Philippe of Morgarath

Chapter Two

‘You, my little brother, are some kind of crazy person.’ Philippe sat in his window, staring at his older brother, walking up and down his room. It’s been a few minutes since Christophe looked up from the stone floor last. Philippe decided a while ago to wait until Chris cooled down, before he answered the guy that was definitely not waiting for a smart-a*s reply.

‘If it would’ve been to me, I mean, sure, but Phil’, Christophe’s voice had a glimpse of anger, a bit of frustration, but somewhere Phil recognized disappointment, ‘Are you for real? Dad was standing, right next to us.’ Chris stopped talking and looked at his little brother. Philippe was leaning with his head on his knees, who were pulled up on the window frame. ‘.. right next to us’, Chris said for a second time. ‘How old are you, by the Gods?’ he asked cynically. Phil shook his shoulders, without lifting his head from his knees.

‘I’d say a winter or seventeen.’

Now, the emotions on Christophe’s face were noticeable. The mixed feelings turned in to proper anger. ‘Are you for real?’ the regent-to-be shouted at his little brother, angry for the childish reply Phil had made.

‘Why ask if you don’t want the answer?’, Phil whispered. Chris rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and took three deep breaths. He pointed a finger at his little brother, and closed his eyes a bit, hoping to intimidate his little brother. ‘Tonight, you behave’, he said. ‘Pretend to be someone else. Just for a few days. This marriage will happen, and no one cares if you agree or not. It’s time to grow up, Philippe.’ Phil rolled his eyes, and wanted to reply, but his older brother continued his speech: ‘You’re next in line to the regency, after me. You will behave, and you will act like the man you are supposed to be. That is what is expected of you, and what you will do. This marriage is important for both of our houses. We need Kwarth, Phil.’ He stopped for a few seconds. ‘And do you know why?’, he continued, after he saw Phil’s defeated facial expression. Philippe nodded. ‘Well?’, Chris pressured him to answer.

‘It’s convenient, and functional’, Philippe said. ‘They are stationed and established on the same island as we are, so combining our houses will create order and peace.’ Christophe nodded in agreement.

‘Besides’, the oldest of the two said to complete Phil’s practiced explanation, ‘the house of Kwarth has been amazing with finances for many centuries. They are rich, Philippe. I’m not sure if you have noticed, but we lost almost every dime we have. The Islands expect more from us, Morwerth needs you to do this, for every single one of our subjects.’

Phil stared at the floor. He couldn’t manage to look at his brother, and see the disappointment in his eyes. ‘This is what mother would’ve wanted you to do.’

That’s where Philippe lost it. He lifted his head from his knees, and looked his brother straight in the eyes. ‘Don’t you dare mention mother’, he hissed at Christophe. Chris laughed, shook his shoulders, turned around and stomped away. Leaving Philippe with a heavy heart.

Philippe didn’t know how much time passed, before someone knocked on the door of the room he was in. The same lackey that got him to leave the practice-fight earlier appeared after the door got opened. ‘They expect you downstairs, my Lord’, the man said static. Philippe, washed and dressed, nodded and followed the guy downstairs. The halls were empty. The only thing he noticed, was the ever so delicious smells coming from the kitchens, smelling even better. Philippe knew, she was close.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and decided to man up. She was only a woman, what effects could she truly have? Other than fear, confusion, suppression… He scraped his throat, shook his head three times and faked a smile. Let the show begin.

The party, being his brother Christophe, his father Malowèn and around thirty other members of the staff stood outside, accompanied by somewhat forty of the members of the royal guard, stood at the gates of the stone castle. The walls of the castle were grey, and thick. Stones Philippe grew up with, never surprised by how firm they were, and how comfortable they made him feel when he was younger and realized how safe it was inside these walls. Outside is a dangerous place…

Philippe moved his hand to his side, and tried to suppress a small panic attack, noticing his sword’s not there. Chris asked him before to leave the weapon inside. He couldn’t possibly greet his fiancée with a sword by his side, said the next in line to the Regency, firmly.

Phil shut his eyes, took a few deep breaths and waited for the loud trumpets confirming the Kwarth-arrival. It did not take long, before the sounds filled the air. The chatter of people chatting, and the big heavy gates opening took over. The courtyard filled quickly with horses, covered in green and golden cloth; the colors of the house of Kwarth. A new sound appeared, the sound of big wheels, who were under wooden carts filled with provisions and also wheels bringing the carriages of the family of Kwarth themselves.

The biggest of all these carriages, was also the prettiest one. It was decorated with green clothes, covered in golden threads and symbols. Light reflected in the golden decorations and Philippe had to close his eyes a bit, to protect them from the sunlight.

He stared at the door of the carriage, seeing two Lackeys running towards it and slowly opening it.

The first who got out of the carriage, was Lord Kwarth, a guy Philippe had seen many times before. The man used to run around the house even more than Malowèn himself. Sometimes with his son, Noern Kwarth, born in the same summer as Philippe, but most of the times the man paraded down the castle halls alone.

After Bullard Kwarth, lord of the house of Kwarth, an older lady stepped out of the carriage. According to the official house traditions this woman, Mahalia Kwarth, was the official head of Kwarth house, but because she was of age, her son took over for her, most of the time. According to the people, he was the one to listen to and the one to respect, but with her being alive the rules remained the rules; until her death, the house belonged to her.

After lady Mahalia, followed her oldest granddaughter. A girl, named after her grandmother. Malia Kwarth was the oldest one of the Kwarth spawn, but because Philippe was not the oldest one himself, he did not get to wed her. He was betrothed to her younger sister: Llona.

This girl, followed her older sister out of the carriage. Her face was cute, her head was covered in blonde locks and her bright blue eyes were big and curious. She reflected sunlight like the carriage behind her did, and Philippe immediately saw that she was adventurous, yet shy. She looked around her the moment she could, probably looking for her fiancée, who she never met before, but the moment her eyes touched his, she turned her glance to the floor.

She had big lips, and the figure of an hourglass. She looked perfect… yet Philippe’s heart did not skip a single beat.

Christophe, who was standing next to his little brother, pranced to lord Bullard. His arms spread welcoming. ‘Lord Kwarth, I am honored to welcome you and your family to our court.’ Malowèn, who followed his oldest son, but let him do the courtesies, followed with a stoic look on his face. He walked directly to lady Mahalia, and kissed her hand to welcome her first. Philippe followed them a few footsteps later, and immediately walked to his bride to be. He bowed in front of her, and gave her hand a kiss when she offered it to him. After the formal greetings with the final two kids of Lord Kwarth, the party walked back to the palace. The women of the company were brought to the chambers to freshen up, and afterwards they all attended a feast in honor of the family.

The room, usually barely used, was filled with people, laughing and chattering. Lifting glasses, screaming and singing. Yet, Phil himself couldn’t manage to keep the smile on his face. He tried to have small chit-chats with those who decided to talk to him, but he couldn’t find himself to not feel trapped within the walls of his own home.

After dinner was done, they were all invited to come to a different room, where the fires were lit and chairs were put in a circle to surround a few minstrels who were trying to sing and dance to lift the mood to the next level.Everyone sat down, and Philippe was handed a glass of liquor that smelled exotic and wonderful. He knew what is was, because he drank it quite often. It was a liquor made of flower extract and fruits. It was drank often by nobles, but Philippe preferred normal, local beer. Moshnabeer, made from the best Moshnagrains.

The first minstrel stood up. He walked towards the fire, and sat down again, with his legs crossed. He put a little instrument on his lap. His eyes were trying to make contact with everyone in the room, while he had a playful smile around his lips.

He sang:

"Noble life, is not what is seems. Things can be different in the blink of an eye.

A little boy, not older than seven, his dad looked away, just for a bit,

He noticed a rock, and a purple glow. Once he took it from below, the glow disappeared.

What happened? I will tell you quickly,

A magician arose, the boy perished,

From now on he was no longer who he was,

He killed his brothers, abandoned his family,

Cared for nothing but the dark,

Muerthalls became his friends, and..."

Christophe's loud voice made the minstrel stop abruptly. Christophe rose from his chair, and shouted: 'Leave. Now.' Everyone in the room looked startled, no one had seen it coming. After the minstrel was escorted out of the room, Chris looked apologetic to his guest. 'Sorry, ladies. Gentlemen.' he sat down, and smiled, like nothing had happened.

Philippe took a sip from his drink. He expected something like this, the moment he noticed the song was about dark magic. The only thing him and his brother had ever heard of his mother's death, was that it had something to do with it. She was a victim, to unwanted magic.

Ever since, Christophe, who slightly remembers his mother still, despised anyone even mentioning it. No one would use magic as a subject of conversation with the regent-to-be.

And Philippe? Magic caused him to wonder. What happened really? He pushed down an urge to run after the minstrel, to ask him questions. What was this story, was it for real? Where had he heard it first?

But he stayed put. His brother's eyes were focused on him... most likely knowing what Philippe's thoughts were. Phil smiled, took another sip and stared at the minstrel, disappearing through the door.