I Will Be Your Keeper

The march through the woods was long and tiring. Despite his best effort to remain near the back of the group, Rich found that some of the armored men flanked him and Arrow no matter how far back they lingered.

I guess it makes sense… Rich thought, if I’m some kind of Prince, they can’t let me be last in line.

Arrow marched along happily, looking around and sniffing the forest air. Rich couldn’t help but smile. At the very least he had given Arrow this grand experience of walking in the woods, something he’d never manage to make time for with his work schedule.

Work schedule. Work, life, free time, fighting, family, rent… What did they even mean anymore? Rich’s brow furrowed as he marched over root and stone.

If I find a way back home, I should take it. But until then, maybe I can do some good as this… Prince Fulcher guy.

“My Lord? You are bleeding…” A voice rang out beside him, pulling him from his pondering. Rich glanced over to find one of the blue-robed attendants looking at him with concern.

“I am?” Rich asked. He looked down at his hands, torso and legs in search of any flash of red. It was only then that he felt the slow crawl of warm crimson along the side of his head. He brought his fingers up to his temple, shocked when they returned into his line of sight coated in blood.

When did I hit my head?  He thought. Only then did the ache start, and he stumbled a bit as he clutched the side of his head.

“Please, My Lord! Allow me…” The woman said, steading Rich with her hands. He stayed still, waiting for whatever bandage or gauze the women had on her to be applied.

Instead a warmth spread from the points of contact between the woman and Rich, accompanied by a bright golden glow. As he stared in awe the ache around his temple seemed to fade, followed by the gentle smile of the woman as she opened her eyes and pulled her hands back.

“Better, My Lord?” She asked. Most of the group had paused to look back at the exchange, with only the King moving forward without much care for what was going on behind him.

“What was that? Was that magic?” Rich said. The word felt silly on his lips. Magic was not real after all. But what else could that have been? The healer giggled, putting a hand to her lips.

“Always quite the joker Prince.” She said with a smile, shifting back in line with the rest of the attendants.

Guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own. Rich thought.

It wasn’t long until the woodlands gave way to a cleared area by the coast. Scattered farms and homes dotted the area, and a large castle stood tall along the cliffside. More buildings of thatch and wood seemed to be formed around the castle’s walls, spreading outwards in all directions. The closer the party came to the castle gates, the more Rich became infatuated with the idea of living this life he had stumbled into. The luxury of royalty, the sport of hunting, the eventual rule as King. Maybe whatever happened to him was not so bad afterall. He hardly even looked at the passing structures as his eyes bounced between the pointed spires of the keep they approached.

The blue-robed healers shifted away as they drew closer to the walls, the group heading into the surrounding town towards the spire of some church in the distance. As the gate rose, a fat man in brown leathers and an orange tunic strolled out to meet the approaching group.

“Sire Dilyniant! I’ve thought over your proposal from last night, and I’ve decided to agree to your proposed alliance.” The man said, rubbing his stomach casually as he strolled forward.

“Very good. Then Stella shall accompany you back to your Keep, so as to properly meet your son.” The King said, glancing towards one of the castle’s windows.

An arranged marriage? I suppose it’s only natural for these kinds of medieval lords. Guess I won’t be meeting my supposed big sister for long… Rich pondered, reaching down and offering a pat to Arrow. He had been loyally keeping step with Rich since they entered civilization.

“Most excellent indeed, Sire. We will ready our coaches to depart before evening falls.” The fat man rumbled, rotating towards the courtyard and beginning the long waddle back to the keep.
Just then, the door to the keep opened. A small girl poked her head out to stare at the arriving party, cheeks puffy and wet with tears. She darted forward, running past the confused lords and directly at Rich. Before he could do so much as look her way, the girl had buried her face into the bottom of his tunic, shaking slightly.

“Fuly… Fuly… I don’t want to leave… Don’t let them take me…” She sobbed, fresh tears mixing with the remnant grass sticking to his outfit.

Rich stared down in shock. The girl could not be much older than seven, perhaps eight. He looked up at the Sire, finding that piercing gaze once more leveled at him.

“Boy, bring your sister inside to pack. Her public display is pathetic. A Lady does not show her tears,” The King said. Even the fat noble looked on with some pathetic scowl.

Rich’s arms moved on their own, wrapping around the yellow curls of the young girl’s head. He spoke with another dull smile, doing his best to bluff.

“Why Father, isn’t it the perfect opportunity to hold another dinner then? A celebration of her new life?” He forced the words out through gritted teeth. Maybe he could find a way to circumvent this situation for the poor girl. Arranged marriages like this made him sick. If they stayed for another dinner, he’d at least have an extra night to think.

“Oh yes! Prince Fulcher you are so kind, such a gracious host…” The fat man clapped, his tongue snaking across his lips.

The Sire on the other hand sent nothing but daggers towards Rich through his gaze. His smile curled up, twisting his features.

“Why, of course. Come, Lord Nerrel. Let us consult the royal chefs…” He sneered, hopping off his horse.

As the two walked away, Rich curled in around the crying girl in a poor attempt at comfort. He’d never had a sister, but for some reason he felt the urge to stop her tears.

“Shhh… it’s okay. I’ve got you, Stella. And I won’t let you go…”