Here are some of Kheldar's stories written down.

Tavern under attack

When I was just a little boy, my father and I travelled a lot. My father kept the both of us fed by entertaining people, and he was good at it. I sometimes participated by standing on a stool or table and acting out the story - it must have looked adorable.

Once, in early winter, we had arrived at some tavern closer to the Borderlands then to Tar Valon. It was a rough establishment, the sort where honest, hardworking folk come to enjoy their evenings. My father and the cute little boy - me - were an instant hit with the hunters and the woodsmen. This was well, for the weather had taken a turn for the worse and now we were invited to stay a while longer.

The next day I awoke to the soothing sound of the falling rain. The wind blew coldly over the land, and all the tavern's clientele was grateful to be inside in these conditions. During the day, I mostly entertained myself by playing in the haystack in the stables - you know, jumping into them, throwing it around, all the things little boys do.

My father came to fetch me, so that I might clean myself. This evening he wanted to tell the tale "Hawkwings finest soldier" - if you don't know that one, I will save it for some other evening. We had practiced quite a bit on my role in portraying the events in the first part of the story, so my father wanted me clean and ready.

After a quick and early dinner - a good story is always welcome during dinner, so we had to have eaten before dinnertime - my father pulled up his chair close to the fire while I climbed upon an improvised (but steady) platform. Then, with his warm voice, my father gave shape to the story of the boy who was to become Hawkwings finest soldier long after midnight.

His voice changed, and so did my stance, as we both portrayed different characters. One moment I was a haughty, youthful soldier whose arrogance cost him the boys friendship and, a short while later, a deep wound. Next I became the strict, but friendly sergeant who always kept his men and the village as safe as possible.

The onlookers were enthralled, but so was I. This story never failed to absorb me so, that I halfway felt I was actually these people. And on this particular night, the weather and the darkness played right along with the story: it was a cold, damp night - although the rain had stopped. The wind had slowed, but could still be heard outside. It closely matched how I pictured the scene in my mind.

My father came to the attack on the village. The outlying houses were no match for the still-unseen enemies, but the Sarge felt something was wrong. As I ordered my men to gather closely, everyone inched forward, even the maids. I can still here my father say, "... and then, suddenly,"

At that exact moment, a flaming arrow broke through a window, bounced of the wall to my back and fell down at my feet. Being totally entranced by my role, I stepped out the fire, picked up the arrow, wielded it akin to a sword and bellowed out orders. "Barricade the doors! Stay away from the windows! Get the women and children to safety!". The startled customers looked panick-stricken at eachother and at my father. "Well, don't just stand there men! Get to it, on the dovl!" (I didn't exactly know how to pronounce that word).

My father ensured me later that these words had a profound effect on the crowd and could very well be the reason we survived this. Myself, I don't know. What I do remember is that suddenly everyone moved into action. It was quite clear that the tavern was under attack, but we had seasoned men inside who were not afraid of a fight. This changed when someone had taken a good look at our enemies: they were tall, broadshouldered, and resembled beasts walking upright.

So often had I heard my father describe them, that I did not even think before I shouted: "Trollocs!" That, once again, compelled the crowd to silence, and the seriousness of the situation sunk in with them as it of course failed to do in a 5-year-old boy who only knows stories in which the good guys always win.

I was quickly led away, under protest of course. After a quick count, there were too many to defend. Unless someone drew our enemies away, we would be overrun. I remember my father wanting to stay and fight, but he was instructed to flee with me and take the chance so that "the boy" might live.

Of course, my father had to do that in a manner to help as much as he could. So we snuck into the stables and climbed on father's horse. Then, he instructed me to cling to him as tightly as I could, drew his sword and galloped out of the stables. Straight at the center of the enemy attack. Through the fog I saw vicious fangs snapping in our direction, snapping but missing.

Suddenly, from the shapes in the mist a form coalesced to our front. This nemesis stood out in darkness against his fog-white surroundings. He snarled something in no language I spoke, and the shapes in the fog seemed to back off. My father galopped full speed at this figure, and I clung as closely as I could.

Suddenly, my father gave an freightened gasp. I glanced around my father's back to see what was going on. Fear struck me then, in a way no 5-year-old boy should have ever to experience. My father wheeled the horse around and broke through a line of Trollocs (who probably hadn't seen his movements clearly due to the fog) and sped off.

I don't remember exactly how many days we fleed before the howling and baying of the Trollocs, evading small villages so as not to have them under attack. But after we had crossed a river, all that seemed to have been left behind on the other shore.

The two of us visited the tavern later. It was still standing, and though they had lost a number of good men, more than half had survived. They were grateful for my father's action, because it had given them the break they needed to ensure their survival.

But that's another story.

Hawkwings finest soldier

Outline: a young boy survives an attack by the Forces of Darkness due to the capabilities of an army sergeant and his men, who were enjoying some R&R in his village. Inspired by this, and shocked at the brutality of the attack, he becomes filled with the desire to become as good as the men that were instrumental in his survival, and so he learns to become a soldier.
After various encounters, he is noticed by Hawkwing himself as an outstanding sergeant, and serving in that capacity the young man is present at most important battles of Hawkwing.

The reason Kheldar likes this story so much is that is offers an opportunity to tell most of the highlights of Artur Hawkwing, from a different and much more personal point of view.

The Builder in Tar Valon

Outline: Kheldar (before his 8th birthday) picks up rumours about something mysterious deep inside the Tower. To satisfy his curiosity, he decides to take a look. There is an Ogier (one of the Builders) visiting the Tower. After a couple of failed attempts, he manages to sneak through to the room and is suddenly standing eye to eye with the "gargantuan" (in Kheldar's eyes) creature. He almost starts to scream, but then notices that the creature is reading "The Travels of Jain Farstrider". He sighs heavily (which draws the attention of the creature) and says "Even your kind? There are so many much better tales than this one."

Kheldar ends up telling the Ogier a couple of his father's tales (and learns he has a knack for storytelling) and the Ogier explains a bit about himself and that he most assuredly is not a Trolloc (all the while Kheldar was thinking that this was the nicest Trolloc he'd ever talked to), before a Sister interrupts them and is startled to find this little boy here.