Philippe of Morgarath

Chapter One

Chapter one.

It couldn't have been early in the morning, yet the sun hurt. Sweat dripped down his face, cooling his neck. A wide grin appeared, while he held the weapon in his hands tightly.

His chain armor was hot, his shield was heavy, but still he couldn't be in a better mood.

Across from him, there was a man. Probably around five years older than he was. The man still wore his helmet, while he himself lost it at the beginning of the fight.

In his hands, the opponent held a big, shining sword, and a round, heavy shield to protect himself with.

'And, about to quit?' he mocked. The only answer his opponent gave was: 'Quit what? We knew this would take a while, Philippe. You need more to beat me, than a pretty smile.'

Philippe raised his sword and put a step towards his opponent.

Though, Sander started the next move. He screamed loud, ran towards Philippe and raised his sword, hoping he could give him a painful blow to the neck. Yet, not totally unexpected, Philippe caught the blow with his own sword, and in the meantime he jumped left, trying to ruin Sander's balance.

Sander quickly turned around, and was now the one that avoided an attack. This one coming from Phil, aiming towards his side. He pushed his shield to Philippe, and the loud sound of steal banging upon hard wood filled the sky. Both their arms shook, and Phil jumped away from his opponent. Clearly noticing they were too close to each other. His eyes didn't let go of Sander's.

Again Sander started the attack. He ran towards Philippe, and tried to push away his shield with his sword, wasn't it for Philippe to quickly push his shield upwards, making Sander loose his balance for a few.

He quickly recovered from the surprise and turned around to Phil. He laughed. 'Are we cheating, Phil', he shouted at the boy. 'I thought you wanted to fight honorably.'

Phil shook his shoulder, spat on the floor and answered with a smile on his face: 'And there I was, thinking you were trying to win, my friend.'

With renewed energy and adrenaline, Sander ran towards his partner, this time with a different approach. He raised his sword, to adjust his aim the moment Philippe tried to block him. Quickly Philippe bended a knee, which caused the sword to hit his shield, instead of his leg. He didn't waste a second, jumped up and surprised with a blow back: he pushed his sword against Sander's, and turned around with the movement of the shield, to end up behind the man. Still holding the shield, he kicked his knees and Sander fell down to the ground. He dropped his sword, while his shield fell on top of him, hurting his back.

Philippe aimed the tip of his sword above the man's stomach and panted the official words of a duel won: 'Your sword is now mine.'

Sander spat on the floor, helped himself get back on his knees and laughed when Philippe asked him: 'Again?'

'Philippe of Morgarath?' Phil turned around and looked straight in to the bright blue eyes of a man he only recognized by the colour of the clothes he wore: green and yellow, the colours of his house's banner. He nodded to the servant, and turned back to Sander. 'I owe you one.' He slid his sword back in to the old, worn-out scabbard he wore on his side. Then he ran towards the servant.

'They here yet?' he asked the man, who shook his head and didn't answer. The only thing Philippe got, was a sign that he had to walk with him.

'Are they here yet?' he asked again, this time using a more heavy voice, making the man know he had to respect him, even though he was the youngest of his family.

'Your father is waiting for you, my lord', the servant said.

Phil relieved his neck from the fighting stress by making it c***k, and let the man guide him through the halls of the castle.

During the walk, he looked at the halls where he ran as often as he did when he was a kid. He noticed with curiosity in his eyes, that the halls were filled with people. The castle was crowded; more than usual. Servants and helpers ran up and down, trying to refine his home, inside and outside. Walls were brushed, paintings were dusted and from all three kitchens the castle had, loud shouts and screams appeared, together with loud commotion. Also, which Philippe didn't mind at all, a beautiful smell filled the halls, one which made him realize he was more hungry than he knew.

He folded his hands together on his back, and scraped his throat. The man guiding him, looked back out of curiosity, but did not start a conversation.

'Philippe of Morgarath', the man introduced him the moment they entered the throneroom.

In the middle of the room, there were three men. Among which his older brother, Christophe, and his father.

'Philippe', said the first, while walking towards his little brother.

'Christophe', Phil answered his brotherly hello.

Christophe took his hand, and pulled him towards the middle of the room, where he let go of him. 'We were discussing', now it was their father who spoke, Malowèn, lord of Morgarath and Morwerth. 'It appears that the Kwarth company, isn't half a day's journey away from us. They'd stop for a while in Minýon, but instead they did not.' Philippe nodded to his father.

Malowèn of Morgarath, regent of Morwerth, had a beard, the exact same length as he always had. His hair was grey, with black strokes, while his beard was black. In the past, his head was covered with wild, black hair, but with the days passing it turned more grey, and thin.

Non of his two sons inherited his colour. Both of the boys had dark, brown hair. With volume, yes, but more smooth than wild.

Philippe did inherit his eyes, bright and blue, while Christophe had his mother's eyes, green with darker spots hidden in them. Although, Christophe's figure and built, looked more like his father's, while Philippe's was more similar to what his mother's had been.

Phil looked around, and noticed the throneroom was more tidy than it used to be. The room was used often for meeting with commoners and landlords. Official happening took place here as well. Other than that, the room was barely used. This is why it was quite empty too.

One big chair, which used to function as a throne, stood in the back of the room, and the big, tall windows were covered with soft, velvet curtains. There were painting too, made by former rulers. Other than that, there was nothing.

Ever since a few hundred years or so, the dynasty in Morwerth got removed. The ruler ruling back then, king Hendrew Limake, died without giving the people a new ruler. He tried a lot, but never seemed to be able to create an heir. He was the last of his own family, no brother or sister to take the throne.

Instead of looking for family far away, the people of Morwerth decided to start elections. Of course, these were only for the richest of the people, but that made sure that Morwerth's treasure chest stayed full enough to pay for the people.

They got rid of the name king, and turned the dynasty into a regency. Because the first regent did his job as well as he could be, a second election never took place. After he died, his son got the regency, and his son after him. The regency basically turned back into a dynasty, but the name didn't change back.

Before the family of Morgarath got the throne, it used to belong to the family Manerth, before which it was in the hands of the family Yaarth. This family, where Philippe's mother was the oldest daughter, tried to put their banner, with house Gibbëon as owners of their island of Tyrewell, back on the throne. Something that would've worked out, wasn't it Christophe getting the throne.

'Phil...' Christophe turned around to his little brother and said: 'I want you to clean up, and put on your most neat set of clothes. Do not worry about the conversations that will take place these next few days, we will arrange what's been said and done. You know what we expect of you, don't you, brother?'

Philippe nodded, and tried to use the same tone his brother used at him. 'I have to be pretty. I have to sit still, and not talk. If someone asks something of me, I have to respond politely, and with more than one word. If people smile at me, I smile back. If there's alcohol, I don't drink too much.'

Christophe smiled at his little brother, but his smile disappeared immediately when he heard what Philippe said next: 'Unless lady Kwarth is very ugly of course.'

A sigh, which was made harmoniously by father and son, appeared near Christophe and Malowèn. Christophe rubbed his own cheeks, closed his eyes and said, trying to stay calm: 'Go. Now.'

Philippe bowed down sarcastically to his brother, and used one of his arms to make it even more disrespectful. Afterwards he turned around, and with big steps, he marched away from both of them. Before he closed the door behind him, he heard his brother say: 'if only this goes well...'