~The man slowly ceases playing, his job done. He places his cello in its coffin-like case and lifts it over his shoulder. He turns and descends the steps, his eyesstill closed, passing by the servants without a sideward glance from any of them.
He pushes open the grand doors of the palace, feeling the cool marble's every intricate engraving. In his mind he hears the words of past kings, written forever in the stone.~
"Pacing the room, waiting for the call.
Waiting for orders, anything at all.
Fearing what might yet befall.
I will march to battle, strong and tall.
At last we stand.
The wave of the band.
Beneath me a field of gold sand.
I search for them throughout the land.
Tasting the air.
I have to be aware.
If I fall who would care.
Enough to catch me, warn me beware.
Approaching the enemy dark.
I feel the force, it leaves a mark.
On my soul, a fierce piercing bark.
My sword shall swing in a graceful arc.
Its time, its here.
The time of fight is near.
I rise into the air, magic so dear.
With a spirit of fire, who shall I fear?
Towards the fight."
~He turns from the door, and his memories of his life before...before he became a chevalier. He walks through the door, out into the crowded streets.~