| Story One: My Brother's Keeper | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 1 2009, 03:22 AM (268 Views) | |
| Darkom | Nov 1 2009, 03:22 AM Post #1 |
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The flat blade of the spade dug deep into the damp ground, bringing up a lump of earth which Attilus promptly flicked to the side. It was obvious from the raven haired young Imperial’s wiry muscles and swift, nonchalant technique that he was no stranger to this kind of work. As a squire it paid dividends to be able to show that you worked just as hard as the peasants you governed. Getting people to cooperate was all about respect and, for some reason the farmers were that much happier to accept his rule because he could dig with the best of them. Still, it was hard work and he was beginning to sweat as he removed clump after clump of dark, fertile soil from the ground. Despite this, he enjoyed the work; it was peaceful, mindless so much less complex than the day to day running of the estate. There was no pressure, nothing riding on whether or not he shoveled the earth as fast as he could. All he had to do was dig and enjoy the brilliant orange of the sunset; a tranquil activity, almost a form of meditation. Right now, the quiet was especially welcome. It had been a long day, made longer by the arrival of his brother. Attilus could remember the last time he’d seen his elder brother, it had been years ago. Thaddeus, for that was his brother’s name, was by rights the heir to the estate that Attilus had been tending for the years following his father’s death although in Attilus’ opinion, the man lost all rights of inheritance the day he left home, leaving it up to his young brother to take over their father’s affairs. Far too young of course; Attilus had been barely fourteen at the time. It hadn’t been fair! Thaddeus had received a full education, training, had been groomed from a young age to take over the estate with the death of his father. Yet he was the one who’d shirked his duties, not young Attilus, he who fled in disgrace leaving his helpless family to deal with Father’s death. It had surprised everyone, Thaddeus had always been a devoted son and he’d shown every sign of growing up to be exactly the son that their father had wanted; proud, handsome, athletic. Thaddeus was every inch the epitome of the ideals that so many misguided nobles aspired to. Attilus had always been an afterthought, an insurance policy for his brother, The True heir. Back then, Attilus had been quite jealous of his brother; he didn’t mind admitting it now although he’d have denied it profusely at the time. He'd never wanted to govern the estate but it became a necessity once Thaddeus left. Their father had never really recovered from the loss of his eldest and, in his depression, slipped ever further into the realm of the prince of madness. It had been up to Attilus to rise to the occasion. And how he had! In hindsight, Attilus felt he had always been the best choice to lead. Reliable and more practical than his flamboyant brother, he mastered the arts of running the town with ease and, truth be told, he loved the power and the influence it gave him over the inhabitants. Really he should be thanking his brother for leaving, for giving the Attilus his time in the limelight even though it had broken their father. Attilus smiled at the thought, it’s quite impossible to be bitter when the betrayal of others leads to such great success. To think! If his brother had stayed on, Attilus would’ve had to enlist in the army, a family tradition. With all the troubles that plagued the country at the moment, he’d likely have died by now, never to reach 30, let alone build a family such as his. He grinned at the thought of his twin sons, both of them as quick witted as they were strong, ideal to carry on the family name. Though thanking his brother might be too much... The wretch who’d appeared upon Attilus’ doorstep was little more than a shell of his former self, a peasant, worn by years of poverty and hard living, an embarrassment. People like that didn’t deserve gratitude, they were weaknesses and it was expected that they should exile themselves as nothing more that their duty to their family. It was the only expectation that Thaddeus had ever fulfilled, it was nothing to be thankful for. The man would never have lasted and Attilus was thankful that he’d been able to prove it before his brother had caused the family any real harm. It had been a stroke of genius. The exposing of his brother had been one of Attilus’ greatest moments. Of course, he didn’t relish the deed, no, that would be inappropriate. It had been a necessity, for the good of the family. Still, he felt he’d been merciful; it would have been just as easy to get his brother executed. The trick had been the subtlety with which the deed had been accomplished, so subtle was the evidence that had been uncovered that not even their father had paid any heed to his son’s cries of innocence. Nobody attempting to pin the guilt on another would leave something so innocuous as a boot print in the mud. Just enough to cause suspicion, nothing blatant, anything more and people might have listened to Thaddeus’ pleas after all it would’ve been strange to find a possession, there had been no scuffle, anything more than a print with those distinctive spur marks of Thaddeus’ riding boots would be suspicious in its own right. Of course, Attilus had still to plant the items in Thaddeus’ room – his saddle bag to be precise but it had been the boot print that first placed the young heir under suspicion. It then transpired that, at the time Thaddeus had been out hunting, by his own admission of course. The clueless idiot had closed the trap himself, sealing his own fate; that Attilus found particularly satisfying. In the end Attilus had simply had to play along with his own story, confirm a few simple questions and watch with satisfaction as his father cast out his favourite son. Attilus had felt some guilt at that, although he’d still enjoyed finally being recognised as the superior son and his father deserved the torment, how dare the old man ignore him. Yes, Thaddeus’ exile had been for the best. Attilus hadn’t been quite sure whether or not Thaddeus realised that he’d been framed by his brother. If he had then he hadn’t said anything at the time. No, Thaddeus simply slunk off into the darkness with barely anything apart from the clothes on his back and, given the fine nature of said clothes, Attilus doubted he managed to keep hold of even them for very long. The grimy tinker who eventually returned to the family home was certainly not the man who Attilus had watched leave, defeated yet still proud despite his situation. He’d barely recognised his brother when he’d returned in fact; a sick, broken and emaciated shadow of the man he’d once looked up to, for he had respected his brother, despite the jealousy. It was natural for a younger sibling to look up to the elder, the one who can do everything and knows just as much as your parents, even more so when your weak, pathetic father blatantly shuns you in his favour. Thaddeus had shown up late one evening, it had been raining heavily and Attilus guessed that it had been more desperation than anything else that had finally driven his brother to return home. He certainly hadn’t been in good condition – Attilus had ordered a group of servants to see to his brother whilst he pondered what to do. It had been a difficult decision to make, but inevitable. The two of them had grown apart over the years and the social differences. From his tales, Attilus could see that Thaddeus had suffered greatly it had been entertaining to hear how far his brother had fallen although he had had to appear shocked at every hilarious twist and turn of the pathetic tragedy, it would almost have been worth keeping the poor tramp around, just to hear those stores again, almost but not quite. Attilus smiled as he thought about the trip, Thaddeus had always enjoyed hunting; it had been one of his favourite pastimes. He’d been forever dragging Attilus out into the deep forests that surrounded the tiny hamlet to chase endless deer through the Cyrodiil countryside. Attilus himself had never really enjoyed the pursuit. He’d never been the most athletic youth and Thaddeus had always been far better than he. Today had been different however, the trip had been suggested by Attilus, ostensibly to catch up with his brother and... and it had been fun, the prey was much more intelligent than he remembered, much more dangerous. The dogs hadn’t been able to kill it and he’d chased it for hours through the woods, tracking its every move through the thickets as it tried to run hide, even to ambush him. But he had been the one in control and slowly, deliciously, inexorably it came to an abrupt end at the behest of a stone flung from a whispering slingshot. Attilus stopped digging and, breathing hard rested for a second on his spade, the sunlight had just about disappeared beyond the horizon and from where he stood, Attilus could hear crickets beginning to chirp, unseen in the grass. He regarded his work with some satisfaction, a large, rectangular hole about a metre deep. Yes, he'd enjoyed the hunt. |
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7:07 PM Jul 11