Chapter 1

Lord Varlen of Caerviss was, under most circumstances, a calm, patient man. Waiting on his youngest son to be fitted in the formal clothing of the coming-of-age ceremony"or, rather, the rehearsal ceremony that was to take place the next day"was a rare time in which he felt completely unnerved. Not because his son was taking such a long time to dress, but more because of what the clothes meant, what they symbolized, the very essence of the ceremony itself: the transition to manhood and the responsibilities with which it came. Even though it was only rehearsal tomorrow, the actual ceremony was only two days after that"too soon for his liking.

            Varlen worried that his son was not ready for any of this.

 

            "Exactly how many layers of clothing are you going to put on me?" Roger crossed his arms to block one of the maids from pulling yet another shirt over his head. "I've already three layers of various shirts, pants, and undergarments on me; how much longer before I drown in clothes?"

            "Oh, quit being so dramatic, master Roger, and lift your arms so I can put this jacket on you." The younger of the two maids, a plain-faced woman named Katherine, gave a light tug at one of Roger's tightly clenched arms. "Well now. Don't be so stubborn."

            "Fine." The young lord raised his arms stiffly out to the sides and curled his lips into a pout. "As long as you can explain to my father how I died from suffocation by clothing."

            "Stop complaining and cooperate." Once Katherine had buttoned up both the sleeves and front of the navy-blue jacket, the older maid, a middle-aged woman named Mathilde, stood behind Roger and fussed over the ruffles around his wrists and collar. "Always have to be such a dramatic young man, don't you? Anyway, these clothes were made in the traditional style of the Caerviss family. You can’t just throw away tradition."

            "I know that, Mathilde. I would still like to think that perhaps the idiot who designed these clothes could have added in some sort of ventilation"anything! It’s ridiculous that I should have to be uncomfortable because of some half-wit designer from seventeen years ago." Roger tugged at his frilled collar, sniffed it, and recoiled in disgust. "And why must it all smell so horrible?"

            "These clothes were made seventeen years ago, when you were born." Katherine smiled and readjusted the frilly collar Roger had moved out of place. "Of course, they used to be much, much smaller. We didn’t expect you to get much taller, so it was rather a surprise when you actually grew a few more inches."

            “Wait, you weren’t expecting me to get any taller?” Roger pulled the collar out of place again. “I might not have the height my brothers have, but at least I am still growing.”

            “I doubt that you will reach their height, my lord.” Mathilde smiled and cut Roger off before he could retort, and fixed the collar again. “Anyhow, the smell is from the mothballs. No matter how we aired the clothes, it seems the smell didn’t go away. At least we know you'll repel insects."

            They giggled like young girls. Katherine added, "Of course, you'll also repel any poor woman who might decide to speak to you, master Roger.” Both women giggled again. Roger kept a disgruntled frown as they went on speaking like he wasn't even present. "Even though most women would probably be discouraged by his sharp tongue anyhow, so""

            "Must you two always chatter like that?" The voice came from the open window on the far side of the room, the ledge of which a young servant sat upon. He was a lanky, thin man whose grin seemed permanently affixed to his face. The grin, however, did not currently reach his eyes. "About your master, and while he's standing in front of you, nonetheless!"

            "Oh, Alexas, you know we don't mean anything by it." Katherine gave one last tug to the frilled collar with which Roger had been fiddling.

            "Our young master knows that we would not dare to insult him in any way." Mathilde's voice had taken on a peculiar icy tone as she marched toward the door with Katherine in tow. "Anyhow, I believe Katherine and I must be going to tend the laundry now."

            With this final remark, the maids left Alexas and Roger alone in the room. Soon after they were gone, Roger let out a deep breath. "It's safe to speak freely now, you know. And stop coming in through the window."

            " I apologize for that, but…Why don't you say anything against them, Roger?" Alexas shook his head and then crossed the room to look his friend in the eyes. "Albeit you're not lord of this household, you are one of the lord's sons. That gives you some authority"enough to stop those blasted maids!"

            Roger focused on the carpet, as if its intricate swirling design might begin moving at any moment. "I'd rather not. They would only continue to speak behind my back"which I'm certain they do anyway"and I cannot stop any of that. Besides," he added with a heavy sigh, "what they say is true. Women will not approach me in conversation unless forced by my father or their own parents. I haven't exactly… watched my tongue."

            "So you aren't the most polite person around." Alexas shrugged. "You are a member of the nobility. I would think it should be… expected, at the very least, if not tolerated."

            "That isn't making me feel any better." Roger had absentmindedly begun admiring himself in the mirror. "But again, all true. I think this is still missing one last piece: that dreaded cape."

            "This one?" Alexas held up a carmine-colored cape for a closer look. "It doesn't seem so bad."

            "Well, it is." Roger prodded gently at the cape. "One, it isn't very dashing, not being a full cape. Two, it smells just as awful as the rest of these clothes, and three, it is the exact color and shade of my hair. Whoever decided on the color scheme must have been blind, or dumb enough to forget that the entire House of Caerviss has red hair."

            Alexas simply smiled and began fastening the cape around his master's shoulders and neck. "There isn't much that can be done about one and three, but I believe I have something for two."

            "And what might that be? A barrel of perfumed water to dump over my head?" The look on Roger's face was incredulous as his servant produced a small, rolled-up piece of paper. "Is… is that some sort of spell?"

            "A commoner's version, yes, one that requires no magical ability to use. We call them charms." Alexas unwrapped the paper delicately to reveal a small pebble, which he handed to Roger. "Just tuck it away in your clothes somewhere."

            Roger took the pebble in his hand, inspecting it closely. Small, grey, completely ordinary"it was a pebble just like any other. "Is there a name for this particular sort of charm?"

            "Yes," Alexas said, then tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Though I can't think of it at the moment."

            The lordling tucked the pebble into his frilled collar, and smelled his shirt. "What the…? It smells like roses!"

            Alexas went slightly red in the face. "Well, uh… I guess it's better than mothballs, right?" He shrugged his shoulders and grinned nervously.

            The servant was met with a stony glare.

            "Okay, so I must have picked out a scented charm. Sorry!" Alexas raised his hands in defeat, then dropped his arms quickly to his sides and gave a stiff, formal bow. "Well, I have to go now, but I shall try to meet with you in the southern garden tonight. Don't worry about today or tomorrow, and good luck with your father!"

            Before Roger could ask him what he meant by the last statement, Alexas had hurried out of the room, leaving it open for someone who was entering the room after him. The redhead turned back to his mirror as one of his father's attendants, a rather stern old man named William, approached him.

            Roger groaned. “What does father want now?”

            William gave a stiff, formal bow then said, “My young lord, your father wishes for you to meet him in the grand dining hall.”

            “For what? Some boring lecture about my coming of age?” With a smirk on his face, Roger pretended to adjust his frilled collar in the mirror again.

            “I believe my lord said he wanted to refresh your manners, as you have not had lessons in such a subject for quite some time.” William kept his face as still as ice. Roger figured he would have to try harder if he ever wanted to make the old man lose his composure.

            “My manners don’t need “refreshing,” as you’ve phrased it. Tell father to keep his idiotic advice to himself.”

            If the old servant had felt any anger or taken offense to Roger’s blatant disrespect, he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, he reached into his pocket and brought out a rather ancient-looking pocket watch. He flipped it open, appeared to examine it with great interest, then clicked it shut and returned it to his pocket. He then returned his gaze to Roger, who turned to face him with a huff.

            “Yes, old man? I’m waiting.”

            “My lord explicitly stated that you were to be quick about appearing before him.”

            “Oh, really?” Roger returned to the mirror. “What, exactly, were his explicit orders?”

            “Well, if you must know…” William coughed to clear his throat. “’Drag that damned stubborn boy downstairs in front of me within the next half-hour or I shall come and drag him myself.’ And so I believe he shall if you do not hurry, my young lord.”

            Roger took a few more minutes to feign adjusting his collar. “Oh, I am coming. Would you please accompany me to the grand hall?”

            Of course, it took much longer for Roger to reach the grand dining hall with William in tow than if he had just gone along alone. Varlen of Caerviss  stood at the opposite end of the hall and, though he was a good distance away, Roger could see his father’s arms were crossed and one of his feet was tapping. He dismissed William and hurried over to where his father stood.

            Varlen of Caerviss was a tall, thin man with sharp features that, regardless of mood, gave him a perpetually annoyed look. Even so, it was easy enough for Roger to tell that his father was not at all trying to smile.

            “You do understand what the word ‘hurry’ means, correct?”

            “Yes, and the word is subjective.” Roger leaned back on one of the high-backed Beressian chairs. “I was hurrying"but you can only go so fast with poor William, the man’s getting old…”

            “Roger, for heaven’s sake, stop talking.” Varlen took a deep breath then continued. “I didn’t call you down here to argue, nor is it entirely about your manners"“

            “Then what"“

            “Be quiet and listen. While this does not directly concern your manners (or lack thereof), it concerns the cause of your… faults.”

            Roger went wide-eyed at this, but quickly defaulted on a trademark glare. “Faults? What do you mean, my ‘faults,’ this is"“

            “Damn it, Roger, for once in your life, listen to me!” Varlen grabbed his son by the shoulders and jerked him so that their faces were inches apart. “You’ve always been a smart boy: opinionated, ready to speak his mind, and knowledgeable about the subjects you choose to argue. But these are also the things that get you into trouble, and will continue to get you into trouble for the rest of your life. No, it’s not going to stop just because you’ve come of age.

            “The world will treat you as a man in a few days. You won’t be able to run your mouth as you please anymore"and no, I see that look on your face. It doesn’t matter even if you are in the right; if you argue with or insult the wrong person, you will be punished. There are many more people in this world who hold much more power than I"I won’t be able to rescue you if you are thrown into jail (or worse) for treason or sedition because you insulted someone of higher rank! Are you still listening to me, boy?”

            Roger nodded, dumbstruck for once.

            “Good, good. So this is what I am asking"no, pleading for you to do. You must learn restraint"learn to stop talking and listen for once in your life! Show respect to those around you. A little courtesy goes a long way: if you give it to others, they will give it to you.

            “And"are you still listening? Good, good"I want you to start tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner. When a lady speaks to you (however insipid her words may be), be kind in your reply. Don’t dismiss the poor things overtly, that’s how you’ve created that repelling field against the opposite sex, boy. For that matter, show a little kindness to all you meet: you never know when you might create a valuable ally. Please remember restraint, tact, courtesy, respect, responsibility… these are all things you need. Don’t give me that glare"you need a lot of work, and a lot of help. I am only telling you the truth.”

            “Yes, father. Of course you are.” There was something ugly in the way Roger spoke those words that made Varlen realize that his lecture may have fallen on deaf ears. “Am I allowed to leave yet?”

            Varlen sighed. “You are dismissed. Please, just try. And don’t forget that you must meet your cousin Giles tomorrow in the castle town"you know I’ve no time to do it myself.”

 

---

           

Roger decided to amble around the castle grounds after speaking with his father. Since Mathilde and Katherine were nowhere to be found, he had no way of removing the dreadfully difficult ceremonial clothing, which had numerous out-of-reach buttons, zippers, and hooks. And without being able to remove the restrictive clothing, he was unable to do much  of anything fun, like practice his swordmanship or sneak out for a horseback ride outside of town. Instead of returning to his room for the next few hours, Roger decided to wander his way through the southern garden. He was supposed to meet Alexas there anyway.

The southern garden was, quite obviously, on the southern side of the castle. While the other garden, with its equally-creative title of northern garden, was carefully designed and manicured to please the eyes of royal visitors, foreign dignitaries and the like, the southern garden was a hodge-podge of flowers (and some weeds) that looked to have been planted by a tornado. There was a path through the mess; it, too, had been nearly covered in overgrown flora.

Roger sat down on a bench that was only half-covered by flowers. The southern garden was a peaceful place, as hardly anyone ever decided to take a walk through such a mess. Here there were no idiotic lectures, chattering maids, or annoying old servants. He closed his eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep, overcome by the quiet of the place.

“My lord, are you really sleeping on a bench?” Roger opened his eyes and saw Alexas standing over him. “It’s already dark, my lord. I had figured that you would go back to your room before actually waiting for me.”

“Yes, well… there wasn’t much to do elsewise.” Roger stood up and tugged as his collar, which had pressed up against his neck in sleep. “I couldn’t get these damn clothes off. They’re like a miniature prison.I can’t do anything or go anywhere with them on.”

Alexas laughed. “Come on, let’s walk.”

They continued along the path that Roger had been following earlier. “So what did your father have to say?” Alexas walked a few steps behind Roger. “It was about the rehearsal ceremony tomorrow, right? Any good advice?”

            “It was partly about the rehearsal and no. The old man just drivels on an on about responsibility and all this other idiocy. I’m doing just fine.” Roger yawned. “It was a waste of time. I had thought he was going to make some remark about the clothes, but no. I suppose at least I know they fit.”

            “Yeah, I guess so…” The servant had a bit of a puzzled look on his face, but it disappeared before Roger turned around to face him.

            “Well, what now?”

            “I think you should probably be off to bed. It’s getting late, and you’ve a lot to do tomorrow.”

            “Off to bed? Who do you think you are, William?” Roger grinned as Alexas whacked him on the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, but servants shouldn’t hit their masters"ouch! Okay, okay, I’m going to bed! Good grief. At least I can get out of these ridiculous clothes. Good night, Alexas.”

            Roger headed back toward the castle, while Alexas sat down on a bench that was nearly concealed by the overgrown flowers. He let his head hang limply off the back of the bench and closed his eyes. “Good night, my lord. Don’t let the bedbugs devour your clothes.”

Author's Note

Critique and feedback of any sort vastly appreciated, as I know there is much room for improvement. This is only the second draft of the chapter, as I am trying to keep moving with the story, but I will try to fix any big errors. Also, tell me if you have a hard time reading the text. It was a little wonky from the copy-paste from MS Word, so I tried to make it larger to see if that helped.

Also point out any errors I might have missed! Like I said, this is transferred from MS word. I tried to catch everything, but I'm an awful editor.

Thanks for reading!

Reviews

[ForTheWorld]

good....an interesting novel...please continue it...Its a cliffhanger and I cant wait to see the next part...so please..