Rhydsar seemed to trudge, rather than march, to his destination. A soldier might not have proper morale or nourishment to march in proper time, and a child may lack the discipline to walk with a proper aristocratic stance, but Rhydsar’s pace seemed to reflect his mental state rather than his work ethic. The weeks of traveling had made him more reflective, philosophical—distracted. Introspection is really the only thing that can be counted on when you find yourself alone at nightfall.
Pholus came into view due to his stark contrast with the castle, giving Rhydsar time to reflect, as he approached, on what he saw: a boy, he observed, and not much older than himself. The large sword belonged to an intimidating warrior, but the rest of the boy did not measure up to it. Were Rhydsar able to look in a mirror, he would no doubt say the same about himself. It was not until the lordling edged closer to the gate that he saw this boy was tense, on edge, waiting for a battle to come. As he approached the boy, Rhydsar spoke with very clear and commanding diction.
I see you’ve been waiting for me. Are you the valiant knight who keeps the unworthy from tainting your hallowed halls?