed, stifling his sobs in his pillow. Brenin watched him for a minute, swaying slightly. Then he sat by the fire, opened another bottle, and continued to drink.

The next morning, Brenin opened his eyes blearily and glanced around for Ren. He didn’t see him. But he heard him outside, yelling energetically as he attacked a training post. The sound grated on his ears. He grumbled as he got up and put the blanket that had been covering him away.

That was when he realized he hadn’t been using a blanket the night before. He glanced at the table and saw that breakfast had already been made, along with a big cup of coffee. Brenin picked up the coffee cup and stared at the black liquid suspiciously. Then he put it to his lips and tried a sip.

He immediately spat it out. It was like drinking sand. “Is he trying to poison me?” he muttered.

Twenty minutes later, he came out of the cabin. Ren was busy training and pretended not to notice him. Brenin watched him for some time.

Finally Ren came up to him, panting, and held up his stick. “I’ve been training a lot. I can beat you now,” he said confidently. It was as if the violent encounter of last night had never happened.

Brenin sparred with him, with of course the same result as on the first day. Ren bemoaned, “I haven’t gotten any better!”

“Of course not. It’s only been two months,” Brenin said gruffly. “Now, come on. I’ll show you how to make coffee.”

The days and weeks passed quickly. Brenin would never admit it, even to himself, but he came to expect the cheerful blue eyes and eager face each morning. It felt natural, like his son had come back to life. And that made him feel guilty, because in reality, his son was lying in a cold grave, and this boy belonged to some father who cared more about earning status than caring for his child.

When Brenin felt guilty, he drank. Ren avoided him, and every morning after a night of drinking, Brenin woke up with a blanket over him and a cup of coffee nearby. Finally, he decided to address it. “I’m not asking for your pity, you know,” he said gruffly as they sat at the table together.

“I don’t pity you. I hate you,” Ren said calmly. “I’m going to beat you up real well some day.”

“Ha. I’d like to see you try,” Brenin muttered.

But that night, they nearly had another violent fight. Brenin opened his cupboard to look for his bottle, and to his horror, it was gone. “Where’s my bottle?” he asked sharply.

Ren looked at him quite coolly. “It’s gone,” he said.

Brenin grabbed him by the shoulders. “It can’t be. Why would you touch that? Go get me another!” he ordered.

Ren shook him off. “No. I’m done watching you act like a fool, old man. If you bring another bottle in, I’ll break it before you can drink it. Don’t think I won’t.” He folded his arms. “You’re going to be sober from now on.”

“I can’t!” Brenin was really desperate now. “I can’t. You don’t understand at all. Just get me my bottle, you little brat!”

“No! I won’t now, or any day. And if you try to get it, I’ll just keep hiding it and breaking it. You’re done drinking from now on.” Ren glared at him. “You don’t remember anything when you’re drunk, but I do. And I’m sick of it. I’m the one who gets hit and yelled at and cursed at, and I’m the one who has to drag you out of bed with a hangover and make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit. How pathetic does that sound, old man? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

Brenin was ashamed. But he was also angry now. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

“I’ll talk to you however I want. We already had this talk once, only you don’t remember, ‘cause you were drunk. Brenin.” Ren took his hand, suddenly quite gentle. “You drink ‘cause your wife and kid died, right? But now I’m here. And I don’t want you to drink anymore.”

Brenin shoved him away. “Do you think you can replace them? How dare you!” he shouted.

Ren’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, bewildering his old mentor. “I know I can’t,” he whispered. “But I do care about you, even if I don’t want to. So stop hurting yourself. Please.” He put his arms around Brenin and buried his face in his shirt.

Brenin pushed him away again with trembling hands. “Stop that,” he said. “You’re not my son.”

“I know. I know I can never be. But, you stupid, rotten old man, can’t you see, I care about you?” Ren grabbed Brenin’s hand again and dragged him over to the painting of his family. “I know you still love ‘em, and you wish they were here, but they’re not. Just imagine if they were and they saw what you do every night.”

“Ren, you’re crossing a line.” Brenin’s voice was low and deadly. “Get out.”

“No.” Ren glared at him, brushing his tears away resolutely with the back of his hand. “I’ve already decided. You’re sobering up, whether you like it or not. If it takes me a day, a year, or ten, I’m going to sober you up.”

Over the next year, Brenin really did try to get drunk. But his bottles got smashed, or every single bottle at the tavern ended up broken somehow. As much as it frustrated Brenin, for the first time in a very long time, he felt something totally unexpected. He felt loved. And inevitably, finally, he sobered up and was able to offer the boy the same thing in return. The years passed between them fairly peacefully, punctuated by the occasional fall back into that dark place. But Ren pulled him out every time. When Ren was 14, Brenin gave up the bottle for good.

Until one fateful day, when he got bad news about his brother. Failing once again after so much effort crushed him, and with barely a word to his young charge, who had just turned fifteen, Brenin packed up his things and left. The two didn’t see each other again for a long time.

Present day…
Brenin sat at the table in the tavern and took another long pull from the mug in his hand. He wiped his mouth and laid his head down on his arms. The memories had been overwhelming him all day.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the memories that were so overwhelming; perhaps it was the sense of guilt and self-doubt. He could remember how happy and bright-eyed Ren had become under his charge, how they’d begun to feel and act like father and son. Then he remembered the fear in the boy’s eyes when Brenin would fail once again and dissolve into a drunken stupor, or worse yet, a drunken rage. Clearly, Ren still remembered. That same fear showed in his eyes when Brenin shouted at him at the cottage.

“He’s better off without me.” The sickening thought was not new. It had sent him out the door five years ago, never to return.

As Brenin reached for his mug again, a large, gentle hand closed over his. Ren’s voice said quietly, “I think you’ve had enough of that.”

Brenin started and looked up at Ren’s grave, reproachful face. Then he chuckled faintly. “There’s not a drop of alcohol in it, boy. You can try it if you don’t believe me,” he said.

Ren reddened awkwardly and withdrew his hand. “Oh. Sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize. Sit down, son. We need to talk.”

Chapter 6

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