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A/N:I originally did not write this chapter. However, the next chapter, which cuts to when Geoffrey is 14, is a bit of a *major* character change. So here, in this inconsequential bit, I sow the seeds of discontent. Sorry about the decided lack of plot development. It's more character development for this chapter.
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The sting of his father's hand bit Geoffrey's face, but he gnawed his lip against the yelp forming in his throat. "Useless sot! Can't you even handle a sword properly?" His face was flaming crimson from his father's words, which the entire courtyard could hear. His father had come out, in place of their usual instructor, with the distinct purpose of meticulously correcting Geoffrey's numerous faults. Their usual teacher, Wat, was leaning against one of the spare targets, smiling weakly in encouragement. He didn't approve of his lord's methods, but there was little he could do.
Geoffrey gulped. Tears were on the edge of his eyes. He always failed his father. Why? It wasn't fair that he had been denied the charisma and talent to gain the love of even his own father! Jealous dark eyes strayed over to Robert, who was humming as he worked with the blade, perfect as always. If God was so just and loving, who had he given Robert every gift under the sun, and given near none to Geoffrey?
He sighed and went to strike the wooden block again. His father had an insult prepared even before he had lifted for the strike. "Imbecile! Simpleton! I am surprised that you even know what end to hold the sword by!" Robert snickered with amusement from his end, and the tears smudged Geoffrey's vision. Wat smiled at him again, and pointed to his wrist, a reminder to twitch to the left just before striking. Ignoring his father's abuse and blurring image, Geoffrey lunged forward and sliced at the target. It was a perfect slice, and he knew it. A slight smile flitted across his face, and he felt the strength of his own wrist. Wat nodded, smiling fondly at his quiet student.
Robert grinned in pleasure. "Beautifully done, Geoffrey," he cried. Geoffrey glowered at him instead of smiling. You exult in both my victories and my failures. He went on with his practice, waiting for even one word of approval to escape his father's lips as he executed flawless strike after flawless strike, thanking the Lord for Wat. None came. The Lord of Locksley stalked out of the yard without even so much as a complimentary nod, muttering about weaklings and their stupidity.
Geoffrey threw his sword down and trailed out of the area, crying softly to himself. Wat started forward, but controlled himself when the lord of Locksley eyed him. Unlike with Robert's fits of temper, none of the servants looked upon Geoffrey with compassion. They ignored him; he was an inconsequential wrong step on the Locksley family tree. Sobs wracked his chest; he hugged himself, because no one else would ever embrace him.
He headed miserably to the armory, and remained there for the rest of the day. He missed supper, and snapped at the servant that he did not care to eat. "Nor do I care for my father's false affection! You may even tell him so! I care not!" And then he had fallen into fresh tears of disappointment in himself. He wished so desperately to be perfect, wonderful Robert. He wanted to be the golden child – the idol god worshiped in that temple of human perfection. Sensing the supreme distress Geoffrey was in, the servant had actually shown some compassion. "Would you like me to slip some bread in here with you?" the kitchen lad had asked. Geoffrey had lifted his head and nodded gratefully. The servant grinned at him, and he had smiled weakly in return.
In the hall, Robert stared angrily at his father. "You did not have to be so hard on him, Father," he commented, wondering how hungry Geoffrey was. The lord of Locksley shrugged. "The brat may sob all he wants; it warrants none of my compassion." Robert sighed and stared down at the table. "He's terrified of you, you know."
"Excuse me?"
"Geoffrey's scared of you. He's been having nightmares all sennight, and they're about you."
"I do not need the child's affection, only his obedience."
Robert's head jerked up. "You don't mean that," he said quickly. He did not want to believe that his father has just said such a cruel thing. The lord of Locksley sighed. "Does the whelp come crying to you?"
"I want you to answer my question."
"You must answer mine."
"Yet mine came first."
"I am your father. Answer me."
Robert glared at the table, fighting the need to be an obedient son. It wasn't fair to treat Geoffrey like that, and for seemingly no reason. "He does," he finally spat, turning his head downward to look at his lap. Geoffrey would likely be in his room again tonight, sobbing because of what their father said to him. And Robert would again take the small shuddering form into his arms and try to calm his worries with kisses and encouragement.
"But it's only because you'd be nasty to him!" Robert cried, standing up and shaking with his anger. "Sit down!" his father bellowed. But he didn't care anymore if he was in trouble. It was not fair. "You're right, Father," he barked, "Geoffrey will be perfect for the priesthood. You're so damned unkind to him he should bloody well be canonized!" With that, Robert threw his chair onto the ground. The splintering of wood soothed his anger, elevating it to the disapproval of a superior, replacing the helpless rage of before. He spat at his father and stormed out of the room, ignoring the latter's loud threats and orders. He didn't care for that man's approval anymore. His temper was ignited, and he could barely keep from screaming in rage and tearing his hair out. He loved Geoffrey, why couldn't his father? What reason on God's green earth did the man have for loathing a little boy?
Robert entered the armory quickly. Geoffrey was huddled on the floor a few feet away, wrapped in the edges of a tapestry and sleeping. Robert smiled warmly, thinking that his younger brother was quite endearing. He was, if possible, smiling in his sleep. Robert paused for a moment, lost in thought, and then decided to leave him there. Geoffrey, for some reason, preferred the armory to anywhere else in the house. He noiselessly came towards his brother, and kissed the smudged forehead. "I love you, my Geoffrey," he whispered.
"Love you too, Robert," Geoffrey murmured, eyes still closed. Robert jumped. "Do you want to sleep in your bed, little one?"
"Nay, I prefer it here."
Robert smiled again. "I'm still around if you have another nightmare." Geoffrey shrugged, and his fingers played absently with the tapestry. "I never have nightmares when I'm in here."
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Robert sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. Something small and warm hit him full in the chest, and he gasped from the impact. He groaned again, and heard Geoffrey's small whimpers in the darkness. Sighing, he seated himself on the edge of his bed and held out his arms. The small creature sank into his arms and refused to remove itself from the hold.
"Eh, Geoffrey, calm down. I'm here, now." He yawned again, stroking his brother's hair affectionately. Geoffrey only moved to sit beside Robert, and he certainly did not stop crying, but he did loosen his ferocious hold on Robert's chest. "Sorry, Rob," he murmured, hiccupping.
"Ah, 'tis fine, little one." The elder couldn't see his brother's features in the darkness, but he smiled in the general direction of where he was sure the head was, hoping it would be returned.
His head jerked upward. The light of a torch filled the hallway outside his room, and he shuddered when he saw his father's irate face glowering in the harsh glare. Geoffrey's sobs grew frantic, and he buried his face against Robert's chest, shaking badly.
"What do you want?" Robert snapped, watching his father with the disdain of a superior. He lifted his chin high, scowling elegantly. His eyes bore an arrogant confidence of victory that infuriated his father. But Geoffrey was hunched over, hiding under Robin's arm like a frightened hunchback and crying softly to himself.
"Why is the little horror crying?" the lord of Locksley barked, glowering at Geoffrey's bent body. Robert curled his lip in disgust. "Does it really matter to you?" Geoffrey's fingers were fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck, a sure sign he was nervous. Eyeing his father mockingly, he kissed the younger's forehead.
"Geoffrey, stand up," the lord of Locksley ordered. Geoffrey got to his feet slowly, trembling violently with both his sobs and his fear. He turned a frightened, tear-stained face to his father, hugging himself pathetically.
A back-handed slap sent him sprawling.
"Weakling!" his father snapped, "Get out of here this instant!" He jabbed a large finger towards the door, scowling disapprovingly.
Robert stood up. "Nay! Geoffrey, you can stay here if you want!" His father whirled on him. "Do not contradict me!"
"I do not stand idle while my own blood is mistreated!"
Geoffrey crawled to his feet, shaking. His eyes watered when he saw Robert defending him, and he wanted to fold into his older brother's arms. It was so warm and safe encircled in Robert's strong embrace; no one would dare touch him when he was protected by his older brother. And now, frightened witless of his father, he wanted those arms around him so dreadfully his chest ached with the need. But he was not brave enough to openly defy his father's wishes.
However, Robert did the defiant work for him. He strode forward and wrapped both of his arms round his thin waist. Geoffrey grinned, letting the deep ache disappear. He brought the side of his head to rest against Robert's chest and closed his eyes. His father wouldn't dare lay a hand to him now, not with Robert protecting him. He took a deep breath of the never-faltering protection, letting Robert's bravery and strength fill him.
"He can stay here with me!" Robert snapped again.
"He will do as his father tells him, you insolent!"
Geoffrey tried to pull away from Robert's arms, frightened of his fate if he disobeyed. But Robert held him close. "Father's leaving," he promised. He scowled at the lord of Locksley, chin held high, eyes brimming with disdain and loathing. He was confident of victory in this argument. Even his father's impenetrable conscience had to have been affected by the obvious relief that Geoffrey exhibited at the thought of his own father's absence. His little brother nodded vaguely, relaxing into the sheltering hug.
The lord of Locksley stalked out of the area, scowling ferociously. "You will both be punished for this insolence," he promised. Robert sneered contemptuously at him, but Geoffrey shuddered; he was sure his reprimand would be worse than that of his elder brother.
The door slammed against the doorpost, sending Geoffrey into fresh tears of fright. Robert cooed apologetically and led him towards the bed. "Would you like to sleep in here with me tonight, little one?" he asked, smiling brightly. Geoffrey nodded, still clinging to his brother's tunic.
Both of them crawled under the warm coverlet. Geoffrey snuggled up against his protector, nuzzling into his chest. Warm affection spread across Robert's face, and he couldn't keep himself from wrapping an arm round Geoffrey's waist. "Hush, dove," he murmured, running fingers through his younger brother's hair.
Long after Robert had faded into slumber, Geoffrey was awake, listening to the steady breaths that fought away the oppressive night air. His heart would not stop its ferocious pounding, no matter how hard he tried to think of peaceful things. All he could see was his father's irrepressible rage, and the terrifying glower on his face. He was so frightened. So frightened.
He brought his head even closer to Robert's, trying to borrow some of the never-ending courage for himself. But he didn't feel any more courageous than before. But he did feel safe. He closed his eyes, frantic fear assuaged by his brother's presence.
He had nothing to fear – not from his father, not from anyone. Robert would always be there to protect him. Always.
Except for that afternoon. Robert had laughed at him, just like his father. Geoffrey brought his head up to watch Robert's perfect features warily. And he was suddenly very angry, staring at those finely chiseled cheekbones and bright hair from behind his own dark eyes. Scowling, he backed away. He crossed his arms over his chest and blew air into the air irritably. For some reason, that jealous, petulant reaction kept the hysterical pounding of his heart at a minimum.
Robert had laughed at him. Not with him, but at him. As if he were some village idiot taunted for public amusement. But he was not some soulless halfwit to be humiliated to provoke the laughter of his family, he was not. He was just as sensible as Robert, if not more so.
Robert didn't have everything.
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A/N: See? Very inconsequential plot, but some character development. Thanks to all my awesome reviewers! You guys rock my socks! lol. Hope you liked.