Michael
The wind howled between the battlements, Michael tried to balance on a crate to get a good look at Reen below, but he just couldn't get high enough. He was alone, Sir Lance had requested to be relieved from his duty and his request had been granted. It had been a couple of days but no new knight had been assigned to him and he didn't know why.
I didn't like someone following me around anyway, Michael thought somewhat bitter to himself while climbing down from the crate. He turned around and got a pretty good look at the wooden keep of the Rowan estate. A lot was going on as always, soldiers leaving and arriving from patrols, servants and workers running around, and always more training.
Michael didn't like the hectic coming and going, he much preferred his lessons with Sister Sola. He smiled while thinking about it; there were so many interesting topics to learn about and Sola taught them with such vigor that Michael was enchanted. Once he mastered reading, he could read about faraway places and long-gone heroes, according to Sola at least.
He was still standing and watching from the wall when he heard multiple steps approaching him. When he turned his good mood vanished in an instant. The people approaching were the twin brothers, Harlov and Oska Rowan, Michael's half-brothers, and their respective guardian knights.
“Hey there, you pest,” Harlov said with a big smile. He might look like he was kidding but behind the smile was cruel intent.
“Leave me alone,” Michael said and tried to move away but Oska grabbed him and pushed him against the battlements.
“We heard something really interesting about you, you freak,” he said, his fingers digging into Michael's shoulders. Michael struggled against his grip, but the other boy was three and a half years older than him and much stronger. The knights were just watching, and Michael knew from personal experience that they would not help him.
“Let go!” Michael squirmed and struggled even harder, then the air was pressed out of his lungs by a strike to his stomach.
Michael coughed and Harlov said, “Stay still, you demon-worshiping shit.”
“What are you talking about,” Michael pressed out between gritted teeth.
“We heard all about it, demon lover,” Oska growled while he grabbed Michael's jaw and pushed him against the wall harder.
“I never expected different from your pampered kind, our mother was with father through the hard times, and you just leech off his status,” Harlov continued the hate speech of his brother.
Michael had heard it a thousand times already … Father was an adventurer before he became a lord but after the rebellion, he gained a noble status for his exploits. His first wife was also lowborn and died giving birth to Harlov and Oska and Michael's mother married Lord Rowan after that, she was a noblewoman. Harlov and Oska loved to pride themselves in the fact that their mother loved their father for who he was and accused Michael's mother of just marrying for status.
Michael gritted his teeth, he could never stand up to them, he was alone, and they would just hit him harder if he did, so it was better to just take it.
“Do you really think we are gonna let you bring ruin over our family?” Oska got close to his face and laughed. “How about we toss you down the wall so that you won't be a disgrace anymore? Isn't that what you want, not to be a burden, a scared little vermin that father doesn't even pay attention to when he is dying.”
Tears rolled down Michael's face, they knew his weak points because they were the source for most of them but still, he kept silent.
Oska's face warped with anger, and he dragged Michael to the edge of the wall. Michael began to panic, he struggled against the older boy but to no avail. He could already see the gaping edge and he knew that it was about to be over.
“Milord,” one of the guardian knights said in a pleading tone. “Your father won't let this slip.”
“Shut up,” Oska screamed at the knight and went his way until Harlov stopped him. “Don't be stupid, Oska, we can't just kill him.”
Oska scoffed and threw Michael back against the battlements. He crashed into the wood hard, but relief washed over him nonetheless; he was sure Oska would have done it.
“But we can hurt him so that he won't be able to do anything against the family,” Harlov continued with a sadistic grin.
He then strolled over to Michael who was just standing up and put his hand on Michael's shoulder. “Try not to scream too loudly,” he said with a voice that could nearly be mistaken as caring and then he took a swing at Michael.
He hit Michael squarely on the side of his head and he went down again.
Why, why, why are they always like this, Michael thought, I never did anything to them and still they treat me like this.
His face was burning, and his sight was obscured by tears, then out of nowhere a thought occurred to him, it didn't feel like his own thought at all but someone else's, do you really want to get hurt more? Do you just want to take it? Is this how your life is supposed to be? No, it shouldn't.
Harlov had backed away laughing and saying something incomprehensible to his brother, then he stepped forward and kneeled in front of Michael.
“You are pathetic. Where is your warrior spirit? There is no way you are Father's child! What about it bastard, do you agree, you don't even look anything like father,” Harlov taunted him to the laughter of his brother.
Enough, at that moment Michael pushed forward with all his strength and smashed his head into Harlov's face. The boy fell back on his behind in surprise and pain, his nose was pressed in and bleeding.
“ENOUGH,” Michael bellowed while getting on his feet.
He then jumped onto the still-sitting Harlov and began to pummel at his face with everything he had. Hitting and scratching, screaming while he did so, “I WILL NOT BE YOU PUNCHING BAG, I WILL NOT BE YOUR VICTIM!” Harlov had fallen onto his back from the onslaught, trying to protect his face.
It took a couple of seconds until Oska's slow mind had comprehended what even was happening but then he tackled Michael off his brother. Oska grabbed his arms and tried to pin him down. Knowing he wouldn't win a contest of strength; he rammed his knee up between Oska's legs. With a soundless wail, Oska rolled to the side writhing in pain and holding his crotch.
Michael was quickly back on his feet and jumped in the direction of the still-shocked Harlov, who just got back on his feet. For just a glorious moment Michael could see fear in his hated brother's eyes, he felt powerful, but his joy was short-lived as mid-jump a strong arm intercepted him.
The air was pushed out of Michael as he collided with the knight's arm. Even before Michael even knew what happened he was pinned on the ground. Above him he could hear the panicked voice of one of the knights, “Are you fucking crazy, Dittrich?”
“Calm down,” another adult voice answered calmly.
“Calm down? Calm the fuck down? You just attacked the lord's son, he will have both our heads for that,” the panicked knight lamented.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I am a guardian knight, I had to protect my ward, his lordship will understand just fine.”
“You will pay for this,” this time he knew the voice even if it was a little muffled, it was Harlov. A moment later a searing pain shot through his head, and it was rocked to the side.
Well at least I gave it a good try, Michael thought as his consciousness began to fade. At least they can't question my warrior spirit anymore. He closed his eyes and mentally prepared for the beating of a lifetime.
“HEY!”
What was that? A voice? I know that voice, but it doesn't belong in this situation.
He was still waiting for the pain when the threatening voice returned, “Get the hell of him or you will regret it.” Michael opened his eyes and tried to make out the source of that voice that he couldn't place.
“Stay out of this or YOU will regret it,” Dittrich snapped back.
“I most certainly have nothing to do with this,” the panicked knight jumped in.
“Shut up,” the calm voice wasn't so calm anymore.
“I will cut you in half and drag the site with more brain to his lord's feet if you do not release the boy right now,” even in pain and confusion, this threat send shivers down Michael's spine. He now could see a pair of brown boots and grey pants, he was certain, that was the origin of the new voice.
Finally, the weight got lifted off Michael's back and he took a deep but hurtful breath. He then scrambled to get on his feet. Sir Geron stood there, sword in hand and a hard expression on his face.
He signaled Michael to move to him, and after a painful second in his cloudy mind, he got the meaning and walked over.
“Are you alright,” Geron asked him with concern in his voice.
As if the question was a signal Michael emptied his lunch on the ground but after that, he said between heavy breaths, “I'm fine … I'm fine.”
He was most certainly not fine.
He wasn't too sure on his feet and leaned on the knight for support. He could feel a hand on his shoulder aiding him and closed his eyes.
“And you call yourself a knight, intervening in a children's fight,” Geron growled.
“I protected my ward as any good knight would,” Dittrich said, even though he couldn't see it Michael could hear the arrogant smile.
“From a six-year-old? What kind of a knight are you,” Geron's voice was tense.
“Look at Lord Harlov,” Dittrich yelled. “His nose is broken, scratches and bruises everywhere. This little demon spawn should be put down like the vermin he is. We all know he is a demon child; we should get rid of him while we can. No wonder no knight wanted to be his guardian knight.”
No one. No one wanted to protect me, no one is on my side.
Michael felt worthless and helpless, maybe he should just die.
“I really can't stand children,” Geron's voice echoed in Michael's head.
He also hates me. Why do I even try anymore?
“But a six-year-old that can thrash two ten-year-olds might actually be to my liking,” Geron proclaimed. “So, from today on until my service ends in completion, death or dishonor I shall be the guardian knight for Lord Michael of the House Rowan.”
Michael was shocked and opened his eyes just in time to see the arrogant smile of Sir Dittrich vanish.
Geron then turned to Michael and gently put him against the wall with the words, “Wait here a second, milord, I have a score to settle in your name if that is alright.”
Michael could only weakly nod and fazed in and out of consciousness.
He could only remember glimpses of what happened next, a slash here and a dodge there but he quite vividly saw how Sir Geron - his knight - body slammed Dittrich down the inner side of the wall.
Then darkness followed.
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Geron
Geron was standing at full attention, right after the incident on the wall he had brought Michael to the priestess. Even before Sola had even finished inspecting his injuries Sir Godfrey and two knights had arrived to take him away. Now he was standing in the audience hall listening to the father of that pipsqueak Dittrich complaining to his lordship.
Lord Rowan was sitting on the podium and looked frighteningly interested in the matter. Normally he didn't care much for partitions or fights as long as no one was dead but this time he listened with interest.
They were not alone in the room, many knights, the nobles that had a residency in Reen or were in the castle were there, along with the council and most of House Rowan, except the two youngest boys, Michael and Harlov. Lady Rowan was sitting next to her husband and looked like she was about to rip someone's head off.
“I want him stripped of his knighthood and thrown on the street,” Baron Redric Plon, Dittrich's father, demanded. "He attacked my son, broke his hand, and pushed him down the wall.”
“He will survive, an augmenter can take that bit of damage,” Lord Rowan replied calmly. “I would much rather hear what caused this fight in the first place?”
“My son only did ...,” Lord Plon began but was quickly cut off by the raised hand of Lord Rowan.
“Please, you weren't present and have made your point very clear already. Geron,” and he turned his gaze upon the knight. He instantly felt like a deer being circled by a wolf, a feeling that only few could cause on the stalwart knight of Rowan. Geron thought back on how he had gotten himself into this situation and began explaining.
He was standing on a tower on the wall on guard duty like all younger knights had to do from time to time and heard a commotion on the wall beneath him.
Geron moved over to see what was happening and saw the twins beating up Michael again. This wasn't too much of a rarity and had nothing to do with him, so he didn't care too much. He had learned from a young age that those who don't fight for themselves can't be helped anyway.
Before he could turn away though he witnessed Michael headbutt Harlov and he couldn't help but laugh. The knight then continued to watch the scuffle as Michael began to beat up the confused older boys.
“That is when the knight Sir Dittrich Plon” - Geron pointed at the injured knight, present even with his injuries on Lord Rowan's command - “stopped Lord Michael mid-attack and pinned him down harshly."
“He was attacking my ward, what was I supposed to do,” Dittrich protested, and instantly after he hissed in pain.
“It is okay for two ten-year-olds to beat up a six-year-old but once he fights back the adults have to weigh in, that is pathetic,” Geron returned.
“Let's conclude for now that this was just a fight between children and you both escalated it,” Lord Rowan interjected.
“Just,” Lady Rowan exclaimed and looked at her husband. “These boys have been tormenting our children for years now. Especially Michael, and he is the unconscious one. How long until they finally kill him?”
“Good riddance,” Oska said to himself, he was still standing a little leaned forward, but he wasn't quiet enough.
“What did you just say,” Lady Rowan snapped at the boy. “You spiteful little ...”
“Mylia”, Lord Rowan said in a commanding tone. “Kids fight, it makes them stronger. Don't you see? Michael finally fought back; he stopped being just a pushover.” Lord Rowan leaned back with a satisfied expression. “I don't think that shielding Michael would have ever achieved that. Now he can become strong enough to defend himself.”
Lady Rowan was lost for words and stared at her husband.
“That concludes with the business of the children fighting but not why two of my knights brawl it out on the walls and certainly not why a knight of House Rowan dares to put his hands on a member of the house.” His good mood seemed to vanish in an instant and a cold shower went down Geron's back. “I don't appreciate my knights behaving like drunken fools,” Lord Rowan said loudly and with a threatening tone. “If you have scores to settle you, do it in the training ring or I will personally remind you why rules exist.”
Geron knelt, not entirely out of his own volition but forced by the immense pressure coming from the count.
“I will let it slip this time, as I am in a good mood. Dittrich seemed to have been punished enough for laying a hand on Michael and Geron defended his ward. There won't be a next time,” the lord finished his sentencing. Once the pressure vanished, Geron rose still shaken from the experience when Sister Sola approached.
“Sister,” Lord Rowan greeted the priestess. “How are they doing?”
“Mostly only bruises on Michael, but the hits to his head have left him a little confused, Milord. He will be fine, I think. Harlov has a broken nose, also bruises, and scratches on his face but he too will be fine,” Sola replied politely but Geron was sure something was searing under that facade.
Lord Rowan laughed. “He really came out pretty good for his first fight.”
“Tsk,” Lady Rowan stood up and left.
Lord Rowan watched her leave and then also rose. “Seems we are done here.”
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Michael
Michael awoke to his mother sitting beside him on his bed stroking his hair. It felt nice the warm embrace of his bed and motherly love.
“Mother?"
“Hey there, little warrior,” she said gently. “I heard you were really brave today.”
“Where is Geron,” Michael asked while blinking the sleep away.
“He is outside.” Another voice, Michael turned his head and there he was, the towering figure of his father, standing at his bedside.
He had never visited him while he was recovering from anything, to be honest, they had rarely spent much time together at all.
“Father,” Michael was surprised.
“You fought bravely, my son. I am happy to see that you seem to have found your will to fight for your place,” Lord Rowan continued.
Tears of happiness welled up in Michael's eyes, but he held them back as well as he could. He had never been praised by his father, was fighting back all that was necessary? Lord Rowan then nodded to himself and turned around to leave.
“Father,” Michael said and sat up, he turned around and inspected his son. “I want to learn how to fight, how to protect myself.”
He crawled out of his bed, much to the dismay of his mother but he ignored her protests. He stood there in front of his father and proclaimed, “I am done being weak, I am done being afraid.”
In most situations, the picture of a six-year-old saying these things would be comical but not here, not now.
With a wide grin on his father's face, he said, “Good, your training with Geron starts tomorrow. I hope you can take it”. With those words, he turned around again and left the room. Michael just stood there revitalized by what just happened.