Underestimate Me

The iron manacle around his neck felt ridiculous and smothery. The heavy metal heated in the harsh rays of the scorching sun caused his skin to burn pink. He wanted to rub his aching neck, to make the blisters that would arise from the wretched collar go away before they came, but he couldn’t. Nay, Rowen would not give any of these women reasons to think him weak, nor would he give them the information they sought after.

“Come on,” Evelyn jerked the chain connected to his neck. “You must keep pace!” Rowen met her eyes while she rode upon her gallant horse, a horse he thought he recognized.

He did not speak a word to her since the morning light rose though he spent the rest of his night begging to see her leader. Each time he asked she denied him his wish. Once he ventured to ask why Josselyn would not see him again that night. Evelyn simply replied, “My leader has ordered me not to permit any visitors nor visitations for you. Other than Laila who shall tend to your wounds and feed you, you will not receive any other contact.”

He stopped begging upon that answer. There was no hope, and he feared that Josselyn meant it to be so. Rowen longed to hear the sound of her voice and the lilting laugh she used to bring him whenever she mocked the way he spoke to his brother or to the women in his company. As he half ran behind Evelyn’s steed, he wondered if those were dreams he had upon his capture or if they were fond memories. He could not be sure of anything except the disappearance of the woman he once called friend, the woman who cared for him and his brother as he cared for her and her sister.

The thoughts were forced from his mind by Evelyn’s voice. She spoke words with a kind smile, though Rowen did not hear any of it. He appreciated her speeches because her voice kept the demons away for the most part. When he did tune in to listen she spoke fondly of her father and mother. Rowen could not remember his mother well, but he could still see her blond curls and beautiful crystal blue eyes set in his brother’s features. Merek had her kind eyes, button nose, and natural pink lips; he was a boy in every sense of the word, always playful and wanting to impress though certain people were hard to please. Rowen looked more like his father with his dark hair nearly black eyes and regal nose though Elrik was gray and his nose crooked from the breaks it received in battle. The eldest son of Elrik once held that same boyish charm his brother possessed though he need not want to impress for he impressed wherever he went, but his charm vanished long ago and he no longer wished to please.

“I remember your young brother well,” Evelyn said as she rounded her one-sided conversation from her family to his. “He was nothing like you, but still such a sweet boy.” This comment caused Rowen to crack a small smile.

“Aye, he still is.” Rowen watched Evelyn lean to the side of her horse and look to the front of the procession. “Is she up ahead? Can I see her?” While his eyes filled with hope he dared not let it reach his heart.

“I shall send word to her,” She promised. “Mayhap she is in the mood for visitors now the morning light has arisen.”



Branden accompanied Merek back to the castle which held Elrik’s chambers after the youngest son had a little more merriment. He hoped he could replace the moment his companion spoiled his previous enjoyment, or lack thereof, with the blasphemy of Rowen’s fretful capture. The lowly foot soldier should not have arrived without his leader, but his news was of the utmost importance. Branden did not accept any wine nor food that Merek offered as he feasted. He knew it would be more opportunistic to speak of the capture with a sound mind before Elrik, though the experience either way would be terrifying.

“Balor, God of blood and war, please grant Elrik a good mood on this eve. I do not wish to lose my head so that I may fight for you another day.” Braden whispered to himself.

The walk from the tavern, which Merek had to be dragged out of, was long and tiresome for Branden. He almost carried the boy half the way to the largest estate in the village. The stonemason was paid handsomely to build such a dwelling in such a grand manor. There was not another like it for miles.

Branden entered the magnificent home upon Merek’s insistence. He sat the boy at the supping table before he asked the house maiden to fetch and boil some water. Perhaps being more hydrated would satisfy the boy’s insatiable thirst, and save him from his father’s barrage of insults upon returning so exposed to stupidity. The soldier silently wondered if his word would hold any weight with The Head whilst his youngest son drunkenly swore it to be true.

“Aye, Merek, mayhap I should speak with Sir Elrik in the confines of solitude?” He suggested as he watched the grin spread across the boy’s rosy cheeks. The previous merriment he partook in had more affect than Branden first thought.

“Who shall help you, good soldier, when Father’s temper roars, which it shall when he hears such news?” Mere’s laugh filled the room before his eyes found the lovely house maiden carrying water; those eyes seemingly innocent undressed the woman and gave into fantasies the rest of his body would not allow him to have.

The soldier shooed the maiden away, assuring her he would be in to get the boiled water when she finished so that her presences would not bother her master so. He ventured further to ask when Sir Elrik would return. She informed him of Elrik’s council meeting; his return would be later rather than sooner.

Branden accepted one horn of wine and a plate of food at Merek’s table while he waited, but his wait was fortunately short. He did not like long waits though upon viewing Elrik’s face fear overwhelmed the soldier. Perhaps he should have preferred a long wait to the surprise arrival and the scruple of a drunken son.

“The news this man has to share, Father, is incomprehensible. You shall find both great laughter in it at first and grave disappointment at the finish.” Merek said with a grin first and a scowl to follow. Braden thought the young man’s head would roll before Elrik took his seat. The boy took a vicious slap across the cheek before he was ordered to leave the room.

“I sent you with my eldest into the dark wood, did I not?” His eyes, dark and deep as the blackness of the forest which Branden feared so much, bore into the soldier. “What news have you?” Elrik ordered, still standing upon his feet.