The Man With the Black Robe: A Roger Bio
Cheezy Frumaja
Chapter 2: The Gift
Roger grew up hardly knowing his parents. After the day in which he first saw them having a row over his father's carpet, he decided to himself that they were idiotic, filthy beings and that he never wanted to see them again. Secretly, Helga the nanny agreed. "What a brilliant child I've brought up," she would tell herself, satisfied, as Roger toddled about the manor. After meeting his parents, he decided to meet everyone else who lived there, and everyone loved meeting him, exclaiming,
"Oh, what a charming little fellow! And he already talks!"
And, every once in a while, stranger things would happen while Roger was around, other than his being able to talk at an early age. One day, while visiting the cooks and scullery maids in their large kitchen, the torches about the room suddenly guttered and blew out, though there was no wind, and an orange glow settled upon everything.
Another day, while meeting Ben the hostler in the stables, the hay and chaff in every stall abruptly settled in one monstrous pile in the middle of the building. It seemed to possess a certain orangey shine. But no one ever figured out that all this was Roger's doing. Even Roger hadn't found it out. But he was surprised, when years later, amusing himself by constructing a house of twigs by the forest, that by staring hard at it and concentrating on it, it burst into flames.
Delighted, he made another, and put his mind to setting it afire. 'Flame, flame, flame,' he silently chanted. They began to smoke slightly, the breeze twisting it as it curled up to the trees above. A few sparks ignited. And finally, it was consumed by orange fire. Roger looked at his hands. He screamed, "I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" until he realized that he wasn't hot at all. His hands were their normal temperature, but they were glowing orange. A butler came running, alarmed by the little six-year-old's calls of distress.
"Young master! Roger! Wait there, I have water!" The man shifted the bucket of water to his other hand, and when he reached the boy, Roger was silent, staring at his hands in wonder.
"Oh, never mind, William, I guess I'm not on fire. Look at my hands though." The butler obeyed, puzzled, frazzled and slightly annoyed that there had been a false alarm.
"I see nothing, young master. What is it I should be seeing?"
"My hands-they're glowing orange. And see the pile of ash? That was a twig house, and I set in on fire using my mind!"
"Silly boy, your hands aren't orange. And it's just your Gift, is all. No need to be worried."
"You mean, my magic?" The boy asked excitedly, his blue-sapphire eyes nearly as large as saucers.
"Yes, your magic. What else would it be?" The butler William answered exasperatedly. When Roger looked confused, wondering why he was expected to know, William continued. "You mean to say your parents never told you that you had the Gift?"
"I've barely ever talked to my parents."
William shook his head, dumped out the useless bucket of water, and stalked off heatedly. However, he didn't fail to tell the rest of the house that Roger had discovered his gift.
"Ah, so that's what happened in my kitchen."
"Now I understand..."
"So that's what the little boy did with the hay."
"Wonder if his parents know?"
They didn't. After all, they were immersed in a fight concerning how to tax their under-lords on the land. When they finally did hear, yet another argument flamed up-"Who the hell's gonna teach him to control himself?"
The unlikely married couple came to a decision one month later, the day Roger celebrated his seventh birthday with the manor's staff. Helga had directed the cooks in baking a delicious, giant, cream filled pastry topped with sugar-spun dragons and hurroks and centaurs, and every other immortal creature they could think of to amuse the little master. Just as Roger finished his small piece, (For he was never a large eater), and began opening his first present of a wooden toy sword, His mother and father stormed into the room, disheveled and red.
"Ralph, dear," his mother began.
"My name's Roger, mother."
"Roger," she corrected herself, trying to smile, but ending up grimacing anyway from a lump forming on her back due to the fighting. "Dear, we're sending you away."
Bewildered, the little Roger, rubbed a hand through his dark brown hair, blinking. "Why? Where?"
"We've decided that you need to control your Gift, because it might cause an accident in the house. And, seeing as you're already talented, we are going to send you to the convent near Corus to learn to be a sorcerer.
Roger was delighted, but all the same, sad. He had grown to love the servants around the manor, who were always cheerful and kind to him, giving him little treats and presents every now and then. But he also wanted to learn to do more things than setting piles of twigs on fire. "Will I ever see the manor again?"
"During the summer," Firenze answered. "And we'll come and visit you on midwinter."
"Separately," Rachyl added, though both she and Firenze knew Roger could care less if he ever saw them. Helga noted this, and spoke up quietly.
"Please, your Grace," she addressed Firenze. "If I may visit him at the convent, I would be happy. And I'm sure Roger would as well."
"Please?" Roger spoke up on her behalf. "Indeed, I hardly know the two of you, so it would be more sensible if she were the one to see me."
It took no time to decide the matter. For the first time, the Duke and Duchess arrived at an agreement without an argument. "As you wish." They left the room. Roger finished opening his presents in silence, but thanked everyone at the end, and left for his room to pack his clothing and personal belongings.
"I'm going to miss you all," he said woefully, misty eyed. Helga dabbed at her eyes, and embraced him. The servants waved, wiping at their tears.
In the space of two days, Roger was packed, and ready to go. Helga and the hostler rode off with him, accompanying him to the convent. Even he knew he was a bit young to be going to the convent to learn sorcery, but he also realized it was for the best. No one could afford to have the manor in which they lived burnt to the ground.
Upon arrival, the Daughters of the convent warmly greeted the trio, though they were confused to find that their new student was only seven years of age. After everything was cleared, Ben and Helga made their tearful goodbyes, leaving their beloved Roger with his trunks and the Daughters.
"Mind you take care of him," Helga called as she and the hostler disappeared over the hills, waving. Roger waved sadly back, and followed the Daughters inside.
A/N: How are you liking it so far? Let me know by giving me a review, see that little box below, you fill in your name and email and review...yeah...--Mychy
Cheezy Frumaja
Chapter 2: The Gift
Roger grew up hardly knowing his parents. After the day in which he first saw them having a row over his father's carpet, he decided to himself that they were idiotic, filthy beings and that he never wanted to see them again. Secretly, Helga the nanny agreed. "What a brilliant child I've brought up," she would tell herself, satisfied, as Roger toddled about the manor. After meeting his parents, he decided to meet everyone else who lived there, and everyone loved meeting him, exclaiming,
"Oh, what a charming little fellow! And he already talks!"
And, every once in a while, stranger things would happen while Roger was around, other than his being able to talk at an early age. One day, while visiting the cooks and scullery maids in their large kitchen, the torches about the room suddenly guttered and blew out, though there was no wind, and an orange glow settled upon everything.
Another day, while meeting Ben the hostler in the stables, the hay and chaff in every stall abruptly settled in one monstrous pile in the middle of the building. It seemed to possess a certain orangey shine. But no one ever figured out that all this was Roger's doing. Even Roger hadn't found it out. But he was surprised, when years later, amusing himself by constructing a house of twigs by the forest, that by staring hard at it and concentrating on it, it burst into flames.
Delighted, he made another, and put his mind to setting it afire. 'Flame, flame, flame,' he silently chanted. They began to smoke slightly, the breeze twisting it as it curled up to the trees above. A few sparks ignited. And finally, it was consumed by orange fire. Roger looked at his hands. He screamed, "I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" until he realized that he wasn't hot at all. His hands were their normal temperature, but they were glowing orange. A butler came running, alarmed by the little six-year-old's calls of distress.
"Young master! Roger! Wait there, I have water!" The man shifted the bucket of water to his other hand, and when he reached the boy, Roger was silent, staring at his hands in wonder.
"Oh, never mind, William, I guess I'm not on fire. Look at my hands though." The butler obeyed, puzzled, frazzled and slightly annoyed that there had been a false alarm.
"I see nothing, young master. What is it I should be seeing?"
"My hands-they're glowing orange. And see the pile of ash? That was a twig house, and I set in on fire using my mind!"
"Silly boy, your hands aren't orange. And it's just your Gift, is all. No need to be worried."
"You mean, my magic?" The boy asked excitedly, his blue-sapphire eyes nearly as large as saucers.
"Yes, your magic. What else would it be?" The butler William answered exasperatedly. When Roger looked confused, wondering why he was expected to know, William continued. "You mean to say your parents never told you that you had the Gift?"
"I've barely ever talked to my parents."
William shook his head, dumped out the useless bucket of water, and stalked off heatedly. However, he didn't fail to tell the rest of the house that Roger had discovered his gift.
"Ah, so that's what happened in my kitchen."
"Now I understand..."
"So that's what the little boy did with the hay."
"Wonder if his parents know?"
They didn't. After all, they were immersed in a fight concerning how to tax their under-lords on the land. When they finally did hear, yet another argument flamed up-"Who the hell's gonna teach him to control himself?"
The unlikely married couple came to a decision one month later, the day Roger celebrated his seventh birthday with the manor's staff. Helga had directed the cooks in baking a delicious, giant, cream filled pastry topped with sugar-spun dragons and hurroks and centaurs, and every other immortal creature they could think of to amuse the little master. Just as Roger finished his small piece, (For he was never a large eater), and began opening his first present of a wooden toy sword, His mother and father stormed into the room, disheveled and red.
"Ralph, dear," his mother began.
"My name's Roger, mother."
"Roger," she corrected herself, trying to smile, but ending up grimacing anyway from a lump forming on her back due to the fighting. "Dear, we're sending you away."
Bewildered, the little Roger, rubbed a hand through his dark brown hair, blinking. "Why? Where?"
"We've decided that you need to control your Gift, because it might cause an accident in the house. And, seeing as you're already talented, we are going to send you to the convent near Corus to learn to be a sorcerer.
Roger was delighted, but all the same, sad. He had grown to love the servants around the manor, who were always cheerful and kind to him, giving him little treats and presents every now and then. But he also wanted to learn to do more things than setting piles of twigs on fire. "Will I ever see the manor again?"
"During the summer," Firenze answered. "And we'll come and visit you on midwinter."
"Separately," Rachyl added, though both she and Firenze knew Roger could care less if he ever saw them. Helga noted this, and spoke up quietly.
"Please, your Grace," she addressed Firenze. "If I may visit him at the convent, I would be happy. And I'm sure Roger would as well."
"Please?" Roger spoke up on her behalf. "Indeed, I hardly know the two of you, so it would be more sensible if she were the one to see me."
It took no time to decide the matter. For the first time, the Duke and Duchess arrived at an agreement without an argument. "As you wish." They left the room. Roger finished opening his presents in silence, but thanked everyone at the end, and left for his room to pack his clothing and personal belongings.
"I'm going to miss you all," he said woefully, misty eyed. Helga dabbed at her eyes, and embraced him. The servants waved, wiping at their tears.
In the space of two days, Roger was packed, and ready to go. Helga and the hostler rode off with him, accompanying him to the convent. Even he knew he was a bit young to be going to the convent to learn sorcery, but he also realized it was for the best. No one could afford to have the manor in which they lived burnt to the ground.
Upon arrival, the Daughters of the convent warmly greeted the trio, though they were confused to find that their new student was only seven years of age. After everything was cleared, Ben and Helga made their tearful goodbyes, leaving their beloved Roger with his trunks and the Daughters.
"Mind you take care of him," Helga called as she and the hostler disappeared over the hills, waving. Roger waved sadly back, and followed the Daughters inside.
A/N: How are you liking it so far? Let me know by giving me a review, see that little box below, you fill in your name and email and review...yeah...--Mychy