Morgan Rice - A Sea of Shields

“Immerse yourself, Thorgrin,” he commanded, “and rise a member of the Silver. Rise a Lord. Rise a Knight.”

Thor felt Argon pushing his forehead down into the water, and Thor gave in.

Thor submerged, and soon his head was completely underwater, and his entire body felt the chill. He stayed there for several seconds, Argon’s staff holding him down.

As he was underwater, Thor felt his entire life transforming, flashing before his eyes. He felt as if he were leaving one person behind, and becoming someone new.

Argon lifted his staff, and Thor rose, gasping for air, above the water. He stood there, water dripping into his eyes, breathing deep.

As he rose, the sun broke through the sky over the lake, and Thor no longer felt the cold. He turned and looked back, to all of his brothers in arms staring back at him from the shore, approval on their faces—and he felt reborn.

Finally, Thor felt as if he belonged.

They all raised their fists into the air.

“THORGRIN!” they cried out. “THORGRIN!”

Thorgrin, still elated from the ceremony, sat in the small stone workshop of Brendan, the royal armorer, warming up beside a roaring fire in the fireplace, wearing new, dry clothes given to him as he watched the armorer at work. In the room with him sat Erec and Kendrick, having led him here right after the ceremony, and watching over the handiwork, too.

Brendan, a short, stout man in his fifties, proud, with a big belly, a balding head, and a long dark beard, sat hunched over his forge, scrutinizing his work as if it were his only child. As he sat there, Brendan meticulously explained each piece of armor, what purpose it served, how it was made. He worked on a dozen small pieces at once, holding them up, reexamining them, fitting them onto Thor, then taking them off and adjusting them.

Brendan was putting the finishing touches on the shiniest, most beautiful, most ornate set of silver armor that Thor had ever seen. It shone beside the fireplace, and Thor could hardly believe that it was being made just for him. As Brendan pounded away at it with a hammer, flattening it against the stone at just the right angle, the sound rang throughout the room.

“Members of the Silver must wear the finest armor known to man,” Erec explained, sitting near Thor, watching the armorer work beside the flames.

“No regular armor will suffice. It must be the strongest, reinforced a thousand times, stronger than any armor from anywhere.”

“And also lighter,” Kendrick added.

“Not to mention shinier,” added Brendan, turning to them with a smile as he wiped sweat from his brow. “The armor must not only be the best, it must also look the best. Outward appearance is a point of pride for the Silver.”

“Take pride in your appearance,” Kendrick said, “and you will take pride in yourself.”

Thor watched, transfixed, excited to wear it, as the armorer pounded away.

“This metal comes from a very special place,” he continued, “before it is coated with silver. The refining process takes years.”

The armorer finally finished with one piece to his satisfaction, and he reached up and placed it against Thor’s shoulder, taking yet another measurement of Thor’s shoulder and arm, making more fine adjustments.

“The pauldron,” Brendan explained, gauging it with his eye. “It protects your shoulder, and it must also protect the joints. Good armor allows you to move and to breathe. It also guards your most vulnerable spots.”

Brendan lowered the pauldron, set it back down, took up a smoothing tool, then polished it, working so fast, it all seemed like magic to Thor. The room was filled with the sounds of his work, and the smells of burning metal and the silver polish. Thor watched in awe as he worked.

Soon, Brendan turned and held up the breastplate against Thor’s chest. He placed it, then hurried back around Thor, reached under his arm, and strapped it tight around him. He then placed the pauldron over his shoulder and arm, strapping it tight.

“And how does that feel now?” he asked.

Thor bent his elbow several times, reached his arm up and down, left and right, and was amazed. He had never worn armor so light, yet so strong. As he moved, his arm shined in the light, like a fish jumping through water. He felt different just having it on. He felt invincible.

“It is perfect,” Thorgrin said.

“Of course,” Brendan said, with a wink and a smile, “my work is always perfect.”

Brendan gathered up the entire suit and placed it before Thor.

“We are ready, my lords,” he said to Erec and Kendrick.

Kendrick stepped forward.

“It is a tradition, when a knight gets his first suit of armor, that his father put it on him,” Kendrick said to Thor. “But since your father is not here, Erec and I are here to do it for you. If you allow us the honor.”

Thor felt overcome with gratitude.

“There would be no greater honor,” he replied.

Erec and Kendrick together began to put on all of Thor’s pieces of armor, strapping them on one at a time. As they did, Thor felt as if he were being rebuilt. He felt supported not just by the armor, but by these two men, who were like fathers to him. It made up for the loss of not having a real father to accept him.

“Even if he were alive,” Thor said, “with the father I have, I would not want him to be here for this. In some ways,” he said, realizing, “I have no father.”

Kendrick nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “I have no mother—at least not one I’ve ever met. I have been known as the bastard of the royal court my entire life. There is something empty inside you when you are missing a parent—or even worse, when you have a parent you don’t understand, or you don’t like.”

Kendrick sighed.

“But I’ll tell you something I was told when I was young, something that stayed with me my entire life, something which has sustained me. Once I learned this, it changed my way of looking at the world.”

Thor looked at him, curious, and he could see Kendrick thinking, brows furrowed, earnest.

“We have the ability to choose our parents,” he said.

Thor looked back, puzzled.

“Choose?” Thor asked.

“We have biological parents. But inside, mentally,” Kendrick said, pointing a finger at Thor’s head, “in your mind, you can choose your parents. You can choose your father. You can choose one you admire, one you respect. And you need not only have one father. You can choose many fathers. In your mind, they can sit around a table, like a council. Like the King’s council. Together, they can be your new father. Ones you admire and respect. Ones who admire and respect you back. Ones you wish to be like.”

Thor thought about that.

“Whenever you think of the father you don’t have, or don’t like,” Kendrick added, “think of these men instead. Picture them clearly in your mind. Place them in your head as if they are your father. Your real father. Over time, they will become your real father. As real to you—if not more so—than your biological father. And then you will see that your biological father is not that important after all. He is no authority for you. Eventually, you will come to see that these men are no authority for you, either. You choose your own authority.”

Thor pondered all of this carefully, and he tried to do what Kendrick said. He imagined the council table, and around it, he put people he loved and admired and respected. He put Kendrick there. And Erec. He put Argon, and King MacGil, and Aberthol. He put some of the great warriors he had known and fought with….

Thor closed his eyes, and in his mind, all these men populated the table, and slowly he began to see them all as his father. Each of them comprising pieces of the father he never had. Slowly, he felt he had a father. A new father. Kendrick was right.