War. A crude word, an even cruder occurrence. Still, thousands will line up to fend for their country, to participate in the battle in order to earn honour, have pride linked to their name. Such a crude word followed by so many hopes and dreams of better times. Certainly, a mystery how a field of brutal murder could turn into a metaphor for pride and honour.

For some reason Achard had always linked these stories of war the elders talked about with grey weathers. No colour left in nature or man, neither living or dead. Yet here he was, on his way to recruitment, surrounded by green trees, flowers of the brightest colours and fields upon fields with a golden colour. The weather too didn't match his vision of war, far from dark, cloudy and horrible. Instead the sun was shining brightly there high up in the sky, accompanied by no colours but the clear blueness of the sky. With a closed left eye, he let his head drop back one final time, slowly inhale the soft scents of the flowers surrounding him, some more intense than others. But all holding the same unique combination of smells as their colours. Finally, seventeen, and old enough to sign up. Back home waited his wife, but she still had a couple of years to grow into the role of wife, and eventually mother. First, he would have to come back from this war, be a part of the finishing forces, make their land safe to establish a small farm just on the outskirt of town, with animals, vegetables, corns and flowers. A soft smile was settled on the teens lips as he with head held high, shoulders pulled back in a proud manner and stern steps marched towards the castle gates. The line of young boys, waiting for their opportunity to beat the enemy visible from afar. The mere vision of it having some of that proud air puff from his chest, how was he ever to reach the front of the queue when it was so long? A shake of his head was the only thing needed to bring him on better thoughts, he wouldn't give up now. Nay, he had a purpose to fill, a people to protect and a wife to make proud.

"Ey! Achard!" a voice called from behind, having the black-haired boy turn in his track, continuing upwards but this time backwards. His gaze had travelled from the sky, a small grin playing at his lips as he found Merek and his buddies running his way. "Yer fairing far today!" the light-haired boy pointed out upon finally reaching Achard, soft pants leaving him. The inhales having his broad shoulders and strong frame heave, a frame Achard had longed for since they were young. His own tall figure was far from strong. Hard to feed and fuel, leaving Achard thin and tall, unfit for hard work, or so everyone claimed. "Aye, goin' to sign up for the war. Old enough now, and the kingdom needs work," he answered with a grin, ignoring the thought of his frame. Which was short lived. A laugh left Merek, a laugh soon co-joined by other voices. The pride Achard felt just moment ago fading into a bubbling feeling beneath his skin, leaving his veins tingling in a weird way. "Yer goin' to be a solider? You ain't got the frame for it Achard. The King needs men with muscles, like us...," a gesture to himself and the two who had followed him. "And ye know, farmers to satisfy their hunger," Merek explained slowly, surely hitting some good points, but Achard was not the one to give up so fast. "Aye... I might not have muscle, but I know how to work," yet another laugh, "Ye've never known a hard day of work in yer life. Yer horse is pulling the weight of the plough. With mine father as a smith, I've carried heavy since I could walk," Merek boasted with a grin, puffing his chest, lifting his chin for a moment before starting a slow walk in a hope to reach the sign up booth before darkness fell upon them. "Cow, Merek, they ain't using a horse anymore. Not since his sis complained about the loose shoe," a voice croaked in. Earning a snort from Achard, "Shut up, ye know nothing of farm work. And the shoe was loose, could've cost him a leg hadn't Mia noti-" "Cow, horse. Doesn't matter, ye know ye ain't getting' in Achard, why have yer dreams crushed?" Merek asked, his eyebrows crunching downwards, a shine in his eyes which Achard recognised as pity. He realised Merek tried nothing but to keep him from embarrassment and shame, but he would not give up so easy. He was a solider, despite what the others thought. So, he didn't have the build for it with his long legs and thin arms. But damn could he use bow and arrow, maybe he wasn't prepared for sword fights yet, but the army would have good use of him.

"Oh shut up Merek. I'll join that army, don't ye worry," the fighting spirit within was not ready to give up. He was going to face the battlefield just like the others, prove he was much more than just a simple farmer. He didn't have the muscles to wield a sword, that he knew. But at least he had the breath to run long distances, and the sight to serve as a secure aim. Earning a sceptical glance, it seemed there was no arguing with Achard once he made up his mind, which was fine enough for Merek. He simply didn't want Achard to fluster with flame, there just wasn't anything with this fragile figure that hinted he could ever become a man of war. Sighing softly the biggest of the boys quickly followed Achard, still worried for the pride of his friend as they trotted past the many boys that too wanted the honour that comes with war. "We ain't in a hurry Achard," he panted, his body not built for this fast of phase, "Shut up," was the response. A small grin moving over Merek's lips. Just like always, ready for an adventure, solving his troubles through stubborn pursue and responses somehow signalling those around him to be quiet. They might be the same age, still Merek felt a sense of brotherhood with Achard, the thin boy he'd learnt to run alongside with. The one he fell his first deer with, the one that'd been at his side when the warm steel burnt his fingertips. Giving him up to war wouldn't be easy.

They arrived at the end of the line not long after, standing still as the sun rose in the sky. By midday they had just barely reached the castle walls, there simply was no way they could manage this within nightfall. And then it would be too wait until the day after. Even when they'd arrived so early as possible, finishing all their chores, just like most of the boys in the back. It seemed the noble would be the privileged to have their last names spoken of in the books of war. However, these two boys would be lucky. As the sun continued towards the horizon, lowering, tainting the sky in a splash of red, purple, green and orange, Achard was finally the first boy in the queue. A satisfied grin at his lips as he stepped forth with lifted head and a straight back. The soldier in front of him giving a quick look, "Aye?" the soldiers voice rasping in his throat. "Achard DeGrey, here to report for service," his voice finally having dropped deep, giving an indication of a man of suitable age. However, it still hit a tone to light, and his fragile frame did not support his proud manner. A small snort, "Aye... Stop wasting my time, whatcha want?" "Here to report to service, sir. For the second battalion," silence followed Achard's words as the soldiers finally leaned back to have a proper look at him. Up and down, noticing the tallness of the man in front of him, but astonished by his fragile figure. "Service declined... We have already sent to many sticks to war. You'll die before the end of the day. Now move along so we can finish this before nightfall," the soldier finally revealed, gesturing for Achard to move on. But the proud farmer stood his place, blinking at what he had just heard. Stick? They didn't even know what he was good for. A strong, warm hand moved to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze of support, "I warned ye Achard, yer frame is to fragile. Now move along so those in the back can have their future evaluated," the words weren't filled with taunts or hardness, neither did they hold pity. It was said in a gentle tone, a tone of support. Bringing Achard back to reality as he slowly stepped to the left, head hanging low as he made his way to the castle wall again. A quick look over his shoulder revealed Merek was admitted, not a surprise. He had the strength and knowledge in weapons. Everything Achard lacked.

However, faith was keeping an eye on the aspiring soldier, making sure that this very day the minister would keep an eye on the recruited soldiers. Letting his gaze draw from Merek he had a look to his right and there he stood. The posture, clothes, and crest... It had to be. An idea popping into his mind, for would you not believe bow and arrow had been left unattended by one of the new recruits. This was his chance to make it in. To prove they needed him. Dusk was upon them, the light low, if he could make that shot... He could prove his worth. Making a run for it he sprinted across the castle ground, noticed by few in the dark light, picking up bow and arrow, turning towards the minister and his companion. A small smirk, confident and ready to move. Finding comfort with the nook placed between his index and middle finger he let it fall onto the string. Pulling it backwards to test the tension of the bow he started lifting it. Elbow lifting, one foot placed in front of the other for stability pulling the string back until he felt the cold of his fingertips touch his cheek. Aiming at the minister he deeply inhaled, moving the aim of the arrow half an inch away from the minister. Holding his breath, he let go of the arrow as he let go of his breath. Following it whine past the minister, drawing blood from his ear, but causing no greater harm. The arrow found its place in the wall behind the minister, and while it was certain to make everyone realise the mistake of not letting him in, Achard hadn't really thought this through.

What he imagined to be his ticket into the army would not quite start so. Instead of awe, followed a great commotion, Achard realising just a moment to late the chaos that would follow his actions. He'd made a grave mistake, something that could possibly cost him his life, which had never been of his intention. Swallowing he was quick to lower the bow, not wanting such a fine weapon to go to waste by throwing it to the ground. Turning he was just about to make a run for it, but it was already too late, surrounded by guards with pointed swords he felt his heart thunder in his chest. Never had he felt this fear in his heart before. The one that makes you nauseous, draws the warmth from your hands and send shivers down your spine. He had faced fear many times in his life, but what might happen now. It was impossible to know. With wide eyes he watched the guards around him, slowly getting down on his knees, hands lifting to rest behind his head. It was just a joke, he wanted to say it out loud, but the words were stuck in his throat, leaving him gaping like a fish. He just wanted to prove his worth. It was never his intention to cause this commodity... But he acted before thinking, once again he overstepped his boundaries, and this time it would cost him his life. Still seated on the ground clanking armour sounded louder and louder until the man's ear he'd just drawn blood from stood in front of him. A tall figure, broad shoulders, head held high but not of proudness, instead did respect and power radiate from his posture. The minister. Eying the thing figure in front of him the minister drew his blade, placing it comfortably beneath Achard's throat. Whom, on the opposite side of the end did not recognise this comfort. "Whom are you to attempt the death of your minister in the king's ground?" the voice was booming, signalling no one was to interfere during this interrogation.

His hands were trembling behind his head, the beating of his heart sending an unease feeling into his veins. Yet, the words and confidence that escaped him was far from what he'd imagined. "Ye need me... In yer army I mean. I am frail, but ye certainly need someone of mine skills," Achard said, his voice not giving of the fear he felt trembling in the pit of his stomach. A snort escaped the guards around him, a similar snort to that of Merek, his friends, and the soldier telling him unfit for. "Need you? Nay, we need men of power. Why should you be of any use?" "Don't ye think I would've killed ye if I intended too?" a challenging glint flashed through Achard's eyes. The fighting spirit overcoming the fear of the situation. Faced against the minister, able to prove his worth, it was a chance he could not let pass. It was his only way out of this, if the minister did not let himself convince it would be straight to the dungeons where he surely would rot until his joints ached and hair became grey. It did not dawn to him that silence had filled the men around him as they waited for the minister to make up their mind. "Fetch him a bow and arrow... While you're at it, get us a dove," the minister finally decided, sword lowering from the farmers throat, "But Sir Carac..." "Were my orders unclear, soldier?" power was restored with just a simple sentence. The guards scattering to find what was asked for, allowing Achard to finally scramble to his feet. Towering almost higher than the minister, but he still had some growth spirts to in his joints to pass the well-respected man. "You are either the most confident fool I have just met, or simply a fool young boy," Carac said with his rough voice, gesturing Achard to follow him.

Darkness had dawned upon them during this commotion, everyone certain of his failure, but one. The recruits had been called out to pose as example for what happened to fools, but among them were Merek. Familiar with his friends' incredible sight and perfect aim. If he were to miss the dove, it would be by pure luck, for as long as he'd known Achard, not once did he miss his prey. Gathered in a small half-circle behind Achard the boys kept a low chatter, certain they were about too witness the downfall of a naïve farmer. As bow and arrow was handled Achard he gave a small nod, preparing for a shot. "Release the dove!" thrown into the air was his prey, quick to extend its wings as it with rapid beats elevated towards the top of the castle walls. Watching the dove for a moment, as it gained more and more height, having the others loose faith he suddenly lifted his bow and fired. A small smile at his lips even before there was evidence of his success, or failure. If he hit or not was hard to say until the lump wet sound of something small cracked against the castle ground. A couple of soldiers running in the direction of the sound, as everyone, Achard included drew in their breath. He was confidence in his ability to hit his targets, but now that he stood here, in the moment deciding his future, he felt the nerves return to his spine. There had certainly been a sound, but it might well be something else than the dove slapping against the stone covered ground. He had a future to live, a girl to marry, a family to help and a dream of a title of honour and pride, everything falling into the hands of a simple messenger dove.

Returning were the three soldiers, at first only their contour visible against the darkened background, making it impossible to say of the eager boy earned a life as a soldier or criminal. His heart had jumped back into his chest, beating like the hooves of a galloping horse, ready to jump out of his chest at any moment. The few metres between him and the soldiers seemed to take hours to walk, didn't these men realise it was his future at stake? Or did they simply want to see him suffer before being able to throw him in prison? He wanted to shout, let his calm escape, let the boiling feeling in his vein loose, yell at them to hurry, yell at them to end his agony already. Yet the men walked no faster, because no sound left his mouth. Holding their breaths, the recruits stretched their necks in order to see the results. Soft sounds eventually reaching their ears before the soldiers finally stepped into the light of a newly lit torch, and there in their hands laid the dove. The arrowhead finely placed deep within its chest. The smile returned to Achard's lips as a sigh of surprise left the crowd surrounding him. Finally, able to breath he had to pull himself together to keep himself from cry out in happiness. It seemed his future was not domed after all. Carefully turning he let curious eyes fall to Carac, who showed little signs of being impressed. Instead was a small twitch of the side of his lip, almost reminding of a grin. "It seems you will be of good use in our army..." "Achard. Achard DeGrey," he was quick to answer, head lowering for a moment to keep the smile from showing on his lips. "Achard," it was the last word uttered before the minister turned on his heels, signalling the soldiers to follow him as he returned to his original duties.

Standing there, Achard felt a hand on his shoulder, following the warmth was pressure. Looking back, he discovered Merek, a proud, brotherly grin at his lips. "One day your cockiness will kill ye Achard, ye had luck to-day that Sir Carac ain't a hound," his tone so serious, but his expression blooming in pride. "Aye, I hear ye say so, but so far I have yet to fail."