5. Player
Before Neal knew what was happening, he found himself alone with the boy, Kel having rushed off to make all the necessary arrangements. He wouldn't have even known where to start, but she had bustled off with a purpose, like she went around adopting servants every day.
Eyeing the pitiful scrap of humanity before him, Neal could not say he was impressed. He had seen half-drowned puppies with more life in them. Yet the boy clearly had fight in him still.
Most of his patients as a squire had scorned the idea of being healed by a noble, but his exalted position had kept their protests to a minimum. They made it clear they didn't trust him, but for the most part suffered in silence as he went about his work. This boy had no compunction about making his opinions heard, which meant that he was supremely brave, supremely stupid, or simply had nothing to lose.
Eying the mottled array of half-healed bruises decorating his thin body through the tears in his clothes, Neal was inclined to think it was the last option. He probably knew he was going to get beaten regardless of whether he held his tongue or not; one had to smile at the pride that drove the boy to fight back in whatever small way he could find.
There was a spark there, something that hadn't been fully beaten out despite the innkeeper's best efforts.
He would never be able to reach the boy while he remained within Peach's sight, and Neal hadn't the slightest idea of how to tempt a ragged nine-year old to willingly submit to a healing. He didn't seem comfortable with anyone save horses.
After a few patient (for Neal) minutes spent trying to coax the boy out with logic, he was forced to turn to his backup plan and walked a few stalls down to where Mage Whisper was stabled. He caught sight of Tobe's bright blue eyes for the first time as the boy looked up in interest, but he feigned innocence and continued about his task without taking note of it.
After a few minutes of silence, Neal saw a small figure standing shielded from him by Whisper, currying his mount's opposite side. Neal waited another few seconds before approaching the boy slowly and offering to tell him the story of the griffin if he would allow himself to be checked out. It was like dealing with a spooked pony- no sudden movements.
Thinking of how quietly the boy had entered the stall- he hadn't even heard the door open- Neal realized the cost of the constant beatings. The boy before him was little more than a ghost, having learned long ago to trust no one and stay out of sight. Neal couldn't blame him for thinking the worst of human nature; he had never seen anything else.
Reaching out a hand to place on the boy's shoulder, Neal saw him flinch back instinctively. How was he supposed to heal someone who wouldn't even let him touch them?
The boy looked terrified, as if the only thing that was keeping him from bolting out the door was his indecision on where to run to. Slow and deliberate Neal reminded himself as he renewed his efforts. Let him see that you mean no harm.
It was times like these that he regretted his lack of University training; surely his father would know how to best deal with a scared-witless patient.
Alanna had taught him so much during his squire years, but patience had never been her forte. She would have likely drawn her sword and threatened the boy into submission, but Neal could see that might not be the best approach in this instance. Besides, there were some things only the Lioness could get away with.
No, he would have to find his own way. Lucky he had always been creative.
Twenty minutes later Neal raised his hand from where it rested on the boy's forehead, his healing complete. He paused for a second in his animated story, earning a glare from his young charge, who clearly resented the interruption.
Well, Father always said I should have been born a Player. He was secretly glad that he had been able to talk the boy around, even if it had required him to recite most of the soppy love ballads he knew before the young boy had finally admitted a graceless defeat.
He had finished reciting the tale of the griffin while he worked, and had started a story about a young girl who went to war on hazing among the palace pages- he thought it particularly fitting given the present circumstances.
The boy was quiet for the most part, but what he did say was candid and cheeky, like when he accused Neal of making everything up or told him to stop flailing about so much, he was frightening the horses.
He had seen something in the boy's eyes before he quickly dropped his head, the same fierce determination that Kel wore when she set her mind to addressing a particularly grievous wrong, that Alanna had when she tackled a group of hill bandits, and that crossed his father's face as he prepared to help a woman through a particularly difficult labor.
And the Stump thought I was bad. I'd love to watch him try to deal with this one. It's the least I could do to thank him for all the quality time he spent educating us young pages.
A clear voice asking if he was finally done broke through his thoughts; he heard the boy mutter something about nobles and their daydreams, it was no wonder that they never got anything done.
Neal liked the boy instantly.