100 Theme Challenge #56

56. Sword

Grunts could be heard from his window as Brelin came back to his chambers after a long council session. He sighed as he dropped parchment, his ink and nib on his desk. Each day would be the same thing, with him having ink stains everywhere while real men would train outside to keep their kingdom at peace. He sat at the window and watched muscular, sweaty bodies clash shields and swords, dodge parades and try to sweep out the other from their feet. It'd all end up with a brotherly handshake and a laugh. Others would help each other in archery, using longbows or crossbows. Brelin longed for that companionship, for his own talents in the castle required no one else but himself and his brains. They thought he was a snob with scrawny limbs in too big noble clothes, and his shyness always prevented him from trying to talk to the soldiers.

They were already retiring to wash before dinner, and Brelin decided to tidy up his chambers with the parchments everywhere before walking down to the dinner hall. Everybody was eating there, and Brelin was actually later than he thought. There weren't many available places left, and so he settled himself beside a group of soldiers after a moment of hesitation. 

They didn't notice him at first, or so it seemed Brelin would be left at peace (and alone, once more) when someone said something and they all turned their head at the same time to look at him. He gulped. The man right beside him had deep grey eyes and chiseled cheekbones and full lips. Women probably threw themselves at him.

"Who are you, we have never seen you before?" He asked, his voice so deep Brelin thought it was coming from one of his dreams.

"My name's Brelin, I'm a scribe," he replied, eyes down on his food.

"Aren't scribes eating with the King at his table?" Asked another one, and Brelin nodded.

"Indeed, but I am simply the King's bastard, and so I am not granted that privilege."

He heard angry murmurs and lift his head to notice all the men did not look pleased. The handsome man beside him must have noticed his confused frown, for he gently patted his shoulder, but his large hand also brushed his neck, and Brelin nipped his bottom lip to refrain from shivering.

"No son should be abandoned by his father. You are welcome to eat with us from now on, Brelin." The way he said his name made him stare at him before he could utter a small "Thank you."

"I am the commander of this infantry Gebhard, at your service," he continued with a small smile. Brelin refrained from blushing. He was no damsel waiting to be wooed.

They continued to eat, and Brelin opened up as he listening to them talk about their last mission. They were sipping ale when Gebhard turned to him once again. Brelin's insides turned upside down when those grey eyes focused on him, and him solely.

"So tell me, what does a scribe occupies himself with?"

"I'm assigned to the council, a group of the ancients, who discusses of the problems of the Kingdom and decides the best way to solve it before presenting these solutions to the King. I am writing down all of their arguments and decisions."

Gebhard nodded. "So you know much about politics and strategies?"

"I do believe so, without meaning to."

"Then I invite you to our training, tomorrow, and we shall show you our battle tactics. You might even write them down, if you wish to."

Brelin immediately accepted, without mentioning their tactics were already spread in voluminous books.

(What is 100TC?)

Note: I didn't want the story to turn like that, but I still like the concept. Brelin is obviously around 17, eager to make his marks in this world despite being a bastard. I inspired myself by reading on German Medieval. Brelin and Gebhard, how's that for a couple?