Many years ago, in the distant land of Rhûn...
Sarnai walked quietly outside her parents' tent, her steps near silent despite the heavy riding boots she wore. She could hear voices, and what sounded very much like utterances of her name- and she hated it when people talked about her behind her back. While eavesdropping was one thing she was always told to refrain from, she had also been raised to talk about people in their presence. Stepping closer to the entry flap of the tent, Sarnai closed her eyes to sharpen her other senses, and listened.
"You cannot possibly expect-" Sarnai heard the first snatches of conversation, conducted in extraordinarily loud whispers, and knew the first voice to be her mother's.
"She's certainly too young, Oyuun." Her father's voice, Sarnai thought. He was likely not angry but evidently frustrated.
"This will not remain a secret forever. Either you tell her or she finds out on her own and draws whatever conclusions she sees fit! You know how she is, she inherited your temperament." Oyuun's volume had risen to a hushed speaking tone, and while she was attempting to sound calm, the shake in her voice said otherwise.
"And you know that I left that behind a long time ago. The Sons- wait." The whispered argument faded into silence within moments, leaving Sarnai with a sense of bewilderment. The confusion was swept away when she heard the loud flap of the tent's opening and her father stepped out beside her. "I thought I would find you here. Perhaps you are like an elder, in that you are always listening to matters that do not concern you." He smiled. "Worry not, Little Rose. Run along, you need to practice your skills if you wish to take my place someday. I will not be here forever, after all."
"Father, that day is far ahead of us, and you know it hurts to think of." Sarnai blinked several times in an attempt to hold back the tears that blurred her vision. "I think there is something you need to tell me. Who are these 'Sons'?" She looked up, swiping a hand quickly across her eyes to clear them, as there was no point in attempting to hide her tears now. Setting her face into what she hoped was an expression of grim determination, Sarnai looked her father in the eye.
Baatar sighed, crossing his arms as he and his daughter were wont to do. "It is a long tale. Come, let us sit." He lifted the tent flap and walked inside, doffing his boots as he did so. Sarnai followed suit and joined him, sitting cross-legged on one of the few cushions that lay on the floor of the relatively spacious tent. Her mother sat quietly on the other side of the tent, combing her long, dark hair with an air of nonchalant tranquility.
"The Sons of the Spear... where to begin?" Baatar paused a moment to think before continuing. "Well, they are one of the many tribes of Rhûn, one I fought for, once. I shall admit that your mother and I neglected your learning of politics in favor of more practical skills." He drew the curved sword from his belt and produced a whetstone, sharpening the blade as he spoke and raising his voice somewhat to be audible. "One important thing that you should know is that... they have a reputation for brutality. Killing, torture..." The warrior let his voice trail off and looked to his daughter to gauge her reaction. Sarnai's face seemed expressionless but for her widened eyes.
"That is awful... " She frowned at her father. "You did these things? Here I thought you to be honorable."
"Some of them," Baatar corrected. "I was... not the same then as now. Young and foolish, much like you." He grinned, watching his daughter scowl at him, but even his cheery demeanor faded soon. "But in all seriousness, I thought then that what they did was right. Thinking back, I have much to regret. Leaving was... complicated, but ultimately successful."
He looked over his shoulder, distracted, as Oyuun laid a hand on his arm. Smiling slightly, Baatar added, "Of course, I remember a poor musician's daughter who told me to think for once in my life about what my actions would accomplish. Listening to her was the best decision I ever made. It is thanks to her that you were born, Little Rose." Oyuun smiled silently.
"So..." Sarnai's brow was still crinkled in thought. "It was brave of you to leave, with everyone you cared about in danger."
"It is dangerous," her father replied, "but as you know quite well, I had a fearsome reputation by that time. You are safe, along with the rest of our family." He looked Sarnai in the eye, unsmiling. "I promise you that." For a moment she imagined a second promise beneath those words, a promise to any who would do his family harm, but that notion faded. She had trouble seeing her father in a vengeful light.
Sarnai smiled. "Then I shall have to practice more." She stood and began to pull her boots back on. "You will not be here forever, after all, and it is difficult for a girl the size of a blade of grass to inspire the same sort of fear!" Her father laughed as she exited the tent, calling after her.
"If I could do it, so can you also strike terror into the hearts of grass-eating herd beasts and seasoned warriors alike!" Sarnai smiled, glancing over her shoulder.
The sun was still high in the sky and there was a whole afternoon ahead of her. Sarnai gathered her weapons and mounted one of the family's horses, humming softly to herself. These Sons of the Spear, fearsome as they seemed, must be far from home. Perhaps they had something to do with the odd men who came from time to time, demanding money until her father approached them, wearing a small armory as he often did on certain occasions. Still, even those men had not brought any tragedy for many years, and what had transpired was not something Sarnai wished to remember. Her parents' deaths, doubtlessly by old age, were decades ahead. Surely, by then Sarnai would be grown, with a family to herself. While she would mourn their loss, she would remember them fondly, she thought. With these days so distant in the future, there was time for joy in the moment, time to listen to her mother's tales, to spar with her father, listening to his terrible jokes until she was too paralyzed with laughter to strike or parry.
These were memories she would keep.
