Volume 1: Chapter 2: Young Blood part 1

"M'lord, wake yourself!"

A womans shrill voice cut through a hallway and into a lavish bedroom. A boys half muttering answered back to the cow that stood before his sleeping body.

"Oh, you're quite beautiful for a peasant girl..... no, but your mother!"

Slight was his grin with drool parting from the side of his lips. As if somehow clamouring for attention from an invisible force of nature, his arms began to somewhat fidget; and yet, the cow would rather disturb him.

"Wake yourself you damnable boy!"

Her beast like ire drove her to shake the boy maddeningly with wide eyes. His response was that of shocked confusion, and haughty words.

"Good god, what, what!"

The sheets of his bed pulled down to his waist from his stirred body. His look of dismay was equally met from the cow of a serf that greeted him in anger.

"M'lord, it would be wise to not take the lords name in vain."

"But, I!" Before his reply carried into her ears she cut him off.

"I know what you're going to say, and it doesn't matter. Wipe that drool from your face, get properly dressed, and meet your father in the dining hall."

She opened the purple curtains that revealed a scene from the last supper on the transitional oriel windows stained glass. The beaming light pierced the boys eyes, and the woman opened her mouth.

"Oh, and do hurry your mother has left early, and me being here was at your fathers explicit request. Any delay on you is a reflection on me, and I wouldn't want your slip of the tongue, and lecherous dreams to reach your father's ears. Don't worry about your bed, I'll take care of it shortly."

It was amazing to the young boy how quick she was in both words, and the speed at which she walked considering her weight. You would think wood flooring must have creaked by her passing, or that effort alone in running was difficult. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't the case. It somewhat worried him that a demand had been made of him this early in the day, especially from that beast of a servant.

He dressed himself in his usual yet elegant attire. It consisted of a tunic with a surcoat over a full sleeve linen shirt, stockings, and a pair of leather boots. The color of the clothing  was rich in red and gold. His short brown hair, and broad frame came into view from the beaming light while he pulled a crest from a drawer that sat beside his bed. It was a beautifully shaped piece of carved wood resembling that of a bulls head, and he'd be damned if he didn't wear it. He hooked into the cloth, and a proud smile broke from his face.

Passing through the second floor where his bedroom resided within the Manor, servants were performing daily maintenance, and regular mandatory tasks that governed their position. Scullery maids assisted the kitchen maids, and others attended to the duties of The Master of the Wardrobe, the Chamberlain, and the Marshal. Each one was distinct in service to his father, especially the knights which guarded the household from villieins, assassins, and brigands that go bump in the night. However, they, unlike their counterparts were different in their lords army compared to other traditional knights of the land who wore a surcoat over a chainmail hauberk, a great helm, and carried a heater shield with a broadsword, and could act as shock cavalry when needed.

The knights of his house wore a full sleeve, red, linen shirt underneath padded leather armor, and a pair of arm braces, and greaves made of iron. Their kite shield held to a base color of gold, and a red swirl with five out stretched arms, and the black silhouette of a bulls head in the center. The plain, full, closed, iron helmet with a T-shaped slit followed a similar trait and mimicked the horns of a bull.  The knight carried two weapons. One being that of the warhammer for piercing armor, and striking trauma against a foe, and a small satchel was strapped to their back in order to pull one of three javelin's they carried into battle.

Pride popped from his upright stride due to their fierce appearance, and versatility until he came upon the first floor and rendered himself to a full stop at the dining room door. He began to remember a few cursory events prior to today, and knew it had to be one of two things for being called so early in the morning. Either it was the noble girl he scared by accident during a small gathering for a hunt, or it was because of two of his closest friends raided the household pantry as a joke. He started to come up with excuses as his toes inched forward in an extremely slow manner.

" I didn't mean to scare that girl! The donkey kicked me, mud flew everywhere, and it's not my fault she's weak of heart!"

He quickly scrambled his thoughts towards his friends,  and began to sweat bullets. Every instance of movement begat itching from the fabric of his clothes as he drew near his fathers presence.

" Kay, and Livermore simply helped themselves to food, and I indulged their hunger. I at least reserve the right to be the man of the house when everyone had left to tend towards their obligations!"

He was close now, and before that door was pried open a voice shattered his silent concentration in delay.

"Excuse me young master!"

He slightly jumped and pulled his head towards the sound. It was a scullery maid carrying a platter of cooked fish, and before he could respond she opened the door. The first floor was always heavy on murals of his family, events, and candles that gave the floor it's only form of lighting. Darkness encompassed the entirety of the dining room, however, and gave off an odd despondent malice. His fathers head was half exposed to the light of the candles that tore open the abyss, and appeared as if he were a beast staring from the void. The scullery maid wasn't fazed in the slightest and moved with relative ease while vanishing into the backdrop of sheer darkness. His father had noticed him once he lifted his sight from his platter and forced an echo.

"Hugh, come here boy!"

His forceful tone was heavy with grit. 

"Step, forward, now."

Hugh came closer not by will, but by mere repetition. He knew for all intent and purpose that his father was a hard man to speak to if you held a position beneath him, and even more so if a mistake garnered his attention. His steps were weary, yet the creeping view did not diminish. His father was immaculate and sturdy for a middle aged man with a greying, thin hairline, and a full trimmed beard. One born from submission to age.

The silence was still, like that of a stagnated pond; yet soon, words flared from a well of contempt.

" what do you make of me?"

Sipping mead from his gloomy cup, and eyes fixated on Hugh, he pressed.

"A fool, a gaseous, sycophantic, moron!?"

"Well, speak!"

Hugh flinched slightly, and feigned ignorance.

"The maid....."

"Do not add Edith to the list of your insufferable excuses child! She has served this house with more honor than you!"

His fathers voice cut through him with determined purpose. Not a single word could part from his lips that would sway the man before him.

" You think I'm blind? I know of your three rats. Kay, livermore, and Thomas. Raiding my pantry, scaring girls, fooling about, and Thomas that creepy child that skulks around the grounds at night. I have eyes, and ears everywhere boy."

His tone began to chill from anger and morph into an odd melancholy; as if it had been rehearsed for a grand play. He set his cup down and ushered Hugh into an easy stride with a heavy hand upon his shoulder. Words formed to penetrate his brain.

" Your brother's gave counsel about your misdeeds. Did you know that?"

Hughs mouth began to tighten.

"No father."

Unimpressed he pushed his quarrel.

"Your mother has found you to be a constant source of disappointment, urging me to reprimand you for failures earned. Even though your brother's see it as a faze of your upbringing, I however, see a need for reform."

A sharp pain of heat and anxiety welled up from his chest. His fathers eyes were fixated towards the entrance of the manor as their feet closed in on the courtyard; however, they stopped at the steps where the frame of the door groped the cold air of the outside world. 

" At seven years of age boys are inducted as squires in order to one day become knights, and even become legends. You know of our knights, the rights of the Tinder Grove."

Hugh began to get sweaty palms, and a cold chill. Hoping for life that the next sentence his father utters is nothing compared to their initiation. Hugh quietly muttered.

"Yes father."

The cold wind simply passed and fluttered his fathers gold, and red robes. Slow and steady, his father replied.

"Good, however you will not gain tutelage from the Bearers. You are, as well as your insignificant herd, being schooled by a Golden Son." 

The wind grew stronger, and the portcullis sprang into a turtle like motion in being raised.