G.R. here!
Here's Chapter 2! Enjoy!
Chapter 2- Fled . . . Once Again
Frederickrode back to the palace by midday, wishfully hoping that his father had been too oppressedby the business and stresses of his caring for the kingdom. He led his horse to the stable, and regressed back to the palace doors, hardly thinking about the planned activities and hunts he was assigned for by the king. All he cared about was getting to his chamber without detection.
As casually as he can, in his fast-paced stride, he paced back to his luxurious room with the newly, written poem hidden in his sack. He opened his bedroom doors and entered discreetly, closing them behind him. He set his pack onto his bed and reached into it to grasp his poem masterpiece.
He felt his fingers tingle at the touch of smoothness, there it is! He brought it out of the sack and began to unfold it. He sighed as he gazed at the poetic words, he prepared to read them . . .
"Is that what I think it is?"
Frederick froze at the sudden gruff and ice-cold voice, his hands grew numb and the poem floated back onto the bedspread. Frederick gulped, he knew that voice, too well!
"Turn around," the voice came demanding. Frederick turned to see his father, standing grand, yet intimidating, in his jet, black palace robes.
Frederick William the 1st, King of Prussia, and Elector of Brandenburg . . . with the usual, angered scowl sculpted into his face.
The king stepped toward Frederick, the wrinkles in the man's face contorted, his dark, pale eyes seemingly burning into Frederick's skull. His visage then deviated to the poem. Frederick, from the corner of his eye, watched his father glare at the paper as if he could burn holes into the poem with his pupils. He suddenly snatched it, and held it in front of Frederick's face, in a threatening manner.
"Was ist das Frederick, was ist das," the king hissed. Frederick stood firm, no response. The king's face seemed to get redder.
"Verdammt Frederick, tell me now! What is this?" Frederick took in a breath silently, "It's a poem, Vater."
The king huffed through his nose, "When exactly was this written?"
"This morning," Frederick replied calmly.
The king's anger increased, "Why? Where?"
Frederick could feel dark, aurora illuminating from his father, "I wrote it on the palace outskirts, I wrote it because I wanted to."
The king's glare only sharpened, until . . .
SLAP!
Frederick felt the sudden, but all-too-well-known, stinging in his cheek, and his body hit the mattress, then the floor, with a loud, THUMP! Frederick wasn't scared though, he lived through this treatment every day, it was normal. He then felt a sharp kick to his ribs, and then another, and another.
Frederick was then lifted by his cravat toward his father's face, red, and twisted in fury. "You wasted the entire morning for ONE, DAMN, POEM?! YOU DIGRESS FROM MILITARY DUTIES AND PRACTICE FOR A POEM?!" The king threw Frederick to the floor, and brought his foot down onto his son's chest, "YOU HAVE ONCE AGAIN BROUGHT DISHONOR TO THIS FAMILY," he boomed. He retracted his foot and began to march out of Frederick's room, "I want you brought to the throne room, in ONE HOUR! This will be last time you will disgrace me!" Noticing he still had the poem clenched in his fist, he threw the masterpiece down to the floor and stomped on it, then he left.
Frederick arose and crawled to his now-scrunched and stomped-on poem, cradling it. He unraveled it, and gazed wishfully at the Godly-made words, Oh Lord, have mercy on my soul.
One hour . . . gone.
Frederick slouched, slightly shaking as he began to bow to his father in traditional respect, with the prong of a gathering in the throne room, surrounding him, watching him intently. King Frederick the 1st sat grandly on the throne as if he didn't recognize Frederick as his real son, just treating him like every other criminal.
To begin the judgment, the king stood. "Only the Lord knows how many times you have greatly disrespected this family, this family built for the ability to fight, the ability to war and battle, what you do is opposite, what you do has no connection to the family's heritage! Frederick scowled, so what?
The king continued, "Defiance against the family is an abomination before God and Man, because of this, I HEREBY DECLARE-
The throne room doors suddenly swung open with a thunderous BOOM! Frederick flinched.
The court began to murmur, seemingly in nervousness and awe. The sound of boot steps echoed through the throne room, Frederick felt the uninvited visitor coming closer, closer, closer, then passing him. Frederick dared to look up slightly, and noticed that the figure wore a dark, blue cloak, with a hood covering his head, and white trimming. Frederick blinked, wait a minute? Blue cloak? White trimming?
He then heard his father grunt, "What are you doing here, you have inter-
The figure removed his hood, and the king went silent. His mouth was agape and the gathering behind him gasped at the figure. The cloaked man bowed, "Guten Tag, my master, I thought I heard a booming in here, is everything under control?"
Frederick barely stopped himself from gasping, HIS VOICE!
The king regained composure and grunted, "What are you doing here?! This is a personal family matter, I'm sorry, but you weren't invited."
"A "personal" family matter," the white-haired man questioned. "You say THIS is a family matter, you don't invite me, yet you invite ALL these people? People you don't even KNOW that well? Hm?"
The king didn't respond, leaving the court in the room murmuring and pondering. The king then cleared his throat, "I assumed you had other matters to take care of Pr-
"Now, now mein Meister," the figure interrupted, "You didn't invite me, only because you "assumed" but that's alright, we all make mistakes, the least you can do is allow me in on this "personal, family, matter" of yours and let the representation of YOUR kingdom . . ."
Frederick cocked his head in confusion, representation? What does that mean?
" . . . give you his input, before you evaluate your final judgment. That seems fair, ehh?"
The king grunted and settled back into his throne, pinching the bridge of nose, sensing all the people's eyes staring curiously at him. He huffed, "Give me your statement."
The man seemed to have lightened up by the sudden posture in his shoulders, noted Frederick. "My Lord . . . the man started. Everyone bore their eyes at the figure, awaiting his answer. " . . . I propose that you let your son go."
The court gasped in wonder, and king showed sudden outrage, Frederick gasped, he's PROTECTING me?! The king launched up from his throne, "WHAT?! ARE YOU MAD?!"
The figure just shrugged, "What?"
The king stepped down from the throne's steps threateningly, "WHY ON EARTH ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT I LET FREDERICK GO?!" Frederick's father stood nose to nose with the man, "VERDAMMT, ANSWER ME!"
The man stood his ground, impervious to the king's force of anger, "Why are you accusing your son, your family, of disrespecting your family, when you are doing the very same, disrespecting your son, your family?"
The court was so silent that you could hear a coin drop.
The white-haired man swiftly turned, too quick for Frederick to see his face, his dark, blue cloak flapping in the king's face. As he began to make his exit for the throne room doors, his voice echoed, "I suggest you listen to what I say, let your son go, and if you don't . . . ha well . . . let's just say you'll be getting some judgment . . . of your own . . .mein Furher," and with that, the figure fled once again.
Frederick watched in awe and with wide eyes, incredulous to what that mysterious, white-haired figure, had dared.
HOLY JEEZ!
In case you hadn't noticed, I kinda started getting a little lazy with this chapter. Getting a little too quick with my wording.
Ah well . . . HOPE YOU ENJOYED!
Sincerely, G.R. :D