First Person - Historic Fantasy Novelization – Adult / Child Characterization
Mid story excerpt - 1450’s era Baltic coast.
Nicholas 14.April.1443
After months of begging, the day had finally arrived. Though the sky outside my window had yet to hint the dawn, I could constrain myself to neither bed nor sleep. Poor Warin woke to the weight of me leaping onto his narrow bed followed by demands to be dressed and readied like some unruly wild-kinder.
“There may still be flurries on the wind,” he warned through a stiffened yawn. “Waxed wool I think, to keep you warm.”
As a boy of eight, I cared nothing for practicalities. What I wanted was to look smart in front of the other sailors on my first trade voyage, but the loss of my governor’s sleep was clearly not endearing me to him.
“I want to wear the green one,” I said with a hard point towards a forest green cape folded overtop a matching pair of leggings and an embroidered doublet.
Warin never refused me outright, not for anything, and yet rarely do I recall getting my way. His method of asking pointed questions was usually enough to show me the error of my follies, but not this time. “And what will your father be wearing?” her asked while still riffling through my clothing chests.
I moaned, and in feeling that was insufficient, stomped my foot. “But they already like him!” It was true; everyone loved my father, or so I thought. It would be several years yet before I understood the difference between adulation and deference.
“You’re the son of the man who pays their wages, they have to like you.”
I paused. “Father pays your wages too.”
The pout I gave seemed to immediately melt Warin’s frustration as he ducked down to my level. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”
My eyes grew wide as excitement overtook dismay. “Yes!”
“Hmm, are you sure?” he paused in mock scrutiny. “Because if you say anything I’d be in big trouble.”
“I promise! Tell me, tell me!”
“I’m trusting you now,” Warin teased, drawing out the tension like spun candy before finally giving a curt nod. “What your father doesn’t know is that I made a promise to look after you, so even if he stopped paying me, I’d have to keep doing it, because that’s what a promise is.”
“But what if you decide that you don’t like me anymore?”
“That would never happen.”
“But what if it did? Thomas and William used to like me, but now they hate me.”
“Oh child,” he sighed as he pulled me close. “Your brothers don’t hate you. They’re just jealous.” I felt so warm and safe with Warin. While I loved my father, he rarely showed any such affection.
“But what are they jealous of?” I asked after he released me. I was at an age where I asked endless questions and had come to recognize his conflicted gaze. The honest answer he wanted to give me was not always the one he was permitted to.
“You’re older than they are and will get to do many things that they cannot, like going with your father on this trip. Imagine how hurt you would be if they went but you were forced to stay home.”
“But that’s not my fault,” I reasoned.
“And it never will be, but that’s the way with envy.” Warin handed me a pair of grey wool pants. “These will keep you dry should you encounter any storms.”
I took them reluctantly but then looked longingly towards the riding outfit I had been gifted yesterday for my birthday. The fabric had been dyed to mimic the smart style worn by a group of visiting knights we hosted during the Yuletide hunt. “No, Warin! These are so ugly.”
Warin followed my eyes to the set hanging from the door hook again. “Your father would toss me out like a beggar if I let you go in that. These will keep you warm. Now get dressed while I fetch your meal.”
I disobeyed him, of course, and ran to my father’s room to beg for his approval. “You’ll regret not listening to Warin, but you’re old enough to decide for yourself,” he agreed before his gaze shifted to the doorway. There Warin stood holding my breakfast tray, his eyes wide and fretful, yet he held his tongue. Feeling triumphant, I ran past him with a gloating smirk and got dressed.
Even as we boarded the cog, I knew I had made a terrible mistake but was too stubborn to admit it. The briny air was beginning to stir over open waters as the sun lost ground to the increasing cloud cover. Sailing the Baltic in March meant braving foul weather, but we didn’t even make it an hour from port before the wind picked up and fat raindrops began to splatter the deck. I had been tasked to learn riggings, but as another gust slapped menacingly at our canvas, I was shooed off so the crew could reef the sail. Cold and of no apparent use, I abandoned my spot along the starboard railing and headed for my father’s cabin.
“And where are you off to?” he called out as the rain intensified, mixing now with tiny pellets of ice.
“Down below, so that I don’t—”
“Has my son suddenly become a daughter?” He yelled the insult loud enough for everyone to hear, and the laughing of the crew shrank me where I stood.
“No, father,” I answered as my cheeks burned with shame.
“Then get your ass back to your station.”
As we stared each other down, the storm unleashed its full torrent, soaking us all like ditch rats. My cloak clung to me like a sodden web and hindered my every movement, so I reached up to unhook it. The glare from my father as I tossed it aside forewarned his wrath should it be ruined.
Drenched to the bone, I grabbed the rope I was handed and leaned back with all my weight. My fingers grew numb within moments, and it was all I could do just to keep them curled around the line. I didn’t even know what it was attached to, but I refused to disappoint my father again by buckling.
As the winds howled across the deck with merciless force, my entire body shivered until I thought that my very heart might quake free from my chest. Hair whipped into my eyes while salt spray from the breaking waves scoured my face raw. Misery turned to fear as I wondered how long we could possibly survive in such hellish conditions. Then I took stock of the other sailors.
They were fine, each going about their tasks with precision and determination. They were cold, no doubt, but in their waxed wool they could survive the harshness of the Baltic Sea. I was the only one who would not.
That look of dread from Warin played over in my mind. Did he know my father would do this? Why hadn’t he tried harder to make me understand? He promised that he liked me, and I believed him, which led to the worst possible thought—what if my father intended to let me freeze to death?
Though it was obvious I had learned my lesson, my father refused to relieve me of my post. I had wanted so desperately to sail a trade run with him, but he must have known I’d see myself as above the work of the crew. By the devilish look in his eyes, I now understood that he would rather have me die right there on deck than risk raising me soft.
And so I had no choice but to stay and hold.
Soon, my body began to shake so violently that I believed my muscles would tear themselves apart. Everything that was exposed to the elements had turned a furious shade of red, and I feared I would lose my fingers. Still, if that was to be my father’s punishment for foolishness, I would accept it as my duty to bear. Not long after, my mind began to wander in an attempt to break free from the abuses of my body.
And then it all stopped. Warmth crept through me like a meandering fog as my eyelids grew unbearably heavy. With my back braced against the side deck, I gave ground to the overwhelming fatigue.
“You are relieved,” my father barked in my ear as his huge hands encircled mine to remove the frozen crust that covered them. I was delirious and fought him as the first needle pricks of feeling rushed back into my fingers. “Get yourself to the stove and then find the clothes Warin packed for you in my cabin. I’ll expect you topside in an hour to finish your shift.”
I saw my own sense of confused betrayal reflected back through his eyes. He could have ended my torment at any time, but he waited until the last possible moment. All the pure love and childish admiration I had felt for him drew its last breath on that deck.
“I’m proud of you,” he called out as I struggled to work my numb legs towards the steps. I paused then and looked back, noticing that the rest of the crew had paused to watch our exchange.
I hate you, I nearly said, but a different sort of chill suddenly gripped my heart. I now knew to fear my own father. If he could choose to do this to me, then what else was he capable of?
“Yes, sir,” I said and left to tend to my own needs.