Well here we go again. This story is a bit of an experiment. It seems to be
working though... at least I like it. Tell me how you think.
~*~
John sat in his room, drawing pictures. That was one thing he knew he was good at. He liked the control he had over his drawings. When he drew, he could make someone happy or sad, rich or poor, imaginary or real. He made a good likeness of who he drew, whether it be the saints or a servant in the hall. John was happy. Richard was preoccupied with entertaining his new Saxon friend, his mother was away in Aquitaine, and his father was with some guests who had arrived earlier this morning. He concentrated on his drawing, the birch bark providing a perfect place for his brother to live. John was not allowed parchment, merely because it was too valuable to waste on a boy's doodlings, but birch bark was cheap. Richard's face began to take shape. John grinned malevolently. He was going to have fun with this drawing.
He was interrupted by a banging on his door. John felt a spasm of terror; perhaps Richard was not as busy as he thought. He crumpled his drawing into a ball and kicked under the table. He ran to the door, and opened it, expecting a clout on the head from his older brother. Instead a servant stood, holding a girl by the shoulder. The girl looked frightened, her light brown eyes alert and wide.
"Sire," The servant said. "This is Rebecca. She is visiting with her parents. Here," she lightly pushed Rebecca into the room. "Why don't you entertain her for a while, Sire?"
John frowned. He knew nothing about other children. He had no friends his age. He had no friends, Richard made sure of that. What was he going to do with one of these people in his room?
The servant, however, after depositing her burden walked back to wherever she came from, leaving him to entertain the girl.
Rebecca walked around the room. John followed her, wondering what she wanted to do. He was not used to people. He drew pictures in his room all day, and then tried to show them to his mother to force her to like him. She often was too busy telling her favorite son they ways of chivalry to even speak to John.
"What is your name?" asked Rebecca.
"John."
"Oh. Mine's Rebecca, but I suppose the servant already told you."
John nodded awkwardly.
"I love your room. It's so nice."
"Thank you." John couldn't seem to be able to be able to string a proper sentence together around this strange girl.
"How old are you?" Rebecca was trying valiantly to make conversation. "I'm twelve. How old are you?"
"Almost thirteen." John was surprised. He hadn't thought she was any more than ten.
"My parents are visiting here. My father's a knight." She beamed with pride. "Is your father a knight too?"
John looked amazed. "Don't you know who my father is?!"
"Not a knight then?"
"No."
"Who?"
"My father is the king of England."
Rebecca did a hasty and surprised curtsy. "Oh I am sorry! I never thought I would meet a real live prince here."
John started laughing. He couldn't help it. The way Rebecca was gazing at him was so comical that he had to laugh. He stopped when he saw her face. "I'm sorry." He apologized hastily. "But you don't need to curtsy with me! I have no rank. It's Richard you should be looking out for; he's the one who will be king."
Rebecca smiled too. "What's Richard like?"
John scowled involuntarily.
"Oh." She caught sight of the crumpled bit of bark on the floor. "What's this?" she tried to pick it up but was stopped by John's arm.
"It's nothing." John pleaded with her mentally to ignore it. "Shall I show you the courtyard?"
"Oh yes! I have always wanted to see a royal garden!"
John walked with her outside, wondering if he was possibly making a friend.
~*~
John sat in his room, drawing pictures. That was one thing he knew he was good at. He liked the control he had over his drawings. When he drew, he could make someone happy or sad, rich or poor, imaginary or real. He made a good likeness of who he drew, whether it be the saints or a servant in the hall. John was happy. Richard was preoccupied with entertaining his new Saxon friend, his mother was away in Aquitaine, and his father was with some guests who had arrived earlier this morning. He concentrated on his drawing, the birch bark providing a perfect place for his brother to live. John was not allowed parchment, merely because it was too valuable to waste on a boy's doodlings, but birch bark was cheap. Richard's face began to take shape. John grinned malevolently. He was going to have fun with this drawing.
He was interrupted by a banging on his door. John felt a spasm of terror; perhaps Richard was not as busy as he thought. He crumpled his drawing into a ball and kicked under the table. He ran to the door, and opened it, expecting a clout on the head from his older brother. Instead a servant stood, holding a girl by the shoulder. The girl looked frightened, her light brown eyes alert and wide.
"Sire," The servant said. "This is Rebecca. She is visiting with her parents. Here," she lightly pushed Rebecca into the room. "Why don't you entertain her for a while, Sire?"
John frowned. He knew nothing about other children. He had no friends his age. He had no friends, Richard made sure of that. What was he going to do with one of these people in his room?
The servant, however, after depositing her burden walked back to wherever she came from, leaving him to entertain the girl.
Rebecca walked around the room. John followed her, wondering what she wanted to do. He was not used to people. He drew pictures in his room all day, and then tried to show them to his mother to force her to like him. She often was too busy telling her favorite son they ways of chivalry to even speak to John.
"What is your name?" asked Rebecca.
"John."
"Oh. Mine's Rebecca, but I suppose the servant already told you."
John nodded awkwardly.
"I love your room. It's so nice."
"Thank you." John couldn't seem to be able to be able to string a proper sentence together around this strange girl.
"How old are you?" Rebecca was trying valiantly to make conversation. "I'm twelve. How old are you?"
"Almost thirteen." John was surprised. He hadn't thought she was any more than ten.
"My parents are visiting here. My father's a knight." She beamed with pride. "Is your father a knight too?"
John looked amazed. "Don't you know who my father is?!"
"Not a knight then?"
"No."
"Who?"
"My father is the king of England."
Rebecca did a hasty and surprised curtsy. "Oh I am sorry! I never thought I would meet a real live prince here."
John started laughing. He couldn't help it. The way Rebecca was gazing at him was so comical that he had to laugh. He stopped when he saw her face. "I'm sorry." He apologized hastily. "But you don't need to curtsy with me! I have no rank. It's Richard you should be looking out for; he's the one who will be king."
Rebecca smiled too. "What's Richard like?"
John scowled involuntarily.
"Oh." She caught sight of the crumpled bit of bark on the floor. "What's this?" she tried to pick it up but was stopped by John's arm.
"It's nothing." John pleaded with her mentally to ignore it. "Shall I show you the courtyard?"
"Oh yes! I have always wanted to see a royal garden!"
John walked with her outside, wondering if he was possibly making a friend.
