Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to For King and Court. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
When once I was an arrogant boy...; Phil
Topic Started: Sep 27 2011, 12:36 PM (506 Views)
Philibert de Chandee
Member Avatar

Philibert frowned. He would have given the boy a whipping for ruining his work, but he was not in the mood to see the boy’s buttocks so soon, at least not of this night. “Then tomorrow before your training commences you will receive ten lashings for your trouble.” It may seem lenient to what Philibert had previously given him, but one had to remember that the boy would have to carry on with the schedule provided to him with a sore rear, and that would be efficient enough. Besides he wasn’t going to disrespect the boy’s uncle by returning him damaged goods. If he had to punish the boy, he would do so by other means.

He though was quite surprised with the boy’s turn of manners. The boy before him was not the boy who had disrespected him days before. Philibert was impressed. Maybe one day the boy will grow into a great man. Philibert sure hoped so. “Then perhaps by morning you would have worked off your lashings, but we shall see.” It was a reward system only reserved for boys such as Guillaume. Once they were men it was hard to correct disobedience without the need for blood to be spilt, but a boy would do near anything to get out of a punishment. Therefore, if Guillaume continued to impress Philibert, the amount of lashings reserved would lessen.

He gave the boy a curt nod, before returning to his desk. Though he was attention seemed to be fully on the book he was reading, he was well aware of the boy’s movements. He however, acted as if he were a mere servant, ignoring the boy until the moment came when Guillaume was on his knees cleaning his boots. Philibert was considerate enough to not deter the boy’s work with the moving of his feet, but only slightly. He wasn’t that cruel. Once he had finished the poem he was reading, he put the book down, sipped at his wine that Guillaume had so thoughtfully refilled without needing to be told, and read over the boy’s work.

Normally, there would be a lesson Philibert would tell, or criticise the boy’s work. But not tonight, Guillaume spilling the ink had been lesson enough tonight. Besides, much of the work Philibert set out were meaningless, save for punishing the boy and teaching him the value of respect for another. Not just for Philibert, but for using his power and authority to get what he wanted with some of the young women in his service.

After a time, Philibert looked down inspected the boy’s work and nodded. It wasn’t the best, but he was aware that the boy was pushed enough tonight. “That’s good enough, now clean yourself up and have some supper before bed. Off with you now.” It would be an hour or two after Guillaume, before Philibert too turned in for the night. He wasn’t quite used to sharing his room with a young master, for he had no sons of his own, or any other family, so this in fact was a lesson for Philibert as much as it was for Guillaume.

[align=center]***[/align]

It would be well into the night when a visitor came to call upon them. Guillaume didn’t know the arrangement Philibert had made for his quip about Philibert protecting the boy, so when Guillaume had turned in, Philibert gave an order to one of those trusted soldiers of his to come into Philibert’s rooms to test the boy. At least Philibert thought he could trust him. The man, as quiet as be, took the persona of an assassin, slid into the room and stood over the sleeping figure of the young man, his sword pointed at the boy’s chest. He pressed the tip onto him, but not enough so the boy was cut. “You die now, Toad.” ‘Toad’, was a name given to the boy by Philibert’s few trusted soldiers who were allowed to assist Pardiac with his training, and because of his overgrown size and because soldiers tended to call one another ugly, Guillaume was not a frog as one called the French, but a toad.
[align=center]
PLOT: :BIO: :TRACKER

[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
William Spencer
Member Avatar
Lord Winchester (courtesy)
The promise of ten lashes with a birch the following morning followed by the possibility of lessening the quantity, assuredly took up residence in Guillaume's mind as he worked. The moment the man had mentioned any lashes, Guillaume felt like he'd deflated. It was just starting to be by any measure tolerable to sit after the near assault of a whipping he had received to begin with. The man had spared no pain for each stroke. He had felt as if he should be bleeding afterward despite that he had not bled a drop.

Of course, the possibility of not lessening his strokes but adding to them, reformed him through any inconvenient pain or shaking of his hand. It was very easy to make a decision when the decision was 'you will do this or you will be whipped'. It was simply that he did not always have that precise thought before he went and did something. It was much more obvious when a man was right there, watching you closely, that if you were disobedient, you would be punished. It was much harder to think about that when there was not someone right there. It was then that he forgot sometimes or got carried away. Or sometimes he did not even understand why he did something. Right now, though, he obeyed; he knew Monsieur would not hesitate to correct him how he saw fit. It was his right now. He could do as he liked.

So when the time came to clean the man's boots, he did so wordlessly, working on his knees as the man's feet with just his left hand. It was not easy to use just that hand, but the right was done. He would simply embarrass himself if he tried to use it now, so he would struggle through. He brushed off all the traces of mud and then used a horsehair brush to rid the last dusty traces. He was working oils into them with a cloth when the man finally spoke. Thankfully, he had no moved much whilst Guy worked; his uncle had once moved rooms on him once and changed positions twice, and of course Guy had seamlessly followed, but it had been tedious.

He looked up at the man through bits of black hair. "Yes, Monsieur," he used the brushed to sweep up any bits he had left on the floor before he packed the things back up and stood. His hand was shaking and it surely hurt straight up his forearm and into his back and even his neck. He bowed nonetheless and turned to leave, but then he turned back and said, "Monsieur, may I have your permission to say my prayers in the chapel instead of here?" The young comte took his faith very seriously and had little problem with daily mass and prayer for multiple hours in a day. He would also never dream of using his faith as a cloak for deception. If such a thing ever happened, he knew that he would he held down and whipped bloody like he was possessed and needed cleansed of wickedness; it would be unthinkable to flout sin in such a way. He was too afraid of God for that. Guy had experienced enough pain in life to know of God's punishment for those who had vices and sin.

Soon Guillaume had finished his meal by himself, and it was not exactly what he was used to. He usually served his uncle his meals and then got his pick of whatever was left of that plethora of dishes. Even though he had his own manservant with him since he could not dress himself or do other tasks like that because of his arm, the man certainly did not bring him back anything of that calibre. It seemed his uncle's steward had taken care of him knowing full well all the benefits that a grand position begot and how it could very easily be different. Not that it was not good, but it was not what he had gotten before. While he was eating, his servant prepared him a bath to help ease his shoulder. The hot water did wonders for his pains and aches and after noting the difference after a bath, he had begun taking them nearly daily for his arm.

He only bothered half dressing, putting his shirt and linen shorts back on and covering in a cloak, before he went to the pretty and ornate chapel with Castel Dell'ovo. Judging by the number of prayers he had gotten through, Guy had only been gone from the man's rooms and in the chapel for around an hour, and he had certainly gone right back. When he returned to de Chandee's chambers, he could see the glow under the door where Guy had left him reading his poetry.

Not disturbing him, Guillaume took his candletick from his own servant and dismissed him until morning once his cloak was removed. Eyeing his 'accommodations', he sighed. He placed his book on the floor and then took the candle to get his swordbelt and stuck it next to his mattress, as futile and stupid as it was. If someone wished de Chandee harm, there was little hope of Guillaume preventing him, but it was his duty as the man's valet to be prepared for such things. He had to sleep with his sword next to him when he was with young Francois as well. He laid down on his stomach, his backside still smarting, and soon blew out the candle.

Sleep came some short time later, and he did not even hear his new master come in, the man worked him so hard in mind and body. The man did not wake him to help him undress either, so by the time someone was silently creeping into the room, Guillaume was dreaming of a rousing ride through the woods and the diversions of swimming in the river.

WHen he was awoke by a voice, the familiar moniker did not register in his groggy brain. What did was the sword at his chest. He jumped backward, scrambling, grabbing for his sword clumsily as he backed into the unlit candlestick. It clattered as it skittered across the floor, as Guillaume got the sword from the belt and then managed to pull it out of the sheath with a zing just in time to hold it in front of himself. The force of the blow sent him backwards.

"Monsieur!" he cried out, his young voice crackling. He was only two and ten despite maybe passing for having another two years. "Monsieur!"

A fear surged through him as he tried to protect himself, his sword clanging left and right as he parried the attack as best he could in the moonlight, his eyes not even adjusted. The man came forward at him strongly and crashed down on his sword, before pushing him hard into the wall. His right shoulder slammed into it, and he yelped loudly in pain and his sword clattered to the floor. The pain had released all hope he had of holding it, even in his left. He shortly followed his sword, sliding to the floor and landing on his knees, barely preventing himself from falling onto his face as his left hand cupped his right shoulder as tears started invading his eyes with a salty fury.

"Tuez-moi vite..." he murmured, as he sat there slumped on his knees in the darkness, holding his arm which he could not move.

It did not cross his mind in all the activity that this was not real. He had been jolted straight out of sleep.

*kill me quickly. *snort*
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Philibert de Chandee
Member Avatar

Philibert sometimes tended to forget how religious the boy was. It was hard to believe when he favoured disobeying and disrespecting others, most importantly if that resulted in having another girl spread her legs for him. So when the boy asked to pray in the chapel, Philibert had to pause and stare at him as if he had forgotten who he was. The silence though could have very well been deliberate as if he were pondering his answer. He though didn’t speak his answer, just gave the boy a curt nod, the boy knew the rules. While the boy spent much of his time in Philibert’s presence, there were very rare times when he was not, but if that were to happen, the boy knew he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without an escort, and that’s where his trusted soldiers and guards came in. The chapel was just down the hallway anyway, the boy though would also know not to dawdle, for even during these rare moments Philibert let him out of his sight, Philibert timed him and there would be Hell to pay if the boy was late. But this gave Philibert more time to set up the boy’s secret training session.

Luckily for the boy, he was on time and therefore Philibert wasn’t disappointed. He also hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed with the test he had set for this night either. While the man did get a few hours asleep, he awoke the moment his solider entered the room as if he had sensed him. It was why he was a trusted commander after all, and besides he didn’t want to miss witnessing how the boy reacted. He heard the candlestick topple over, but he made no move to let the boy know he was awake, even when the boy called out to him in fear. He wanted the boy to know that he was alone in this fight, maybe even think that Philibert was already assassinated. Guillaume couldn’t know how dangerous Philibert could be, or that he would never allow someone to sneak up on him and kill him in the middle of the night.

Philibert though knew his solider, at least his fighting skill and knew that despite warning the man, he was much to rough with the boy, but before Philibert could order an end to the fight, the boy he had been trusted to care for was slammed against the wall with a loud thud. With a roar, Philibert was out of the bed and crossing the room before his soldier could know his fate. Philibert backslapped him with such a force he could have broken the man’s neck with the way his head snapped to the side. Philibert disarmed him with ease and shoved him out the door with enough force to make the solider stumble. “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” The roar of his voice was likely to wake everyone in the building, but Philibert cared not.

Turning to the boy, he composed himself rather easily and said in a much softer voice. “All is right again, young Monsieur, it was but a test. You fought bravely, but I do not think your uncle would have liked that you gave up so easily.” He put the soldier’s sword to the side and kicked the boy’s out the way as he came and helped the boy to his feet, careful of his injured arm. He checked him over gently knowing full well that the boy’s uncle may not be pleased with him either for letting harm come to his heir. Seeing nothing wrong with the young lad but his dislocated shoulder, he gripped the boy by his shoulders, careful not to cause him anymore harm than he had to. “This will hurt.” With one swift movement, Philibert forced his shoulder back into place then let him go. He then led the boy to his Philibert’s own bed. “In you get.” Philibert had no intention to share his bed with the boy, for Philibert wouldn’t be going back to bed this night. It was an hour or two before dawn, so once he had dressed himself, he poured the boy some of his own special wine to help with the pain and once the boy was in his bed (he would have forced him in there if he had to), he tucked him in and said. “I will leave it up to you to decide what punishment the man will receive and for your own, you can forget about it…and your training. You can have the morning off, and come afternoon if you feel up to it, we can go for a ride.” Philibert at least knew the boy would be looking forward to something as that. So before the boy could object to anything Philibert suggested, he left the room to return the sword to its owner, and wreck havoc on the fool who had dared harmed the young de Pardiac.
[align=center]
PLOT: :BIO: :TRACKER

[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
William Spencer
Member Avatar
Lord Winchester (courtesy)
To say that William was frightened was an understatement. It was not anything he would have anticipated although perhaps he should have. For being so young and for having to fight with his non-dominant hand, he did not do so badly, but that would not save him. He smacked into the wall and while it did not take much of an impact to dislocate his shoulder, that did not make it hurt any less. It felt as if knives were sticking out of it in all directions with one slicing down his arm.

His eyes watered automatically even as he held his breath to try and keep them in as he grit his teeth. He shook, thinking it would all soon be over as he died a very silly death.

That was until the great flurry of sounds cut through the pain. There was a great smack and Monsieur de Chandee roared at the attacker. His eyes were cold they were so wide.

What was going on?

His face was cold and wet despite the warm night, and he tried to suck in breaths and even thought of trying to move off his knees and away.

“All is right again, young Monsieur, it was but a test. You fought bravely, but I do not think your uncle would like that you gave up so easily.”

Guillaume blinked at the man's words and then winced, sucking in a breath, as de Chandee grabbed him under the good arm and helped him to his feet. He could barely stand.

"I did not give up, Monsieur," he murmured, feeling as if he had been justly beaten. He had done his best, he felt. "It is dislocated, I know...It is no worry, it happens often, I know the pain," he offered as the man took his arm. Knowing the pain did not mean that he liked it, but he could accept it. He would not be surprised. The man bent his arm and then rotated his arm upward until it went back in, ripping an uncontained yelp from him. He shook, returning his other arm to hold it, looking up at the man completely lost with what just happened, not capable of absorbing it.

He sat obediently on the bed. He didn't want to disobey and his state of mind was too addled to protest. There was no way he was sleeping, but the softness was appreciated if not a bit odd perhaps.

Guillaume frowned a bit, his brow furrowing as his lips pressed together just a little bit. He would decide the punishment?

"Monsieur, it is not my place to do so. I shall be happy with what you decide." He blinked a bit, "It is easily done, my shoulder," meaning that it was easily dislocated, "You needn't worry, Monsieur, my uncle will have no cause for complaint, and I cannot speak against my master." He swallowed and then leaned his head to the side to wipe his face against his shirt. Sitting there, he let go of the right arm and used his left to pick up a bit of his linen shirt and wipe at his face. He was unsure if it was sweat or tears or a combination, but it was sticky and uncomfortable.

"I should like a ride, Monsieur, but I should not jostle the arm for a few days. I think it will be sore..." He disliked the idea of missing out on riding, but he knew where his limitations were better than he had when he was a younger boy. That and he would not wish to risk doing anything which might make his situation worse with his shoulder.

Guillaume assuredly did not go back to sleep and after the man left he lit a candle and read, the wine taking away some of the pain.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Isabel Leigh
Member Avatar
Virtue alone is invincible.
This thread has been archived either due to forwarding of board timeline or because of a month of inactivity. If you would like to continue, please PM an Admin!
[align=center]Mistress Leigh

Isabel is in 8 threads and can has more!
App | Plot[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
« Previous Topic · In the Past Graveyard · Next Topic »
Add Reply