"Winter Nights"
Part 1
by Mel
(Sean, son of Bean, Age Seven)
The little boy stood a respectful two steps and to the left from his Prince. He was a little short, very thin, green eyes and a smattering of freckles on his nose. Only seven, the boy’s arm was still bandaged, though finally out of it’s sling, and there was a healing scar along his forehead. His blonde hair covered most of it, which was the way he liked it. He hated the way that everyone made such a fuss over it.
Sean of the Bean family had received his injuries just a few weeks ago, when bandits had attacked the royal family on their way home from Swedish boarders. Sean was the playmate of the King’s youngest son, Prince Viggo, who had begged for the older boy to come with them. When the bandits had attacked the children had been separated from their parents and Sean had taken it upon himself to protect his friend and the twin sisters. With a saucepan and a will to protect his friend, Sean had knocked two bandits unconscious, and was wrestling with a third when help found them.
After receiving thanks from the King, and praise from Viggo’s Mother, Sean had been told, when he was fully healed, that the Captain of the guard would like to have words with him. That made the blonde boy quiet nervous when he thought about it. The captain of the guard was a hardened warrior, he kept the respect of the whole royal family. Most of the common folk were a little in awe of the man, and Sean was certainly no exception.
Now, Sean had to force his thoughts from wandering, paying attention to the dignitaries before the thrown. Viggo, the youngest son of the King, at five shifted a might restlessly, standing beside his much older brothers. Every time he appeared to shift too much, Sean flicked a small pebble into the back of his head. The younger boy was use to it enough that he didn’t cry out, but his shifting ceased. He knew Sean was behind him, keeping an eye on him.
Sean didn’t understand why Viggo was made to stay here. Even two years older, Sean’s attention wandered constantly. Yet, every morning, the five year old was dressed in his best and made to stand for most the morning, greeting people and listening to his father do business. Till recently, Sean was not allowed to come with him, but after his apparent heroism, the King wanted his son’s protector to be there to. Sean was beginning to wish he was helping his mother out in the kitchens like he use to.
“May I present the Warlord Bana of the Germanic lands?”
Sean’s interest perked as the man strode forward. He was tall as a mountain, heavy winter coat on his shoulders. He had long midnight hair, wavy, and dark eyes.
For this man, Viggo’s father stood, meeting him halfway down the stairs. They hugged like old friends; Sean wondered how the king was not crushed, the Warlords hands were the size of his Gran mother’s prize pumpkins.
“Where have you been, Old man?” The King greeted as they parted. “It must have been ten years since you last graced our halls.”
“I hope your larders are ready for another visit,” the man smiled, “Spain has had enough of my presence.”
“Viggo,” the King turned slightly to call the young prince and Viggo hurried down the stairs. Sean followed him. “You haven’t met my new son, or the twins.”
“Maria finally bore me a Son,” the Warlord beamed down at the boy, “Seven daughters first. She has sworn to poison me in my sleep should we try again. This is Eric.”
The Warlord’s son stepped around his father. Eric looked about Sean’s age, his dark, wavy hair falling into even darker eyes. He looked so much like his father, towering over Sean even when he was three steps above him. He greeted Viggo with a graceful bow, one that Sean could never hope to imitate. Wearing Spanish silk, the Warlord’s son was perhaps one of the most regale people Sean had ever met.
That put the young man on edge straight away.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Eric said softly, his voice cultured, his expression muted even with the small smile on his lips.
Sean didn’t have to see Viggo’s face to know that the young prince was beaming. He bounced on the balls of his feet, an excited gesture Sean had seen many a time. Viggo stumbled slightly, but returned the bow. Sean was proud to see there was a lot more emotion in Viggo’s greeting then Eric’s.
“You too.”
“And who’s this?” The warlord peered down at Sean, and Sean forced himself not to shift under the intense gaze. Sean managed a bow that he hoped wouldn’t put his Ma to shame. “Tackling bears, young warrior?”
Sean flushed a little, “just bandits, my lord.”
“Fought off three to protect Viggo and the Princesses,” the King offered, “far too modest for his own good. Gerard has taken quiet an interest in him. You had both best get to your chores, and I expect to see you at dinner, Viggo.”
“Yes, father,” Viggo chirped, moving to dash away. Sean caught his shoulder, making sure he walked slowly down the stairs, as a Prince should. He and Eric past each other, the other boy following his father. The two boys shared a look and Sean bristled a little.
He hated Eric, son of Bana.
---
Marie, the nurse, unwrapped the bandage, looking over the break. Sean bit his lip as she felt the muscles and bones beneath his skin, he squirmed, watching her serious face.
Then she smiled at him, sitting back. “All healed,” she told him. Sean grinned, delighted. “You’ll have to be careful,” Marie added, “no heavy lifting with it, take your time. I won’t have you back here in a day with it broken again.”
“Yes’m!” Sean scrambled out of his chair.
“You’re a good boy,” she smiled fondly, “give your Ma my best.”
Nodding happily, the young Sean stretched his arms. The muscles felt tight from no use over the last few weeks, but everything was finally back in working order. “She said she’d bring you some biscuits later in the week,” his Ma was the King’s best cook.
Marie smiled, shooing him out the door. “She always does. Off you go now, you’re little Duckling will be waiting for you.”
Sean smiled as he dashed out. It was true. There was Viggo, his duckling as many had taken to referring to the young prince, sitting on an upturned bucket. Viggo was always waiting for him, trailing him like the small duckling followed its mother. Sean never complained, there was never a need to. Even with the few years difference, Viggo was wonderfully good company. And Sean liked to know he was near by, where he could keep him out of trouble.
“Your slings gone!” Viggo hopped off his bucket, running up to him. “You have to go and see the Captain now, right?”
Even though it would cut into their play time, Sean could only nod. Sean could stop the butterflies that filled his tummy. What did the Captain of the guard want him for? Viggo, of course, wasn’t overly bothered by this.
“I’ll go wait in the pens then, Selma said one of the dogs had some puppies yesterday that I haven’t seen, meet me there?” Viggo didn’t wait for an answer, running off, the promise of puppies too much for the small boy. Sean watched him as he scrambled over the fence, in to the dog pens. At least he trusted the dogs and handlers enough to keep Viggo out of trouble. There was no telling what sort of mischief he’d get up to if left to his own devices for too long.
When he was sure his charge was safe, Sean made the trek to the gate with dragging feet. He half hoped the Captain of the guard was off on some patrol or hunt and Sean wouldn’t have to see him. However, talking to one of the guards, Sean realised quickly that he had no such luck and that the Captain was just a little further down the wall, checking for weaknesses before winter snowed them in.
Captain Gerard was a tall man, a scar running down the side of his face where a sloppy assassin had been caught unawares. The broad shouldered giant had protected the royal family from more skirmishes then Sean could count. He had become a living legend in his own right, and like most of the people who lived within the castle walls, Sean was in awe of the man who protected them all.
For a wild moment Sean thought the man standing before him would force him from Viggo’s side. That the only reason why Sean could think that the man could want him. That he must think Sean couldn’t protect the Prince. Sean trembled, waiting like his Ma would for the Captain to finish talking to another man.
All the time he thought he could protect the Prince. That he was the only one he trusted enough to be able to do it properly. That no one else understood Prince Viggo enough to look after him. No one loved him enough. Not like Sean did. Viggo, a whole two years younger, was his closest friend. He would let no one take that from him.
“I can get stronger,” he said suddenly.
The Captain looked down at him, pausing in his conversation. He looked down at Sean, a small smile flickering across his lips. “Yes, you will.”
---
When Sean skidded to a halt in front of the pens, he knew he really shouldn’t have been surprised to see him there. Viggo was, after all, the closest of the princes to the Warlords son’s age. It was the reason why the King had specifically introduced them to each other. And he certainly shouldn’t have been jealous at the way his duckling looked up at the other boy. At the way he laughed and smiled. At the way he showed off, just like he did with Sean. It was something that Viggo had only ever done with him before, what was so special about this other boy?
What if Viggo didn’t need him any more?
“Sean!” Viggo noticed him, giving Sean only a few moments to silence his thoughts as the little Prince scrambled to his feet, rushing to the fence. He even managed a smile, that didn’t quiet fool Viggo, but there were more pressing matters in the youth’s mind that had to be answered first.
“What did Captain Gerard want you for? You didn’t get into any trouble did you?” Those bright blue eyes looked a little fearful. “I can talk to Mama,” he vowed, “she’ll fix it, you haven’t done anything wrong, I can-“
“It’s all right Vig,” Sean smiled for real. How could he possibly think that Viggo wouldn’t want him around anymore? “The Captain wants to take me on as his personal squire.”
It took a few moments for Sean’s words to sink in, but Sean was surprised to find himself with an armful of excited Duckling when Viggo jumped the fence. He smiled, letting Viggo’s enthusiasm wash over him, he was entirely too lucky to have Viggo as his friend.
He looked over at the Warlord’s son, the other boy watching them silently. He held onto Viggo just a little tighter, scowling furiously at the other boy. Eric didn’t react, turning away instead, leaving the pens without a word.
---
Sean’s Ma was a very tall, commanding woman. Sean had learnt from his first steps that she’d take no nonsense from him. If he played up and she got to hear about it, he would suddenly find himself stuck in the kitchens with chore after chore. It was from her that Sean got his blonde hair, which she wore in two thick braids. Her eyes were clear blue and she smiled readily and laughed often. She worked, like everyone did. They were all family really. She was the strongest woman Sean knew, she would lift kegs into tidy piles, chop fire wood for the winter stores and help with the harvest. Sean swelled with pride whenever he saw her. No one was so lucky as him to have two such important and hard working parents.
When Sean burst into the kitchen with his exciting news his mother was peeling potatoes for tomorrows stew and smiled at him. He hurriedly sat beside her, offering a second pair of hands as he told her what had happened with the Captain of the Guard.
“A Squire, Sean?” There was that bright smile again, the one that went right down to Sean’s toes. “That’s wonderful, you’re father will be so proud.”
“I can not be a knight without noble blood,” Sean offered softly, “but the Captain hopes to train me to take over the guard.”
“You’ll outshine the both your father and I,” she patted his knee gently. “What did you’re duckling have to say?”
Sean grinned, “there wasn’t enough time to hear all of it if I was going to get here to tell you before the dinner rush. But it seems like he’s happy for me. As well as wanting to train with me. Viggo would make a good Knight.”
“He will-“
The rest of what she was going to say was lost as two maids breezed in, all happy smiles an giddy voices. They quickly let the rest of the kitchen staff know that the king, two of his elder sons, the warlord and his son would take their afternoon tea in the Warlords rooms. The short lull in the kitchen changed as chefs, maids and kitchen hands changed their plans from the outdoor picnic the Queen had wanted, to indoor plates and dishes. Sean offered his hands and was put to work slicing vegetables for a stew.
“And that young warlord,” the maid gushed as she sliced bread with the other maid. “sweetest little thing. Beautiful manners, lovely little voice. So very smart, makes a girl swoon and he can’t be much older then the young prince!”
“Seven summers, one of the Warlord’s men told me in the stables. Apparently he’s quite the little warrior to, besting young men five or six years older! And pretty as you please! In a couple of years I might even have a go at his affections.”
The two were giggling until a wash cloth was thrown at them. “If you have time to gossip then you must be finished,” Sean’s Ma barked. They both quieted, still giggling, use to her good natured outbursts. She had been watching her young son very carefully and did not like the way he scowled when the Maids had talked so highly of the Warlord’s son.
---
A week had already gone past since the Captain insisted that Sean live with him in the small set of rooms next to the guard house. He had called on Sean’s Ma and Pa after dinner that night, asking permission to train him. His Ma was a little bit concerned that her only child would be out of her watchful gaze, but was placated with the Captain’s promise he would remain safe. Sean strained his ears to hear the conversation as he did the dishes, holding his breath. At any moment his mother could decide it was too dangerous, that most boys on the guard didn’t start training till they were eleven and that the Captain would have to wait.
He had breathed a sigh of relief when the captain had gently turned her thoughts around. That it would be good for Sean. That it would also give him an opportunity to train the Prince a little as well, as the Queen would not allow full Knight training until he turned eleven, like the rest of the noble boys. Also, the early mornings that Sean would be expected to keep would just disrupt his parents sleep.
So the next morning both Ma and Pa helped him pack his necessities into a bag, most of his things would stay here, and bundled him off after securing promise that he’d be well behaved or back home the instant they heard otherwise. Sean had not known exactly what to expect, but as soon as he had arrived at the guard house, the Captain sent him to the stables.
The hostler, a tall, reedy horse looking man called Kyle had set him to work straight away, mucking out the stables. For three days Sean did nothing but move hay, clean up after the animals and even scrub years of mould from the wood. By the end of each day Sean was too tired to complain that this wasn’t exactly what he’d thought he’d have to learn to be a squire. Instead he ate the food he was given and went to bed as soon as he got back to the tower. He didn’t see Viggo in those first few days.
On the fourth day, things changed a little, as well has his chores, the hostler taught him how to handle a pickaxe to break up the soil out the back of the stables. Blisters the size of melons grew on his hands by lunch time. His arms ached from the repetition. Lift, aim, tip your weight as it comes down. His Ma and Viggo brought him lunch for the first time. She told him it was good, tilled earth. It was the first complement he’d received in four days.
Kyle had him brushing down horses all evening, and if he didn’t meet the holster’s ridged demands, then he had to do the horse all over. Sean started to get frustrated, half the horses he couldn’t reach their backs to brush. But he bit his tongue and endured.
The next morning, Sean was sent to the armory. Thinking he would be able to pick out a sword or armor, he hurried along. Instead he was lead into a room full of rusty armor and shields. He was given polish and some scrubs and told to clean each piece of armor. By the time he had to go back to the stables to brush down more horses, his blisters from the day before were bleeding.
The next day was much the same, at least the bleeding wasn’t as bad as the day before though the wounds stung terribly. His tired arms shook as he brushed down the horses. He now knew what Kyle looked for whilst he was brushing down the big creatures, and which ones would try to bite if he got too close.
It was on the seventh, morning as he woke before dawn, Sean had had enough. He exploded as the Captain told him he’d be going to the armory again that day. He screamed and shouted, throwing his clothes into a bag. He wanted to be able to protect his family, his Prince, not be some chores boy around the castle. When Viggo became a Warrior, like his brothers, Sean want to be there to fight by his side. He would die protecting him.
Sean couldn’t understand why he’d started crying, but the shouts became huge, heaving, sobs. He had almost already died. He’d do it again. And again and again. He had to keep Viggo safe.
“You forget that you’re only skill wont just be to protect the Prince,” the Captain looked down at him. “You will have to burn bodies during a siege to strive off illness. You will have to build defenses, track bandits. You will have to till soil and mind small children. You will have to teach and learn. Give and take orders that you wont like. You should kid yourself, young Sean, that you will be there just for Viggo, you now have a whole community to look after, in both peace and conflict. Clean your face and report to the armory, or return home.”
Sean watched him walk out the door, wiped his face on the back of his sleeve, unpacked and followed him out the door. The Captain was right.
A couple of days later, before he fell asleep, he heard Gerard tell his Ma if he continued like this, he’d be miles ahead of the boys who started at eleven. Sean went to sleep with a smile on his face.
So, he was surprised when he was given the afternoon off from his new chore of rebuilding the dog pen’s fence to spend with the Prince. He hadn’t seen much of Viggo at all, and it was the one thing he really regretted. Viggo was his best friend and Sean missed him terribly.
He was delighted to see that nothing had changed in his small friend who dashed around everyone to catch Sean in a tight hug. He was worried he had missed out on something important.
But when they talked, Sean forced a smile. All Viggo talked of was the Warlord’s Son, Eric.
---
Sean started getting up earlier then the Captain. He’d go down to the practice yards with a staff and do very simple exercises in the quiet of the morning. He expected the Captain knew, but said nothing. Sean always arrived in time to start whatever was set to him for the rest of the day.
One morning he was waiting for him.
Sean glared furiously at Eric, and saw the same look reflected. At least, Sean realised, the other boy could feel something. Lifting his staff, Sean watched as the other boy did the same. They were silent as they regarded each other in silence, their anger building. Sean would never be certain who moved first, it seemed like they moved together, their staffs meeting. Their blows were hard, fast and undisciplined. While Eric had the advantage of actual practice with weaponry, Sean was too angry to just let it go.
“You think you’re so good!” Sean shouted angrily, “just storm here and take Viggo from me? All polite and sweet, you make me sick.” The staff wrapped his knuckles but he held on. “I Hate You!”
“Sean Bandit Slayer,” Eric hissed, quieter then Sean, but no less furious, “It’s all I hear. How strong and powerful you are.” Eric used his extra height, bearing down on Sean, knocking him to the ground. Sean growled, using his staff to knock the feet out from other boy. “How I’ll never be as good as you. I Hate You!”
Both boys sat in the dust, breathing heavily, glaring at one another.
Until Sean threw his head back and laughed. Eric could only glare at the laughing boy for so long before he smiled, chuckling softly.
“What a pair of fools we are,” Sean grinned at the other boy, standing, holding out his hand to Eric. “I’m Sean Bean.”
Eric grinned wickedly, eyes sparkling with humor as he took
the offered hand that lifted him to his feet. “Eric Bana.”
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Mel
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