Sorry I had to skip last week, I just wasn't feeling well and didn't get to write much, but I'm back! It's time for things to get ~even worse~!
Chapter 7
He was afraid. So, so afraid.
The further apart he seemed to drift from Edmund, the more anxious Ian became. He was second-guessing himself at every turn, holding his tongue whenever another servant spoke to him about anything other than work. And that only made him feel more guilty for being so rude, something he'd never been concerned with at all before. But he couldn't risk it. Even so much as taking too long a break was a bad idea. He wasn't going to put himself, and much less them, in danger. Not again. Not now that he knew.
"What's the matter with you, eh? Cat's got your tongue?"
Aggie got to him quickly, though. She wouldn't be ignored.
"It's nothing," Ian mumbled and shook his head, hoping she wouldn't pry, but of course he had no such luck.
Agnes stopped what she was doing and dusted off her hands before leaning forward, her elbows crossed on the table in front of her. Her tone softened.
"What's on your mind, love?" she asked but Ian just glanced at her and away again, "Is it Ed?"
She saw the way he grimaced and tried to hide it, and sighed, "I'd really hoped you wouldn't ever have to see this side of the job."
Ian finally looked at her, "This happened before?"
"Rarely," Agnes said with a short nod, "He isn't usually so violent. But he is aggressive."
"Why?"
"Well, he isn't exactly thought of in the highest regards amongst the queen's courtiers," she explained, "They look down on him there, so when he comes home, he takes it out on us. Reassures himself of his status by lordin' it over us peasants. That's why he cares so much about his title. Reminds him at least he's better than us."
"And there's nothing we can do about it?"
Agnes paused and glanced to one side. Ian followed her gaze and noticed another member of the kitchen staff, an older girl he wasn't especially familiar with, was watching them with a somewhat worried expression. Her eyes met his briefly then darted away and she turned back to her own work, and Ian looked back at Agnes. The silence stretched on for a few short seconds longer, then she shook her head.
"There should be."
The look on her face told him she wanted to tell him more – so much more – but for one reason or another, she couldn't. Instead, she straightened up, clapped her hands together and plastered on a smile.
"Right, we better not waste anymore time. His lordship'll be expecting to be fed soon."
With that, Ian was quickly swept up in helping prepare the meal, but Aggie wasn't going to let him stew in his sadness the whole time; they could make a little extra of the earl's dessert and save it for themselves. He needed it right now. And they'd put aside a small helping of gingerbread for Edmund, as well, for Ian to take to their room after the working day was over. Something to say that, even after what happened, they were still friends. The earl couldn't stop that.
But when the two of them were getting ready for bed that night, and Ian offered Ed the gingerbread, he stopped. Ed didn't look... well. His head was drooping a little and from what Ian could see, his eyes looked slightly sunken and his skin sort of pale. Still, Ian held out of the plate to him and he took it. But he put it down again after only a couple of bites.
"What's wrong?" Ian asked, concerned, but Ed just shrugged and gave him a small, apologetic smile as he climbed into bed.
"Nothing. I'm just tired. Thanks, though."
He pulled the covers up and rolled over. Ian sat for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek anxiously, then reluctantly lay down on his own bed and, after some time, finally willed himself to sleep.
– SUCH SWEET SORROW –
It wasn't a surprise when Edmund fell ill and was confined to his bed for a short while. Ian did fear that it may have been a result of his injury, and not properly caring for it or letting himself rest as he probably should have. The surprise came when the earl called on Ian soon after. Very soon.
"Seeing as Edmund is currently incapacitated," he began, with a small smirk on his face. Like he was excited. Like this couldn't be more perfect, "And you, Ian, have been training under him since you arrived here, you will be taking over his duties as my page. For the time being, of course."
"W-what?"
The earl narrowed his eyes, "What?"
Ian immediately corrected himself, clearing his throat, straightening up, and making sure to not look the earl directly in the eye, "I- Well, with respect, my Lord, I was hoping I would be able to tend to Edmund while he's ill. To ensure his recovery, so he can return to work as soon as possible."
"And leave me without a page in the time that would take?"
Ian's eyes bulged and he quickly took it back, "No, of course not, my Lord. How foolish of me to suggest such a thing."
"Good. Besides, Ian, as I have already mentioned to you," the earl went on, now shooting Ian a pointed look, "Your focus should be on your work, not on your friends. Friends you shouldn't really have in the first place, need I remind you."
Ian dropped his head, "Of course, my Lord."
"And, in that regard, I think your time would be better spent on something more productive. You will also be dedicating any spare time you may have to learning to read and write. I expect that will be useful to your job in the future."
This was a surprise.
"Writing, my Lord?"
"Yes. Edmund was required to read and write as my page, so should you be."
"But-" he cut himself off, but the earl had heard him.
"'But'?"
"... Won't I only be taking this position... temporarily?"
There was a long pause as the earl stared him down.
"Do not question my orders, Ian. You shall do as I say. Or you know what will happen."
Ian gulped, "Yes, my Lord."
– SUCH SWEET SORROW –
Time passed, and although Edmund seemed to be slowly recovering, the earl insisted he still was not fit to return to work. Ian made progress in learning to read and write, enough to satisfy his master, and he easily fell into his new role as page. Fear ruled him now, and he was terrified of what may happen if he took even a single small step out of line. He managed to stay out of trouble and not incur the wrath of the earl in that time. He behaved. As long as he behaved, he'd be alright. If he didn't give him a reason to punish him.
He'd be alright.
Or so he thought.
Ian, far too scared now to risk making fun of it anymore, was always sure to have nibbles on hand for the earl; a constant supply provided by Agnes of whatever sweet treats he might be craving at any moment. And on that particular day, he was ready for when the earl would arrive home from his day at court. The second he walked into the room, Ian was standing bolt upright, holding out the tray for him with the painfully forced smile he had taken to wearing around the earl these days.
In an instant, the tray was snatched from his hands and unexpectedly thrown back at him with such force that it sent Ian tumbling to the floor, food flying across the room, much of it hitting him directly, and his leg twisting awkwardly beneath him. The tray clattered to the ground beside him.
The Earl of Croydon did not so much as break his stride.
"Clean up that mess, Ian." As if it hadn't been his fault.
He was furious.
"I'll be taking my dinner in my private chambers."
He was fuming.
"And I will otherwise not be disturbed for the rest of the night!"
Ian managed to call out a weak "Yes, my Lord...!" just in time before the door swung closed behind the earl and he was gone.
It must have been a bad day at court.
Ian shakily pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at how his leg ached, and began slowly gathering up the scattered food from around him as he held back his tears. So this was it. This was what he left his family for.
And for their sake, he couldn't leave.
Now that he was working so closely with him, Ian found this was the norm with the earl. He threw things, dropped things, shouted at the top of his lungs. He moved around with grand, sweeping gestures, and absolutely no consideration for anyone near him. He only ever spoke well of himself, and everyone else was practically worthless in comparison. Just like Aggie said, he was better than them. He had to be. He would accept nothing less.
And with this increase in Ian's daily suffering, he wondered if this was how Edmund had been living. If it was, at least he had saved him from it, if only for a little while. That kept him going.
He hadn't properly rested his leg after the fall, and it didn't take long for someone to notice. He was retrieving the earl's food from the kitchen when Agnes stopped him.
"Are you limping?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
"It's nothing," he said quickly, "No need to worry."
"I do worry, Ian, you've got no-one else looking out for you here, and if you're hurt-"
"Really, Aggie, I'm fine. It's just a sore leg, I'll be alright."
The clock in the next room chimed and Ian tensed up.
"His Lordship's expecting me. I'd better go."
He hobbled off before she could stop him.
– SUCH SWEET SORROW –
Edmund was on the mend, and Ian was relieved, but they both should have known better than to have any hope of things improving.
The earl had found himself in trouble, though he was vague on what sort of trouble exactly, and he gathered all of his staff together to make an announcement; some of them were being let go.