There was the unnamed hero who served a boy captain in his Majesty's
legions, and all regarded him as inpenetrable.  In sparring, he wore a
blindfold and weilded a wooden sword and with his off hand could lay
waste to as many warriors could close upon him in combat.  In the
hall, he drank the deepest draughts, but when others could not stand
on unsteady legs, his countenance remained untouched.  He loved many
women, his passion legendary, and all loved him.  And no boast did he
make to his skill -- he was only quiet, carrying all with a gentle
affection of undifferentiation.  

So when battles hardened the skin of others, and towers were blasted,
and blood blacked on armour, the hero remained untouched.  So he was
paraded throughout the land, though his quiet modesty prohibited any
from making such a show.  It was said that the only reason he was not
Emperor was that he could not break the bounds of modesty to believe
that such was capable of him.  He would rather fight and lay waste and
do what his talents would carry than to stand in quietude and hold
judgement over the lives of others like chattel.

His greatest battle, he took a thousand lives without weapon or armor
after an ambush near the palace and emerged with only a slight scratch
from his navel to knee, and he saved his Majesty's life and the whole
kingdom was solemn and grateful.  Yet when he was marched down the
streets of the great city, a hero's welcome that he begged against but
that was demanded of him, an old crone laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" the hero asked.

"You have withstood heart and blade and mastery and servitude and you
bear these as trophies as the modesty that you carry so well," said
she, "And you pride yourself with a pride that you forbid yourself to
see, but underneath there is nothing.  You will laugh until you cry,
and you will cry until you laugh."

The palace guards already sought to acost her, but she vanished with
her drab robes in the flesh-soaked street of countless dressed the
same. Her last sentence stayed with him, but it was nonsense, so he
remembered it only as an amusing waking from a dream.

Journeying across the desert alone, the hero came to an oasis.  A
peasant girl dipped her bucket in the shallow water slowly.  "I am on
a great journey," he said, "Let me go first." 

She giggled, "I see no reason I should let a stranger go before me.
You are only thirsty with the dryness of impatience."  She laughed at
him, and playfully he tugged at her bucket.  They rolled around in the
sand like children, laughing and stuggling, laughing until they forgot
what they were laughing about.  And finally she touched his heart as
no other had, and he sensed that all things were alive....that his
heart had been caged, although in gold intentions, doing what others
had told him his dreams were.  But all he wanted to do was love this
silly peasant girl.  So he gave up his journey and lived with her.

His absence from court was not long noticed.  Without his fierceness,
northmen broached the wall and took land that was held by his people
since time immeasured.  So they sent for him by his two brothers.  

"You must come," they said when they found him.

"I will go," he said to her, not even looking at them, "But I will
return." Tears glazed both of their cheeks as they touched their lips
for once last kiss.

He went with his younger brother, but the elder went ahead, and sent a
scroll upon a falcon's leg to his Majesty.  Furious as to the hero's
words, the Emperor took and entire legion to carry out the word that
her entire village must be put to death by flames and that she was to
hear every last scream.  

The legion road back with the elder brother. He did not know that his
words would so doom his kin, but could not argue with divine
providence.  He whispered to the hero of the fate of his lover. She
loved her family dearly and would be hurt worse than death to see them
so slain.  These things he knew now that before could not tread upon
his thoughts.  The legion surrounded the town, prepared to abduct the
girl and make the town a sepulchur, but the hero cried, "No!" and slew
her upon his sword.  Her eyes closed, he took one last kiss.  The man,
so stayed by his emotion, left him as he wept .... for hours ... then
for days.  And as madness took him, he began to laugh.