The above picture is of Quinn in his armor, except he looks less serious.. DISCLAIMER: I DID NOT MAKE THIS PICTURE. CREDIT TO DUE CREATOR!! Thank you!!

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Quinn gasped for air, his bare chest glistening with sweat. He swung the sword again and again, occasionally he parried with his sword at imaginary strikes. His unseen foes surrounded him as he slashed and performed many aggressive moves. He'd spent many years of his life training for this. He was going to be a paladin. A mighty warrior with magical benefits from the priests. A man of legend who was subject only to the king and the Faerlokh, the chief religious leader of his sect. 

He soon finished, making the end worth it all with a ladle of cold water from the bucket in the corner of the stable wherein he performed his tasks. It was his personal stable, well, rather it was his mother's. She was a highlady of the courts for his majesty the king. A strong female advisor to give maternal-like advice, and sooth and chastise those in need of such. 

Quinn sat down on a bench. He looked at the horse in the only stable in that specific room. He was a majestic tan color with fiery red-brown mane and tail. The beast huffed at his master. 

"I guess so," Quinn often pretended he could understand the horse. He rose with a grunt of muscle soreness. "I'll go get you some food." He marched down the hall to where they kept the feed, and filled a bucket. 

He fed the horse, brushed him down, and commanded the stable boy to take him for a run later that day. Somewhere in the mix, he acquired a cotton shirt with long sleeves. 

He ran across the lawn to catch the wind on this hot late spring day. As he was about to head up the stairs of the mansion his parents owned, his father's servant, Julius, came running down the stairs, obviously winded from his unusual outburst of exercise. He was a pudgy man, with long dark hair he kept in a neat ponytail, with thick lips and visibly warm-blooded cheeks. His thick fingers reached out with a letter in their grasp. A yellowed parchment with a red wax seal. 

Quinn gave a respectful nod to his former teacher. Julius had taught him everything about being a man, and the responsibilities of a wealthy family. "Thank you, sir." 

"You're quite welcome, milord," he fluttered out, long breaths now a far off goal of his lungs. "Goodness, I need to run more," he added under his breath. 

Quinn tried to hide his smile and went up the stairs two at a time. He studied the seal as he mindlessly sauntered to his rooms. Once there he plopped down on his bed, beginning to take of his boots and then his shirt again. He'd told the maid on his way in to ready a bath. 

In only his breeches, the half-read letter in his hands, he jumped with alarming enthusiasm and "whooped" loud enough for the queen to hear in her rooms at the castle, many miles away. 

Not very long after, a maid bolted on, a terrified look on her face. As she saw her half naked master, she blushed furiously and looked away. 

"My lord," she said softly, "is there anything the matter?" 

"No, Paige! But there is cause for celebration!" He slipped over, took her arms and danced down the hall with her half stumbling over her own skirts. She clearly hadn't had much practice, but that wasn't the point. At the end of the hall, he released a nearly-fainted Paige and he skipped down the hall. 

He caught a few concerned looks until he reached his parent's chambers. Large engraved doors were the entrance. A grand choice. He banged on the door with a fist more than once, impatiently waiting for someone to open the door. Finally, after about ten whole seconds, he tossed aside reason and burst in. 

"Father! Mother!" His gleeful voice echoed through the rooms. A maid came in, visibly uncomfortable with Quinn's appearance. 

"Your father is out in the gardens, and mistress Tanya is at the castle," she said.

"Thank you Melanie!" He yelled from halfway down the hall, jumping for joy. He nearly lost the letter when he hopped down the stairs and bolted down a gentle looking path that led to the right. He found his father sitting by an apple tree, probably contemplating some philosophical mumbo-jumbo. "Father!" he called. 

His father looked up in surprise as his son ran at him. 

"What is it, son?" The man clearly disapproved everything in this scene. The loud, boisterous noises, the running and skipping, and of course the lack of proper apparel . 

"Father! Read this!" The older man sped through the letter, proffered by Quinn's hand. He moved his lips as he read. His eyes widened, but he did not stop reading. After what seemed like the third time reading and the longest beard-tugging fetish the world had ever seen, Quinn's father looked up. 

"I cannot believe it." The old man was probably going into shock.

"Isn't it great news?!" Quinn snatched back the paper and reread it for himself.

"Quite. But now we must prepare for the feast tomorrow night. Hurry, send a servant to the seamstress in town. Tell them to have her come to me as soon as possible; you need a proper suit for the occasion," Quinn could see the pride in his father's eyes. Of all seven of his sons, Quinn had finally done something successful. 

Quinn hurried to obey his father and then reread the simple characters of the letter over, and over, and over yet again, finding no hint of boredom in the inky shapes. Not many were taught to read, often just the scholars and the religious leaders. But Quinn was the son of an inventor, so his father had seen the logic behind educating his sons. 

The next day came and whizzed by so fast, but couldn't seem to go fast enough. The seamstress, an extraordinary woman with many outfits already prepared, came early in the morning and measured Quinn. She mumbled to herself as she wrote down strange characters on her notepad. Numbers, maybe? Many of the less-nobles, as the rich referred to them, dealt with numbers instead of the alphabet. She then left and after a few hours of giddy anticipation and pacing, she returned with grand suit of blue. It had a high collar, and buttons down the side and to the waist, as was the fashion of the time. It was a slim fit, showing off Quinn's rather broad chest. He added to this the army-style pants of his time (rather austere tan pants) and leather boots. 

He stalked to the gold and red carriage pulled by white horses with his mother and father in tow. 

Quinn's mother sat gracefully, her slender form  perched on the comfortable bench of the carriage. She had soft, slightly red hair, a tan color, like wood, and a gentle face that was much prettier when it was nice. When his mother got angry, the woman could pull out a very convincing snarl. 

His father, a little bulkier, sat next to his wife in a more decorative suit, as opposed to Quinn's plain one, since Quinn was entering the King's army. The army didn't tend to wear rich-looking clothes, well, the paladins, at least.  So as to display that the King's elite guard are willing to sacrifice for their people. The carriage began to roll, and Quinn almost hyperventilated as they rode towards the castle. 

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Howdy y'all!! Thanks for reading this far!! I honestly hope you liked it!! If it was any good, comment and tell me what you think!! If it wasn't so great, comment how I could make this chapter great!! I'm always open to suggestion, no matter how big or small. 

I am so grateful for anyone who has read this far. Thank you so so so so so so much!!!!!