"Les Mains Serrés"

By: The Butterfly-Winged Rat

---

To you, who have let me work on this, I give thanks. (That means you, my group mates who didn't help at all. :D)

---

I awoke to the sound of stones tapping against the walls of our meager cottage. I arose to investigate the origin of the noise, and to my surprise, the sky had still been dim when my eyes had gotten used to the view of the outside. The streets and houses seemed to be deprived of all life, which made the occurrence of such a noise even more suspicious. I wondered just what was going on.

As I snuck past the trees and bushes that grew surrounding our home's exterior. It didn't take me long to catch sight of a boy somewhere around my age crouched on the ground, playing with sticks and rocks. What was odd was that he was dressed as a nobleman's child would be. His posture was unbecoming of his façade.

He really was a blue-blood, I told myself, for he had been unable to detect my approach.

Or so I had thought.

"I pray, youth." He sighed unhappily. "Tell me of the fields on summer's day? Or even tales of nature's ethereal beauty. For it is in truth, that I say I have never witnessed such common things. And reckon do I, that in my miserable state and rank, never will I behold such a splendor as I live." He ended. The way he spoke revealed his deep sadness and possible repugnance for his own heritage. It evoked such deep emotion that I, myself could not help but feel pity for him.

I dared give a reply. "Good sir," I began. "Though a common man I remain, I attest to the unhappiness thou doth affirm. Truly, one of such noble standing such as yourself, milord, would not be in such a position to be disdained in this manner." I knew it had never been a wise decision to contradict anyone of noble descent. It was an act of impertinence, punishable by law. However, I didn't think he would do such a thing for such small words as those.

He stood up to approach me, dusting himself off in the process. "What be your name lad?" he asked, sounding almost genuinely curious.

I stood my ground. I wasn't about to be intimidated by him, had he meant for it to appear that way or otherwise. "It am in simplest tongues, Charles, milord. But to mine own mother, who at this hour sleeps as soundly as the sun, I am to her, her Charlie, milord."

"Charles?" He repeated. "You would be a most intriguing friend to acquaint myself with, Charles, had we met on a date to this prior." He told me, almost sadly. "I pray, humor me. Accompany me back to court, dear lad. I wish to accustom myself to daring such as yours." It was hard for me to believe that he spoke truthfully. His words were like an unbelievable proposition that had little chance of happening to anyone, let alone to me.

He must have been joking. "Surely, you jest milord." I laughed.

A look of seriousness was what he returned. Apparently, he hadn't found any reason to be amused. "I dare not kid on such a matter. Though it may appear trivial in context, I sincerely wish to befriend you, Charles, for you are a type not found it the duke's court. You are unique."

Never before had I been complimented thusly; and from a social superior, no less. I decided to take him up on his bluff. "If that is your wish, milord," My answer disguised my unease. If he was true to his word, I would get to see the insides of the royal court. How amazing would that have been?

It was obviously a good reply. He was smiling flippantly at my answer and immediately grabbed one of my hands. "Then what do we await? Let us tarry no longer! Come!"

"Milord, now-?!"

"At this very moment!" He exclaimed ecstatically. "My name is Jacques, good Charles. Remember that well!"

---

A smile graced my features as I reminisced on the turning points of my childhood. Truly, my meeting with Jacques was a meeting that had twisted the path my future had laid out for me. Never had I encountered someone as heartening as the boy. I had to admit, my best friend was a very peculiar individual.

"It is absolutely preposterous, Charles!" And never could he make an entrance marked by a simple greeting.

That was Jacques for you. "What unparalleled disaster trails you now, my friend?" I chided, keeping in my mind that I knew how the man did so love to exaggerate.

He wasn't at all amused by my lack of somberness to his predicament. "Not what, but who; you insincere sportsman. Has all your training deprived you of the capability to perform any supportive actions?" he snarled. Of course, I knew better then anyone that he would never stay upset regardless of the going-ons around. "Tis that insufferable wretch, who steals not only my identity but mine pride. Who else would I speak of, save for that fool: de Boys!" Jacques could never bear to acknowledge that his 'destined rival' shared his name. He would only refer to him by the surname he had, for it was all they had in contrast.

It was ironic that not only did the two share much physical resemblance and still abhor the sight of the other. Their blond hair and complexion often caused confusion between them, very much to their consternation. It was for that reason the Jacques purposely grew out his hair, for he knew that his opposite would cut his short before it could gain length. They had the misfortune of sharing the same eye-color and never even seeming to out grow the other. Really, they could have been twins.

But nothing seemed to follow after physical features.

While Jacques was a poet and artist at heart (even given the nickname 'Bard' as a jest), Jacques de Boys was a born politician. The two were so little a like in action; it was as if they were born to even each other out.

I knew that their dislike of each other had only come so and so, and I had not been the least bit worried. There was little to nothing that Jacques de Boys was capable of that he knew Jacques could not handle himself. But a good friend would humor him. "What had he done unto you that you so scornfully took?"

Jacques threw his arms in the air, signifying his exasperation and quickly began retelling the events of his day to the only person he believed would have listened to him.

---

It was from the noble house of de Boys that one of the greatest tacticians of their time had been born into. And the same house could also have spawned the most avaricious of children to walk the planet.

Jacques could not deny the fact that he hated the treatment he had ever received from his family, mainly because he believed he deserved better. He was the middle child in his entire clan. His elder brother, Oliver, was given everything he needed and had already been groomed to succeed their father since birth. While on the other hand, Orlando, his younger brother, had always been the apple of their parent's eyes. He was young and adorable, something he had apparently never been. But what angered him most of all was the presence of that last individual: the one he detested most.

His father had been charged with the care of his closest friend's son, after the time of their death, and he cared for that child too, as if he were his own flesh and blood- a little too well for Jacques' liking. It did no good to him that that child shared not only his name and appearance, but also what little love and care his father had left.

He would no longer stand for it. Without any other alternative, he had challenged that bard of a man to a duel. The winner would never be able to show their face in this court as they both lived. Some may have said it was too extreme a gamble for them to put forward, but neither of the Jacques' protested to it. It seemed as though they had already reached a point where they had gotten fed up with one another.

The date and venue was set, and before long, the whole court knew of the agenda.

Everyone save for his father, Sir Rowland de Boys.

Jacques had no plan of letting that pathetic old man catch wind of this. It'd be his own little secret. And if anyone dared reveal his plan to him . . . Well, all he could say is that there would be a stern price to pay.

And as for Jacques the bard . . . Jacques had something special planned out for him; a secret weapon that he would never have expected.

To those who watched on in naiveté, he might have been evil, but Jacques knew the truth.

He was Justice.

---

I listened on in surprise as Jacques narrated the happenings of his day. Contrary to his regular habit of exaggerating, from what I had heard, he had been under-estimating the problem this time. "Such a bargain with lady fortune, Jacques! Leave the court? What stakes are these? Is it not apparent to you that he has staked it up against your favor?" I protested all my concerns for my dearest friend, but indeed, I too had already wronged him.

I couldn't bear to tell him. The truth was I had unknowingly betrayed him earlier that same day.

Since I had never known the gravity of their feud, when Jacques de Boy approached me with an amazing job offer, I could not turn him down.

"Dear friend," I interrupted suddenly. "You, more then anyone know of mine fondest dream, dost thou not?" I wanted to get something straightened out first. I had no intention of turning traitor to Jacques, but at the same time, I wasn't about to let my own future fall flat on it's face.

"Why surely, good friend." He beamed. "You are to be the greatest wrestler in the entire Kingdom of Duchy! Didn't we predict it together? The name 'Charles' would ring throughout the entire countryside and it would leave not one person who didn't know who you were." He was too supportive. All his words were making me regret my decision more and more. Yes, he did not know of my disloyal deal with his own nemesis, but he himself said he wished for my success.

I couldn't look him straight in the eye. "Jacques, go not through with it. It is a risk you cannot take."

When I refused to look at him, he placed him hand on my shoulder, as if to comfort me. "My friend, had the answer been as simple as that, my refusal would have come sooner then this. However, de Boys has me cornered. I refuse to compromise my honor as a man just to satisfy that dog." He insisted, with an expression that lit up in determination. "I worry too, Charles, that I may not return to see my home, my life, or my friends," his voice softened as he uttered those words, "-And what I wouldn't give to stay here in my own paradise forever. But no paradise lasts forever-"

"Utter not another word, Jacques!" I could not bear to hear him speak that way. "You sound as if you have only been left with one inescapable fate! The outcome of the duel has not yet been decided." I pushed the hand that he had left to rest on my shoulder away. I was so confused.

He let out a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry, dear friend." I didn't get a chance to ask him what his apology was meant for because I had been too torn. I bolted out the door, not even sparing a glance behind to see what his reaction would have been. I might have become a great wrestler, but truly, I was no friend.

---

"Good day, father. I trust that your meeting with the duke went smoothly?"

Sir Rowland had returned home to run into his second son by the horse stables. He had no idea what Jacques needed with him, but he never thought it mattered. "My son, I am glad of your arrival. I wish to impart wonderful news." He announced. He had planned to wait and give his announcement in front of all his sons, but he was too capricious to wait any longer. "I have just spoken with the duke, and Senior has generously given me his approval."

Jacques didn't like the sound of that. "Approval on what? Pray, tell, Father."

"Why, to formally induct the young Bard into the family, my son."

At first, Jacques merely stand slack-jawed. He was speechless. The moment Jacques opened his mouth to speak against it, his father simply laughed, saying he could not wait to tell Oliver and Orlando. The old man turned his back on Jacques before the young man could even reply.

That was his undoing.

Blinded by anger, Jacques' eyes roamed the ground for something- anything- before they rested on the branding iron that had carelessly been disregarded by the stable door. For a few more seconds, he could not move, but in a blink of an eye, he seized the rod and attacked his father.

He hit him until the old man felt to the ground. He continued to drive the metal into his skull until blood oozed out of every place imaginable.

The body of Sir Rowland de Boys lay drowning in his own blood.

Jacques' harshly inhaled and exhaled as he loomed over his dead father, still clutching the murder weapon in hand. He just looked down at the gruesome mess before him and laughed. "Fool of a man! What know you, but of how children never should have been raised. You were the cause of this, you useless man. You forced such a horrendous act on me. I am not the villain here-" His long monologue was cut short by the sound of crunching twigs by the door.

His father's beast marksman stood witness to his crime.

But not a single sign of fear was seen on Jacques' face. A wicked smile dared appear in place, and Jacques walked up the archer, a low and maniacal laugh escaping his lips.

---

Dressed in an apron, a maiden ran back and fourth around the empty house, getting ready for her beloved's return. She ran outside to fetch the laundry when a familiar figure caught her eye.

"Corin? My sweet love, why do you look so on the day before our vows? Is everything alright?" She called out, slightly worried at the appearance of her love.

The marksman, Corin, just stood in the distance, looking on at her with sad eyes. "Forgive me… Selena. If not for mine master's misfortune, our love would have never been a broken promise. Good bye, Selena. Thine heart shall always remain with mine." These were his last words before turning to leave. Selena called out to him but he would not look back. What life was there left for an exiled man? Not even love could save him.

---

I avoided both Jacques at all costs up until the day of the duel. Up until then, I had not been able to decide my course of action. It was still a strong debate between Friendship and my Future, neither of which, achievable without getting rid of the other.

Which could I have chosen?

As I pondered alone, I came to realize that the time of the actual duel had come, and I rushed over to the orchard, where everyone had already gathered. It appeared as though no one in the court had not come to watch.

I his myself in the crowd and patiently watched them begin. De Boys looked overly-confident and took the aggressive, while Jacques merely blocked all his attacks, but something had been different about him. He no longer had that spark of energy he was known for. Even yet, he looked so gloomy . . . almost melancholy.

The two gave it their best, and their brawl grew long.

There came a point where no one could have said just who was winning, and it was then that I found myself drawing closer to their arena. I was practically at the edge when their blades clashed and flew out of their owner's hands. It was just my luck that one flew amazingly out of reach, while the other dropped in front of my feet.

Picking the sword up, I suddenly realized that all eyes diverted to me.

I saw Jacque's face for the first time in days, and he looked at me with begging eyes, just silently pleading me to throw the sword back at him. On the other hand, de Boys didn't look the slightest bit worried about whether I would return the weapon to him or not. I froze where I stood.

"Charles!" Jacques called out.

Within seconds, I had already decided on my resolve. I looked at Jacques and raised my hand to throw the sword. "I'm sorry." I threw it as hard as I could in de Boys' direction and immediately turned to leave. What had I just done?

"I forfeit." With a glance back, I saw Jacques hold his hands up in defeat before collapsing to the ground in a fit of tears. I knew I had caused that, but I couldn't do anything about it. Knowing I had aided his complete victory, I shifted my view to de Boys, and suddenly screamed out in surprise. "Jacques, look out!" I screamed.

De Boys had not been content with just defeating him. He wanted to destroy him- kill him! Jacques barely dodged his strike, but the next one got him by the arm. I dashed back, ultimately thinking I could save him, but I was too late.

"Brother, stop this!" Oliver had managed to grab Jacques de Boys' wrist and prevent him from dealing his final blow. "Has our father's death not saddened you? What need have you to take it out on Jacques, who is too like a brother to us?"

By the time I had come anywhere close, Jacques de Boys had already been restrained and was being taken away from the arena. As I made my way towards Jacques, I extended my hand out to help him, only to have it swatted away. "Thou had made your decision. And I have made mine." He chocked out. Only later did I find out that he had not heard of his step-father's death until that moment, and it was devastating for him as well as the betrayal of his comrade, someone he had treated like a brother.

What a career I betrayed my best friend for.

---

Not long after that, the duke had gotten overthrown by his younger brother, Frederick, and had fled to the Forest of Arden. Jacques and his cousin, Amiens left with him. Though we were all merely around the age of sixteen, the two had braved all dangers and devotedly followed Duke Senior in his exile out of Duchy.

Though I had already distanced myself from him, I still could not help but feel I killed a part of him that day.

Jacques changed. He lost all life and vigor and reverted into a pessimistic misery that trailed him like a rain cloud. For a long period in time, he remained silent like the dead. He refused to speak to anyone, he refused to eat. . . I had never known just how much of his spirit I had broken.

No one had ever discovered the murder of Sir Rowland, although the main suspect happened to be an archer who had disappeared on that day...

Oliver sent Jacques to be schooled elsewhere, away from the rumors' prying eyes.

And what of me? I've become an excellent wrestler, working for the Duke himself. I attribute my success to the start I had gotten from the de Boys family, but bitterly regret what I had to do to get where I was. But I never stopped wondering: What could I have done? The truth was there really wasn't anything else to try. I had doomed Jacques to a life of melancholy despair. If I could have made an enemy out of my best friend, what prevented me from doing so with my opponent?

To me, being a wrestler meant no longer caring.

It was my dream, and at the same time, my downfall: what I would have given anything to achieve is not the thing I desire to rid myself of permanently.

FIN.