William Fairburne

William was shoved to the ground, and immediately, a sword was pointed at his throat. He was gasping, and his fingers dug into the dirt beneath his hands as he tried to crawl backwards away from the wooden point. A knee pinned him to the ground by his chest, and the sword point touched his skin.

“You win,” he panted, going slack and falling flat onto his back. The brunette above him removed his knee and extended his hand for William to grab. Once he did, he was hoisted up.

“Thanks, Sydney…” His brother patted his back once he was on his feet, and helped him brush the dirt off of his shirt.

“Hey, don’t worry. You did better that time,” he reassured him. William sighed, nodding halfheartedly.

“Sure I was,” he grumbled. He looked down at the snapped stick in his hand, one side dangling loosely from the other, only kept together by a thin piece of green bark. He pulled the loose piece away so he’d have more control over the makeshift weapon. Sydney had always been physically stronger, and he’d started sparring with their father when he was only five years old. William knew that he’d likely never be better than him, but he just wanted to beat his brother once. At least come close to it.

“Alright, let'slets go again.” He shifted his feet into an attacking stance, and narrowed his eyes at Sydney. He looked at him with intense focus, trying to gauge what attack he could make without his brother instantly catching on. 

Sydney glanced to the side for a moment, and William found his eyes following. His father was watching from their veranda, sitting in a wood-stained adirondack chair he always sat in to enjoy the outdoors. Beside him was his blonde haired infant brother, tugging idly on their father’s black shawl that was spilling over the back of the chair.

William’s legs were swept out from underneath him, and he hit the ground with a hard thud. Sydney was on top of him again. He groaned in frustration.

“Are you fighting Dad and Matthew?,” he asked him, the wooden sword brushing against his throat again. 

“I was distracted. I wanted to know what you were looking at.” He huffed.

“I could tell. If you’re actually fighting someone, they can use that against you, you know.”

“Like you just did,” William said pointedly. 

Sydney smiled crookedly at him. “I was being realistic.” William gently pushed his brother off of him and helped himself to his feet.

“You have a sword. I have this,” William complained, looking down at the stick. It snapped again during this fight, and now barely stuck out of his fist.

“It’s like a little knife,” Sydney commented, trying to defend its useability. 

“It’s a stick.”

“It doesn’t matter what weapon you have,” Sydney argued,. “iIf you’re not going to pay attention long enough to use it.”

“Not this time, sure, but you have the sword every time, and I just get some random stick!” He waved it around wildly as if Sydney hadn’t already seen the pathetic, broken stick.

“I’m more trustworthy with a weapon. I’m older,” Sydney flaunted.

“We’re twins!,” William groaned. “You can’t keep using that excuse just because you were born first.”

“Fine.” Sydney tossed the sword to William, who fumbled to catch it and narrowlynarrow avoided dropping it. 

“Pass me the stick.” 

Sydney put his hand out for the useless object, which William eagerly handed over. He fiddled with the real weapon excitedly, certain this time he could win.

They started another round. They kept going for a while, until the sun began to dip below the treeline, and dark shadows were cast across the yard. William had a new rush of adrenaline, and had started to show signs of improvement, hanging onto Sydney’s every word. He still ultimately ended up on his back with Sydney towering over him in the end.

He glanced over to his side to see his father standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching them. 

“You did really wellgood, Will,” he said with a smile.

“I’m laying in the dirt,” he replied, deadpan. Garreth laughed.

“Alright, come on in. I made dinner.” 

The boys fought briefly over who was to take in the sword. Sydney let go of it at a subtle glare from their father, and William triumphantly carried it into the house.

Matthew came hobbling over to them as soon as they entered.

“Who won?,” he asked excitedly. He couldn’t help but shout the words. Garreth had been convinced for a while that he was partially deaf, but a visit to the doctor’s office confirmed that he was just an overly loud kid.

“I did,” William joked, swinging the sword up to rest on his shoulder. Sydney had to duck out of the way to avoid getting hit.

“He’s lying to you.” Sydney gently took the sword from his brother, earning him a dirty look, and tossed it into the cabinet where they kept their coats and boots. 

“But I was close,” William added, trying to make himself appear better to their younger brother, despite the fact that he’d already moved on from their conversation and had crawled onto their father’s lap in the living room.

“Until you dove at me trying to take me down. Throwing your entire body off of the ground is generally not a good idea.” Sydney went to the counter and grabbed a plate that Garreth had left out. 

“You wouldn’t be saying that if it had worked.” William grabbed a plate as well and rushed to the table, sliding into the chair underneath his brother a moment before he was going to sit down in it. Sydney looked at him with a grimace as he sat in a different seat.

“Yes, I would, because there was absolutely no chance of that working.” Sydney stared into William’s eyes challengingly as he gnawed down on a chicken finger.

William sighed, accepting his move as a failure. “I still did good, though, right? Aside from that?” 

“You were better with the sword,” Sydney replied, his mouth full.

“Than with a stick? Yeah, no sh—”

“William,” Garreth interrupted. His voice was level, but there was an edge of warning in the way that he spoke his son’s name.

“Sorry Dad,” William mumbled before focusing on Sydney. “Okay, but I got better?” Pride and excitement were evident in his voice.

“It lasted a couple more seconds,” Sydney teased. 

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“That’s barely anything!” William’s pride dissipated. “What am I doing wrong?,” he whined, throwing his head back with his hands over his face.

“Well for starters, you’re really easy to knock off balance, beanstalk.” Sydney snickered, until he was roughly shoved by his twin and ended up inhaling a piece of his food. He coughed, clearing this throat, glaring at William the whole time. 

William was quite tall for his age. While Sydney stood a little bit taller than average at 4’6, William was already pushing 5’.

“So what you’re saying is that if were to ever be in a real fight, I’d just die, then? It’s not like I can shrink.” He wore a look of horror on his face at the revelation.

“You lad are nine years old. I shouldn’t hear you talking about ‘real fights’ for a few years yet, and certainly not your own death.” Garreth had tuned back in for that part of the conversation, and lightly chastised his sons without taking his eyes off of the paper. They both fell silent after their father spoke, instead communicating via facial expressions as they plowed food into their mouths. 

“Done!” William slammed a hand on the table and hopped up out of his seat to deposit his plate in the sink.

“Why do you always make it a race?,” Sydney asked as he shoved food in his mouth, desperately trying to finish. He ended up coughing some back up in his haste, and both William and Garreth glanced at him to make sure he was okay. He lightly hit his chest and put a thumb’s up on the table to tell his family he was alright.

“That was twice in one meal,” William teased. “You need to learn how to eat.”

“It was your fault both times!” Sydney got up, having finally finished, and joined William at the sink to wash his plate.

“William, come here. I want to fix your face.” Garreth tossed the paper down onto the table and beckoned his son over. William arrived at his side, and Garreth grabbed the First Aid Kit from the wall beside him, freshly stocked. It used to be kept in the bathroom, but with the influx of sparring matches, William started needing it more and more, and Garreth figured it wise to keep it closer.

His son knelt in front of him like usual, and he got a good look at his face. It was no different than usual — in fact, he sometimes had a hard time distinguishing old marks from new ones — but he still tsked at the sight. He had a bruised eye,  a couple scrapes varying in severity where Sydney accidentally hit him with the stick or sword, and a small line of blood coming from his nose that Sydney swore up and down was from him hitting the ground during his dive. In addition to the injuries, he was just very dirty. Garreth sighed and began tapping William’s face with an alcohol wipe, drawing a wince from him.

“Sydney, you’re supposed to be sparring, not boxing. Lay off on your brother a bit.” William and Sydney both mumbled ‘same thing’ under their breath, before Sydney flopped down onto the couch, watching Garreth apply bandages to William’s face. 

“There you go,” Garreth said once he was finished applying the bandages. “Try to let him go a little while without these, alright?” Sydney nodded his agreement, but his expression suggested that Garreth would be doing this same thing again tomorrow. 

William stood up and started to idly wander towards the fireplace, before Garreth suggestinged, “why don’t you play us a song, William?” He grinned as though he’d been waiting for someone to asksuggest that — which he most definitely was — and immediately took off towards his bedroom. 

He came down a moment later with a quarter-sized acoustic guitar. It was the same one that he had gotten for his fifth birthday when he wanted to start playing— the same birthday Garreth let Sydney get into sparring and got him necessary materials — and while there wasn’t much need for a small one now that he’d grown a fair amount, it was just what he used. No one had ever thought to bring up getting a new one. 

Matt was sitting on their Dad’s knee, shifting around to get comfortable and ready for William to play. Ever since Matt was a baby, he was soothed by William’s music — despite how simple it was — and so it was no surprise that he was eager to settle down after Garreth’s suggestion. William found it a little amusing how quick he was to quiet down once the guitar came out, but he also felt a sense of pride at the fact that he was able to impress his younger brother with something, as sparring definitely wouldn’t do it. 

He sat down on the stone hearth of the fireplace and reached up to grab a pick from a small pile on the mantelpiecemantlepiece. He took a pause and a breath, and watched as his family waited in silent anticipation. He started strumming the guitar aggressively, moving his fingers around the fretboard randomly, creating a selection of horrific and definitely not real chords.

“Fuck you, Sydney,” he sang, mocking their sparring match that gave him the many scrapes and bruises on his face. He drew out the words to create his own improvised melody as chaotically unorganized as the chords. Matthew grinned mischievously, a devilish grin spread across his face, clearly amused by the cursing. Sydney shook his head at William, but he could tell that the irritation was fake.

“William, watch your language,” Garreth scolded. “You’re influencing Matthew.” William paused and pouted dramatically at his father for a moment before continuing his aggressiveaggressively strumming.

“Frick you, Sydney,” he sang to the same melody as before. Matthew giggled, and even Sydney was unable to hide his small smile. While he often spoke against William’s cursing, he was still a nine year old boy.

William suddenly snapped his hand back and stopped playing, nearly dropping the guitar. He shook his hand for a moment, wincing, but was quickly able to get over it as the sting faded away. He glanced down guiltily as the others stopped to see what had happened, humour lost. One of the guitar strings was curled, hanging loosely from the guitar. Garreth just sighed, rubbing his temples.

“You broke it!” Matthew sounded completely devastated. This had happened only once before, and Matthew was too young to remember it. To the twins and their father, this was just an end to playing. Matthew, however, looked as though he had just witnessed the greatest catastrophe known to man. 

Sydney, on the other hand, held absolutely no remorse for his brother. His face was full of humour, and he had to hold back snickers. A snort escaped, and he glanced around quickly trying to make sure no one noticed.

Garreth stood and walked out of the room, placing Matthew down onto the chair alone. William rushed after him, terrified. He knew his father would never give him any sort of punishment for something as silly as this, but in such a laidback father, real disappointment was punishment enough.

“I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to. I promise, I’ll be more caref—” Garreth came back from around the corner with a full sized guitar. It had beautiful, hand-done carvings across the wooden body.

“Oh.” William calmed down and followed Garreth back to the living room where Sydney and Matthew were waiting.

“Your mother played beautifully, and I wanted to learn to impress her, but I never really took to it. I figured I’d hang onto it in case I ever wanted to try again, but you’ve got the skill. It’s yours.” William beamed and excitedlyexcited took the instrument from his father. He hurriedly gave his thanks before resuming his position at the fireplace. The guitar was a bit too large and slightly difficult to hold, so he ended up pointing it more upwards than he was supposed to, then went to play.

He strummed down once, and they all cringed at the sound it made. Clearly, it had not been tuned in quite some time, so William made quick work of fixing that. They sat waiting as he turned the pegs, listening to the strings’ notes soar higher until they reached the perfect pitch. William strummed down once again, satisfied with the sound.

While Sydney had skill with the sword, William had skill with the strings. His fingers moved easily across the fretboard as his right hand worked at strumming and plucking, creating a simple yet beautiful symphony of sounds. There were some times the guitar buzzed when a string wasn’t pressed down hard enough, or moments that William had to pause to get his fingers into position, but everyone enjoyed the music nonetheless, regardless of how choppy it was.

For a while into the night, they stayed like that; William playing the guitar and everyone singing along. Even after Matthew had fallen asleep, and William started nodding off, causing the songs to get gradually sloppier, they continued, bobbing along to the music despite Garreth’s constant suggestions for them to go to bed. They stopped only once William was slumped over the guitar, out cold, and they were left only with the sound of his last chord ringing out.

“Could you grab him, please?,” Garreth asked Sydney quietly, gesturing towards Matthew who was curled up against him, pinning his arm’s down. Sydney gently lifted his younger brother’s head until Garreth was able to warmworm his arms free and grab the boy himself.

“Thank you. You can head up to bed now. I’ll grab these two.” 

Sydney walked towards the stairs, whispering, “I love you, Dad,” on his way up.

“Love you too, Syd.” Garreth could hear him linger at the top of the stairs briefly, probably debating waiting for his twin, before he walked into his room and shut the door behind him.

“William,” Garreth whispered, trying to wake his son. When he didn’t respond, he put Matthew comfortably back onto the chair and then tried to gently shake William awake. He responded with a series of unintelligible grumbles, refusing to get up.

“Come on, Will. Just up the stairs, then you can go right back to sleep.” William turned his and mumbled something that sounded as though it was supposed to be coherent, but wasn’t. Garreth sighed and picked up Matthew again.

“Goodnight then, William. You’ll be down here all alone.” With that, Garreth walked upstairs and around the corner to Matthew’s room. He tucked him into bed, then returned to the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall to listen. William hated being left behind — something to do with ghosts — so if he fell asleep downstairs, all Garreth had to do was walk away and he’d wake up and come running. However, tonight, Garreth heard no footsteps, which meant he must have been really exhausted. Probably from the excessive fighting with Sydney.

He gave in and tiptoed back down the stairs. William was in the exact same spot that he had been when Garreth left: seated, but slumped over, with his face squished into the side of the guitar, his curly hair hanging over the edge of the instrument. He smiled, savouring the moment and how much the boy reminded him of his mother here.

He walked over and gently pried the guitar away from his son, leaning it against the wall. William groaned softly in complaint at the loss of his wooden pillow, but settled again once Garreth slide an arm underneath him and lifted him off of the ground. His long legs spilled over Garreth’s arm, dangling limply and swaying slightly with each step up the stairs. 

Garreth walked into the shared bedroom between the shared bedroom between Sydney and Will, placing his middle son in his bed across the room from his oldest, who was sound asleep now. William rolled over and tightly grabbed his cat plushie and pulled it close to his chest, but aside from that, he didn’t stur.

Garreth walked out and smiled to himself before shutting off the hallway light and heading to his room, officially retiring for the night.

“Goodnight, boys,” he whispered as he settled down into his own bed.