FAWKES

It was a cold wintry night in the east, the open window of his bedroom had made it cold, Fawkes, a child of fifteen years, the Lord and Lady of House Willow, was still lying awake on his bed, staring away at the stars outside his window, the constellation of Bandford can be seen from the eastern skies. 

He had dreamt of going past the kingdom's walls, wishing he had never become a royal, even for a bastard to become a royal was weird enough. It has caused a lot of gossip among the peasants and from the other regions of the land. Fawkes had wished that he had never carried the bastard last name of Warwick, to be the bastard son of Lord Willow. He had thought that being the bastard always gave him misfortunes and had just wished he wasn't born in this world. It is a cruel world with such cruel histories, with such wasteful human dictatorship and legacies. The mad king was probably the best thing that ever happened before he was betrayed and executed on the mountain of Aurel, the last time the Royals went there and about, the head was still there, rotting, with the eyes replaced with a swarm of flies, circling the holes of his skull, making the color black, looking like a void. With him now being called The Lord of the Flies because of it. The demon that flooded the world of Eldevier with darkness.

Fawkes got off his bed and decided not to fix the bedding, the maids had ought to do it later in the morning. He'd pull a book from the top shelves in the corner of his bedroom, The History of Eldevier as the title says. The book was interesting to his eyes. He had reread and reread the book over and over again. The gory details of The Rose that Burns and the deaths and executions that happened over time while the Mad King still ruled over the Southeast's white lands.

As he read through the first chapters of the book, he kept the words of 'the demon that guided the angel back to heaven as he fell in love with her.' Over and over and over again. The tales of the Roses that burnt years ago were fascinating to Fawkes. The illustrated pages in the book and the grisly images were shown, so much so that Fawkes kept looking at them. So much as though his imaginative mind would make him want to go to the Great Wall below south. The divided nations between The Motherland and the Back of the Beyond.

Fawkes closed the book and placed it on his nightstand. He went outside of his room to the kingdom hallways. The rooms of his Half-Siblings were close to his, and the torches on the walls lit the hallway and the entire kingdom, he would want to train in the bailey. He had dreamt of having a sword of his own and clothes that matched the Knights of the Beyond armor and a cloak made off of a wolf pelt. With the pommel of his sword bearing the sigil of The Beyond.

When Fawkes reached the castle's bailey, he saw a line of swords in sequence in its sword holders. From great swords to daggers. But out of the types of swords he'd looked at. He had his sword in its special holder, his half-brother's greatsword next to his, the handle of the sword was gold-plated and the steel was of silver with a tingle of darkness. A sword for a bastard like him, He had named it Prowess. The blade was of medium length. A long sword made out of steel from the Land of the Dragons, or Contra Major, Contra Major has held ancient that is great for killing ghosts, but with each passing sign of the times, the lesser the demand for the ancient steel.

Fawkes would stare at the Pell, then grip the sword with his two hands inwards, before striking the pole, his grunts echoing around the castle. The sound of the sword hitting the Pell itself makes a loud sound.

With each hit and slash that Fawkes had intended onto the pell, a footstep can be heard from the hallways. Fawkes didn't bother to look back, he just kept training his skills in sword fighting. The footsteps gradually became louder and louder, but he didn't care.

Then suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulders. Fawkes was startled and he looked behind him, swinging the sword at the figure as its gloved hand held the blade, stopping it from slashing the figure.

"Father?!" Fawkes exclaimed as he was surprised at his father's sudden appearance, "What are you doing out here early, Father?"

"No, what are you doing out here early, Fawkes." His dad answered back at him with a question.

"I woke up very early and bored. I thought that I should start my training." Fawkes replied as he put Prowess in its sheathe, "Perhaps you can train me if you can, Father."

"I wish that I could, Fawkes." George replied as he put his gloved hand on his bastard son's head, patting it gently, "Perhaps later once I get back from patrolling around Haven." 

"All right, father." He looked up at his father as George removed his hand from the top of his son's head, "If only Ser Stolas were here." Fawkes mumbled as he looked down at the grassy ground of the kingdom's training grounds.

"He'll come back, don't worry, my child."

"Are you sure, Father?" Fawkes asked his Father, looking worried for the wellbeing of the one who had watched over him since he was a child, "May I send an owl?"

"You can," George assured Fawkes as he smiled at him softly, truly showing a father's love for Fawkes, "Perhaps you can train with your brothers?" George suggested as he put his hand on his waist, waiting for Fawkes' reply.

"I guess I can." He replied, smiling at the thought as he never really thought of it. Fawkes had always loved his eldest half-brother, Orwell, as they were close in childhood, even if Fawkes was a bastard half-brother. Fawkes loved his little half-sisters as well and he would go to lengths just to protect them. Fawkes' heart fluttered as he thought of his siblings. Orwell, a sixteen-year-old boy, the eldest of the Willow children and the heir to the throne of Arava, the boy has dark brown hair, inheriting the color of his mother's hair, the piercing blue eyes of the Willows. He is the broad, muscular boy, who is proficient in the arts of Rose Dancing while Fawkes is efficient in the ancient sword techniques of House Willow, Orwell is the better fighter, but Fawkes is a better archer. On the other hand, Cecilia, a thirteen-year-old girl, twin to Emma. Cecilia, and Emma are considered the prettiest of House Willow as they are both visited by suitors left and right, they both have long, silky black hair and slim bodies, and then Emily, the youngest of the Willow children, is a seven-year-old girl whose energy lights up the whole castle. Fawkes loved his half-siblings despite being the bastard in this House of Lords.

Fawkes looked at his father, "Do you have to go right now, Father?" He asked his father curiously, "If there are any thieves, can you bring me a dagger home?" He asked his father as Fawkes gave his Lord Father a warm smile.

"I will, I promise." His father replied as he began to turn around and walk away, walking towards the stables.

Fawkes smiled and watched his Lord Father talk to Maester Kafka as the two men mounted their horses with a unit of knights. Fawkes watched until they went out of the gates of the Haven. Fawkes started to walk back to his chambers, going through the hallway, then back inside his chambers. He listened to the hooves of the horses slowly fade away into the distance as he looked outside of his window, thinking of the great sights beyond the south.