A scone, a sketch
A/N italics=flashback narration
Bold italics=thoughts
Normal=talking
Will crept carefully into the kitchen, after being certain that Master Chubb, the head chef, was nowhere in sight. Sneaking, creeping, slowly, step after cautious step, Will snuck up behind the kitchen maid, Libby, who was shelling peas. He tied one apron string to the leg of her wooden stool, the other to the handle of the bucket. Then, creeping back to the entrance, he deliberately "sneaked" in again; loudly. He grabbed a scone and ran off laughing obnoxiously. Of course, Libby jumped up in pursuit; and, of course, the bucket and stool wanted to come along. Long story short, he'd caused a giant ruckus, fifth that week, and been taken up to Baron Arald, who saw it as his duty to personally look after, and if necessary, reprimand the wardchildren when they were naughty. After a long lecture, the Baron looked down at the little boy, sitting timidly in a chair that was far too large for him.
"Well, well, lad, don't looks so glum. It's just that we can't really have little hooligans running around snatching scones and upsetting the kitchen maids now can we?" He said kindly. The poor little lad was actually shaking in his seat! He'd never been taken to the Baron before, and was certain that a terrible doom awaited him. Hearing the kind-sounding voice, and not a wrath-full one, Will dared to look up. Doing so, something on the huge deck before him caught his eye. The Knight. Noticing, Arald followed Will's gaze until his eyes rested on the simple sketch.
"You like that, do you, er- what's your name again lad?"
"W-Wiwl." He stammered, forgetting that he must say "sir".
"You like that Will?" Will only nodded, his eyes fixed on the drawing.
"Well, well. It's just a little sketch I did. You can have it young Will." Will's eyes widened.
"I-I-I can?" He barely dared to whisper, as if afraid that he'd heard wrong.
Beaming, the Baron laughed.
"Young'ns; always answer a question with question. Yes lad, of course you can have it."
Will took it as it was handed to him, holding it as if it might break if he touched it too hard.
"Fath'r." He whispered to himself. Puzzled, Arald asked;
"Excuse me?"
"Tha's what my Fath'r looked ."
Arald's eye's saddened inexplicably.
Poor lad still thinks his father was a knight.
"Hmm, how can you be so sure?" He asked softly, sounding much gentler than his usual loud self.
"My Fath'r was a great Knight; a hewo."
"He was, was he?"
"YESH."
"If you say so lad. Now run along; and I don't want to hear of any more mischief from you Master William." Arald said with mock seriousness.
Eye's widening, Will stammered;
"N-no sir!"
Arald sighed.
No one gets my jokes…
As Will walked out of the room, drawing clutched in his chubby little hands, he failed to notice a shadow-veiled figure watching from behind the door…Or was it merely that, a shadow?