31_days | [Feb 29][The Dark Tower] Weapons Make the Man

Title: Weapons Make the Man
Characters: Roland, Jake, Eddie, Susannah
Day/theme: Feb 29 / "Come give me my soul again"
Fandom: The Dark Tower
Rating: G
Notes: Speed-written, so lacks quality. Bleh.

Roland polished his guns slowly and carefully, rubbing the oil gently into the weathered sandalwood. His expression, Jake noted, was one of distant love and tenderness. He gripped the old barrels as if they might fly away from his hands. Jake’s curiosity was peaked; he stood and went over to Roland.

The gunslinger raised his eyebrow as Jake sat at his feet. He gave the boy a rare smile of welcome. Jake grinned back. The two shared a brief moment of sunshine before Jake’s eyes travelled back to the guns.

“What are those, Roland?”

The man knew what he meant. “My family’s most treasured possessions, passed down from father to son. These guns once rested in the hands of Arthur Eld. D’ye ken the Eld?”

Jake nodded seriously. “Your world’s King Arthur.”

“Aye.” Roland fondled the long barrels meditatively. “The grips, mayhap, have been replaced from time to time but sandalwood lasts longer then other woods. The metal, however, remains the same. Still as hard and deadly as they were since the Eld held them in his hands.”

“Are they lead?”

“More then that.” Pride shone from Roland’s blue eyes. “If you know Arthur, then you know he had a sword: Excalibur. History tells us he melted the blade and forged these very barrels from it. That’s what makes these guns so unique: they are a relic from the last days of Gilead, from the time of Light.”

He fell silent. Sunlight shafted around them, through the trees and leaves. Jake could hear Eddie and Susannah chatting about something at the far side of the camp. The forest around them seemed too large, about to close in on them. He was in awe of the rare and ancient weapons in his dinh’s hands.

“They are my soul,” Roland said softly, so low that Jake leaned forward to hear, “or at least what remains of my soul. Something hard, beaten, soaked in the blood of the kill. Without my line’s legacy…I would be nothing. I would not have chosen my path, the way of the gun. I would not be a gunslinger.”

Jake mulled over this. Roland’s sad expression moved him. He placed his smaller hands, very carefully, over the gunslinger’s own scarred and calloused ones. He was getting something, some flash of intuition, from Roland’s mind. Jake probed carefully.

“Sometimes you wish…life had turned out differently, don’t you? That you might have been a farmer or a craftsman…because maybe then…”

Roland turned his electric blue gaze on Jake. The boy fell silent. Finally the gunslinger shook his head. “I never thought about such a thing,” he said mildly, indifferently. “For as my old tutor Vannay used to tell me, I have little imagination.”

With that, he gave his guns one final wipe before stowing them away.

Jake stood as Roland got up, the man wincing as his knees creaked. He said in a rush, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry if I did.”

The gunslinger shook his head, smiling. “You didn’t offend me, Jake.”

“Oh. Well…good.” Jake cracked a grin. “’Cause I think you being a gunslinger is the coolest thing ever.”

Roland pondered this compliment. “I don’t see how being a colder temperature equates to-”

“Oh Christ,” said Eddie good-naturedly, coming up behind Jake. “Mr. Literal strikes again. Stand back Jake, he might be contagious. Are you guys done talking? We should probably get a move on.”

“We’re ready,” Roland agreed. He patted his guns absently. “We follow the clouds.”

“Follow the Beam,” Jake chimed in. Roland nodded, striding off to lead the group. Eddie and Susannah smiled as Jake claimed his spot at Roland’s right side.

The gunslinger led the way, and his apprentices followed.