This had always been one of the aspects of the job Kraddock hated the worst…and he had had to do it far too often, and no doubt more times still in the future. He just wanted to get it done before it was time to dress for the Memorial.
Standing in what had been the private quarters of Septimal Caine, Knight of Elendil’s Vanguard, Kraddock carefully wrapped trophies and mementos, placing them gently into packing cases. The Knight’s body and weapons had been prepared and dispatched to his family days ago, now all that was left was to clean out his rooms in the Company lounge, and send those off to House Palaniel as well.
Captain Kraddock looked up at the Sergeant standing awkwardly in the open door. “Don’t just stand there like a troll at breakfast, bring me another empty box, Quire.”
The young man did so, a bit unwillingly. “Sir…with all due respect. As your Orderly this should be left to me, or some other Orderly…it is beneath the dignity of the new Captain of the Vanguard to be performing this duty, so soon after you were officially promoted. Captain Bryant would never have done so. The Company will talk…”
The one-eyed Captain began folding uniforms. “If you give me that orcwash once more, I swear on the Steward I will break your arms off, grill them to a pleasing golden brown and shove them up your arse….and if the Company wishes to talk, let it. He was my Executor, he was my friend…he deserves this much at least. Let the Company talk of THAT. Now mark these off on the ledger.” He gestured to the piles of cream and pale blue cloth he had prepared.
The Orderly made careful check marks on his form, to be sure that all official gear was prepared to be returned to his kinfolk or to stores. He paused. “He is missing a duty cloak, Sir. Was it misplaced?”
Kraddock didn’t even look up as he gathered papers and notebooks from the desk…pausing to read a snippet of a lilac scented letter written in flowing script before raising an eyebrow and muttering to himself. “When did the bastard find the time…and is that even physically POSSIBLE? I certainly hope her husband the Count never finds out...”
Quire cleared his throat...then cleared it again. “SIR…a cloak is…”
“I heard you.” Kraddock closed a box, still turned away from the Sargent. “I know where it is…it’s fine. Old Arne is not going to worry about one of his son’s six damn cloaks not going on the fire. Forget about it..mark it accounted for.”
From the tone of his Captain’s voice, the young clerk knew better than to argue further. “Done, all accounted for and complete, Sir.” He paused in thought, shaking his head. “A shame truly…a fine and well regarded knight like the Executor should have died a more glorious death. Struck from behind by an old woman...shameful.”
Kraddock sealed the last box, now glaring back at his aide with true rage. “That is one of the stupider things I have ever heard said in my presence. Right up there with Hardinal's last words..."How can we be sure the trebuchet is loaded?" A glorious death? There is no such thing, Quire. NO death is glorious, no death is shameful as long as you do your duty and your best. Death is just death. Septimal Caine died struggling to save innocent citizens of Gondor and the lives of friends…there is no better or more fitting way for a Knight to fall. That evil found a way to deceive even him just means we must all stay on our guard. For all he had seen, Septimal was still a good and trusting soul….that is to his credit, not his shame.”
The Orderly nodded…unsure what to say as the Captain put the last box on the stack. “Yes Sir…he will be missed, truly Sir. I know you will now yell at me and threaten to maim me but I must mention…a new Executor must be selected, paperwork is piling up and the Office of Deployment has sent seven reminders. SEVEN. They are going BERZERK.”
Kraddock sighed and walked out, followed nervously by Quire. “I know…I know…later..after the Memorial. The invitations are ready?”
Quire nodded and handed a small stack of vellum envelopes to the Captain. “All as you requested Sir to be left with the attendant at the door. Of course most of the invitations are being handled by his Twilight kinsfolk, House Palaniel. Word is the Margrave himself will be coming down from his winter retreat to attend.”
The Captain grumbled and rifled through the envelopes, his good eye squinting in the half-light, finally finding the one he was seeking. On the smooth white surface in precise, official script was written “Addiela of Rohan and Guests”.
He smirked to himself. “Yeah, this would please him…the one that got away. It is going to be quite the party…”
