Chapter 2 - Alaric

Alaric - 1

It was all he could do to lay still in bed. He wanted to be outside, climbing the trees in the woods, or hunting with his mother. He wanted to be swimming in the creek, or anything other than this. Waiting and trying to sleep was unbearable.

In the morning there was to be a tournament. His father, the king had invited men and women, lords and ladies from all over the kingdom. But they all bored him in comparison to the fascinating Templar sent from the order of the Blynd faith. He’d never met a witch, never seen someone who openly admitted to being one.. Though he supposed everyone knew what that man was when he came in parading around in that armor like that, with that seeress witch too.

Alaric’s mother sheltered him too much. He was a boy yes, and a prince, a king one day if god was good to him.. but all the same, it made him miserable. He hated it. He wanted freedom. But she was always afraid for him. fearful he would get himself hurt. or that he would become lost. Or any number of bad but unlikely scenarios could happen.

But no matter how much it annoyed the young ten year old, he had no desire to be shipped off. His father had arranged the tournament for Alaric’s uncle- newly wed. The plan was that the king’s brother would leave for his wife’s homestead in the coming few days at the end of the tournament… and that they would be taking the prince with them.

Alaric wasn't even supposed to know, but he listened to everything. He was an observant and sometimes sneaky boy, listening at doors and eavesdropping whenever he got the chance.  Seeing the Templar had only given him more ideas… They took in any one right? Any age or background, they did not judge, and you would be safe within their walls.. Maybe he could run away…

His father  had always been as overbearing as his mother, but where she was warm and comforting and protective, the father was cruel and controlling, wanting Alaric to be his heir more than he wanted him to be his son.

Alaric stared across the room and through the window in his room, looking at the moonlight sky, blurred into a myriad of colors on stained glass. He shut his eyes tightly, pretending for a moment that he was blind. The young prince sat upright in bed,  and slid his legs over the edge, and planted them firmly on the floor.

He stood up, and felt around for the edge of the bed, eyes still tight, but he could see the faintest of light through his closed lids anyway the closer he moved towards the window. Foot caught on uneven stone thought, and he tripped, slamming  palm and knee first into the cold floor.

He lay there, biting his lip so he would not cry. He looked up once more to the window, holding onto his knee, his eyes finally open. No, that was certainly not the way he wanted to go.. He didn't want to be like them. He liked seeing too much.

Come morning he had eaten almost nothing at breakfast, and by the time he’d been sat in the stands along side his family, his mother and father, he was feeling the hunger.  He’d managed to steal a peach from the bowl near his father’s throne before seating himself beside his mother.

The  normally empty field  was filled with soldiers and knights, peasants and lords a like. It was one of the only times  they all mingled in such a manner.

Alaric leaned his head on his mother’s arm, staring out miserably. He wished he could be one of those knights. He had always wished for a brother, so he  wouldn't have to be a king.. A king had to rule, and make decisions, knights, it seemed to his young mind, had all the glory.

Out in the lists,  a young knight road up, his helmet under his arm. His armor was not new, but was well taken care of and recently polished. He sat astride a large golden colored destrier. The man in the armor was handsome, dirty blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes that rivaled the ocean on a summer day.

It was Sir Edmund Payne, Alaric  had seen him in the court before, and despite his young age, the boy knew the man disliked the King. Everyone knew that, but no one said it.

Payne was well known throughout the court. He was charming, and friendly, and an excellent warrior, loyal to the last drop of his blood. But above loyalty, his family had been known for many generations for their moral standings.  And for that, the Payne family had dwindled down now, to just the one man, and what lands he’d once stood to inherit had been stripped of him when he was still a boy after the execution of his father... The old king had so graciously however, allowed him to remain as a squire- and later a Knight.

Alaric liked the man. He was how the boy prince imagined knights should look and act- loyal and strong, skilled and handsome. Just like in the songs and stories. He sat upright a bit more, as if he wanted to make a half decent impression of himself on the knight. He wanted to show that he was interested, not bored with the man.

The opposing contender was a less than attractive man. Aged, balding, but strong and stern looking. His gaze seemed capable of scolding you without words, and his firm grip on the reins seemed unnecessarily tight and strained.

When the horn had been blown both riders, helmets and visors down, had ridden towards each other, lances out. They had clashed together in the middle of the field, the old man left yards behind his horse, as the thing trotted off as if he was still astride him.  Alaric was not surprised that Payne had one, but many others seemed to be.

As the day went on so did the jousts. the pit of Alaric’s peach was on the wooden floor, and he rolled it nervously under his boot as he watched each charge with fascination.

Perhaps the Queen beside him was just as  anxious, bursting with the same tense excitement as him; her hand held onto his tightly as if trying to keep him beside her, as though she feared what might become of him if he did not. In her free hand Queen Adelaide had already finished her third goblet of wine, and the sun was not yet so very high.

When it was once more Payne’s turn, he was facing the last challenger of the day, the man who called himself Howl.

Having only spoken to him for a few moments, and having known Payne most of his life- at least having seen him around the castle most of it- he  knew already who he wanted to win. Sir Edmund was a tall man, broad shouldered and well built, and had knocked every foe clean out his saddle today. He was from the castle, a knight, a warrior, and a good man as far as Alaric knew. He sat, fists clenched tightly, hoping for him to win.

Howl on the other hand sat atop his black-maned black horse, his blueish gray armor shining like the surface of a frozen lake. It had been polished some since his arrival here- and doubtless he had done it himself. He had no squire to tend to him. The horse wore no banner nor coat upon it- only a blood red ribbon of silk tied about its neck and hanging down in front for all to see. A similar ribbon was tied about the warriors upper left arm.

No one seemed to say a word. Either the crowd had gone silent with anticipation, or  the boys ears simply refused to hear the jeering shouts.. He did however see the rotten cabbage throne anonymously from behind the fence holding back the commoners. A peasant or low born  had surely thrown it, hitting the man Howl  on the shoulder.

The rotted vegetable hit the man’s armor and then fell to the side. He turned his head to look out at them, but looked back to his opponent once more instead, trying to ignore the hatred of the peasants. Alaric pitied him. The boy couldn't for the life of him understand why everyone hated Witches and those who protected them…

A small smile the boy had been wearing faded away as the peach pit slipped out from his foot and rolled away off the stand. When I am king,  he thought to himself,  I will not persecute them.  He found himself switching sides in that moment. His respect for sir Edmund not forgotten, but rather, he felt empathy towards the man.

Several yards to the left of the boy and his mother the king had stood up from his wooden throne in the stands, raising up a hand to say something before the joust. Commoner and rider a like looked up to the man to hear his words. But none came out.

Rather than words, a white and bloody liquid dripped out, and the man held his hand to his stomach- reaching out for the railing before him to steady himself. He coughed violently, more blood and white liquid spilled out from him, turning a hideous pink as the two mixed, becoming more foamy.

The lords around him had all jumped their feet. Everyone was shouting, everyone was trying to say something, do something, demand someone to get help. Everyone was reacting. Everyone except the queen and her son.

The king had collapsed to the floor of the stand, under the shade of their pavilion, and was shaking terribly, seizing on the ground, and choking on his own blood.  His crown had rolled away a few feet before stopping unnoticed at a lords boot. His face was turning beet red, and it was clear what had happened. He was being poisoned.

Alaric screamed for his father’s sake, watching, mortified as the lords crowded around the man, blocking his father from sight… He pulled and tugged at his mother’s arm, desperate to claw his way in to see his father.

“Let me go!” he cried to her, “ I have to see father!”

She only held him tighter, firmly holding him back like a strong ocean tide pulling him from the shore. The boy kicked her in the leg though- unexpectedly, and without hesitation he ripped his wrist away from her and stumbled towards his father.

Alaric grabbed at rich men's clothes and belts, forcing his way past the quickly growing mass of lords. It had never seemed there were so many until they had all gathered around the man.  When he’d made it through the curtain of men and women he’d collapsed beside his father, wide eyed and reaching for the man’s shirt, as if pulling it aside would reveal whatever kept the man from breathing.

He put his hands down on the mans shoulder. “ Stop.. stop it!” He tried to keep the man still.

The  king was always a hard faced man who only ever smiled when he’d won something. He had his uncle’s temper, and was widely believed to be some what mad, but that did not mean the boy did not care for him.. Alaric knew his father was not a good king, but that did not make him love him less.

Only when the king had stopped shaking had Alaric looked up. His father was not breathing or moving any longer, and the mans eyes stared up bloodshot and hemorrhaging. Alaric looked up, for a moment wondering what his father had seen in his last moments. It was just a  was just the blue cloth that covered the pavilion. Blue, painted with white waves, speckled with silver colored sequins..

The boys eyes were bloodshot when he looked up, tears had stained his pale face, and his hands  still clutched his fathers shirt.

Queen Adelaide had made her way at some point through the crowd to stand behind her son, and stared down at her dead husband. She looked bitter and cold even then, and did not seem so forlorn for the death of her king. She wore once more a dress of gold and white, the same as the night of the feast before, but today her hair had been pinned up in a braided bun.

Her eyes were brighter than ever and more dry than they ought to have been. Alaric watched his mother, not wholly understanding what was happening here..

“Mother?” He looked to her, hoping for some reassurance that all would be alright.

The Queen bent down, picking up the crown in her slender fingers looking at only her son when she stood up straight once more.  She watched him a moment in silence, all the lords voices had died down to a hushed whisper- though the commoners were shouting in the distance in confusion and anger threatening a riot.

Adelaide held up the crown before she spoke, turning to face the bulk of her court.

“Your king is dead!” She shouted before them, looking back to her son. She closed her eyes a moment, eyes growing wet with tears now. Only he could make her cry. “And a new king must be crowned.” She said, reaching down to place his father’s crown upon his head.

Author's Note

This story is still in the rough draft stages, and there are likely to be a lot of grammar mistakes, and a lot of places where I could add more. This is mostly just a place for me to post my work and see if any one is even interested in reading just another fantasy based story.