Canon: Remove if not applicable.Gralat’s father was ill, he was told. So was another brother of Gralat’s. That brother was the middle brother, while the one whom they had met was the eldest. Gralat was the third and youngest. This second brother was apparently closer in age to the first brother, and there was a considerable age difference between the two of them and Gralat.
Either way, because two members of the hosting family were ill, and had fallen ill only after Astolphe and his father had left for Ellvaldez, they could not yet meet them. It was a shame, according to Astolphe’s father. Apparently him and Gralat’s father got along well.
When Astolphe said that he wished for their speedy recovery, Gralat had snorted. He seemed either amused or unamused by the words. Astolphe couldn’t tell. Gralat’s older brother had sent Gralat a glare, that Astolphe felt seemed way too close to derision for comfort.
That had been during supper, which only was supper in name. The meal was in reality taken far too late to be called such. And it was a meager meal, far from what they served back home.
After their so-called supper, Astolphe had decided to ask Gralat about it. He couldn’t do so right away, as the hour was late and he had been ushered off to sleep.
So it wasn’t until after the morning meal the next day, which was as equally meager as the supper had been, that he was able to catch him alone. It was rude to drag him into the library by the arm, but he didn’t know when he would next get the chance.
“Oh. That.” Gralat shrugged, seeming disinterested in the topic. “It’s uncertain if they will recover at all.” His tone lacked any emotions; there was no worry to be heard, despite the negative words.
“Are you not concerned?”
Gralat pushed some of his hair behind his ear, and he sighed. “Me being concerned would not help them,” he said. To Astolphe, that seemed far too pragmatic, even for him. He knew that his mother in particular always prayed when somebody in the family was ill. Gralat almost seemed to be able to tell what Astolphe was thinking, because he continued. “The people of Ellvaldez live side by side with death every day. A simple cold can easily lead to ones death. These mountains claim anyone that they can, no matter who, if they so want. Young or old, rich or poor, noble or peasant. We’re a poor country, crops don’t grow, the climate is bad. We’re entirely at the mercy of the mountains.”
“Then why don’t you all move?” But Astolphe thought he already knew the answer. And it wasn’t realistic in the first place. Not everyone could afford to move.
“Because this is home. Living hell or not, this is where we belong. We are part of the mountains, as much as the mountains are part of us.”
The thought that Gralat was much more talkative than he had first thought passed through Astolphe’s mind.
He was also more passionate than he looked.
“But you want them to get better, don’t you? Do you pray for their health?” He couldn’t imagine somebody not wanting that, couldn’t imagine someone not doing that. But Gralat simply shrugged again, and didn’t answer. “But-…”
Gralat cut him off, as if he didn’t want to be questioned about it. Did that mean that he truly didn’t care? Or was he trying to be strong, put up a front?
“You are trained in the art of war?”
Astolphe paused. Only certain people called war an art, he had learned. Generally, it was people who enjoyed battle. People who wanted it. People unlike Astolphe and his family.
“I am, yes,” he said, eventually. Gralat nodded. “Good. Then let’s spar.”
Gralat didn’t seem like he was going to take no for an answer.
But then again, it didn’t seem like he was anything besides made completely out of ice, either.
And it was fine, anyway. Astolphe couldn’t neglect his training, and he had been concerned about that. Sparring against someone new was always worthwhile, too.
Unfortunately, the warriors of Ellvaldez didn’t wear armor, like the Hermann did. They wore padded but lightweight clothing, that protected them against the harsh cold but let them move freely. Their way of fighting was also different. They made use of everything that they had available, and it made them flexible, alert, and strong.
Their way to do battle was, as they were, shaped by the mountains.
Their strength was on a whole different level, and it was no wonder Astolphe was left aching all over, after the rigorous training that he tried to keep up with. And Gralat did it for the entire day, too, apparently, and continued even after the darkness had fallen.
This level of dedication to improvement was unheard of, and it amazed him.