#big scary knights who are good with a kid

The Blackmuir Reign: You Need Not Fear Me

Summary: brief moment before we finally write The Letter. The Henry lookalike kid won’t give Therrin any information.

CW: ***whump of a minor*** (the Henry lookalike boy has suffered a horrific punishment from someone, making Therrin and Rudy even more suspicious of the claims about his heritage. The main characters do not/will not not harm him) mouth whump/body modification/mutilation that has already happened. Medieval/fantasy setting

“You need not fear me,” King Therrin said to the Usurper’s alleged son.

Something like longing stirred in Matteo’s chest. Though the words were not for him, it seemed they still applied. To his dismay he saw the red haired Knight, Rudy, watching him. He glanced away from the King as quickly as he could, his face heating in embarrassment.

The boy had not spoken a word since Matteo and Therrin had entered the room. He’d stopped eating the plate of black bread and goat’s cheese that he’d been picking at before, quiet and somber.

Matteo saw the resemblance immediately. It was in the set of the eyes, the shape of those nose, the jaw. It was striking, though impossible to pin down to one definite feature. He remembered Prince Henry as he’d first met him— in a tunic of Truly white, riding into his father’s camp on horseback, muddy from a scout and smiling.

“I have some questions, as I’m sure you’ve guessed,” Therrin said, in the same tone as if he were speaking to one of them. His blue eyes searched the boy’s face, flicking back and forth. “There are no wrong answers. I ask only that the answers you give me are honest. If you don’t know an answer, that’s okay too. Just tell me you don’t know, and we’ll move on.”

The boy’s nostrils flared slightly and his jaw jumped. He pulled his hands into his lap, staring at the remaining bread on the plate. His chest rose and fell faster. Up close, Matteo could see the shadow of a bruise on the boy’s cheek.

“Will you not answer your King?” Rudy nudged. The Knight looked huge next to a boy of twelve, like two men stacked together and wearing partial armor, a broadsword at his hip. His reddish beard had begun to grow back in, partially obscuring a scar on his chin that shaving had revealed.

The boy looked at Rudy apologetically, his eyes big and pleading. He began to appear visibly distressed, looking at each of them in turn. Matteo wondered briefly what Henry might have done in Therrin’s place, but pushed it away quickly. Once, he would’ve laughed at the idea that Therrin was a better King than Henry. But no one knew Henry. Not really. Not even he knew the real Henry, until it was too late.

At last he turned to the Knight and opened his mouth, though no sound came out. Rudy leaned closer, taking the boy by the chin to tilt his face up an inch and peer past his teeth into his mouth. His face fell in a moment of pure disbelief before it grew hard and unreadable again.

“Fucking Hell,” the Knight muttered. Gently, with two fingers, he closed the boy’s mouth by pressing up on his chin. The boy pulled his legs up on his chair and hid his face in his arms, resting his forehead on his knees.

“He’s not being difficult,” Rudy said gruffly. “Someone’s cut half his tongue out. And fairly recently.”

Matteo rubbed the spot where the knuckle of his pinkie used to be. If this boy was indeed Henry’s, it was like a piece of him was still walking the earth. He wasn’t sure if it was that or the cruelty that had been done to the boy making him so uneasy.

“Who did this?” Therrin nearly whispered, to keep the anger out of his voice. “That nobleman? Burns? He dares?”

Rudy looked at the child with weathered, resigned sympathy. He put a hand on his back, and rubbed a gentle circle with his big hand. “Can you write, little one? Do you know your letters?”

The boy only burrowed his head deeper into his forearms. Rudy kept rubbing circles, did not push any further.

“I forbade loss of life or limb as punishment without my express permission,” Therrin said. “I do not want to hear they’ve started cutting out tongues because it does not constitute as a limb. And a boy of twelve summers? Did they do this so he could not confirm or deny their allegations about Henry?”

“He can still shake his head yes or no,” Matteo pointed out. “Even if he does not read or write, and cannot speak.”

“Not if he’s been threatened sufficiently,” Rudy said darkly. “If you ask me, the poor thing’s terrified to communicate with us at all.”

“Then this will not help,” Therrin said, drawing his finger in a circle at the three of them there, speaking of him as if he wasn’t present. “Find out what you can, Rudy. I want him to understand he’s not going to be hurt.” He spoke in the boy’s direction. He was likely listening, even if he could not speak. “Not here. Not with us.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Matteo?”

Matteo pulled his gaze from the boy’s coppery bowed head, thinking morbidly of what it would feel like to have his jaw forced open and his tongue cut from his head.

“Come with me. We’ve a letter to write.”

He followed Therrin from the room, his feet like blocks of stone.

The Letter. This minor complication was not a distraction from the real issue— a potential rebellion or resistance in the south.

Therrin waited for Matteo to fall in step beside him in the hall. They walked alongside one another instead of Therrin leading.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“He’s… he looks like him,” Matteo admitted. “Like Henry.”

Therrin sighed. “I still think it’s weak evidence for murder. I bet you could find a child passable for a Truly in every village in the Muirlands. We start killing everyone in the north who resembles a dead King and we’re going to have a lot of blood on our hands.”

We, Matteo noticed. Our. 

“What are you going to do, Your Grace?”

Therrin stopped. Matteo did too. Therrin looked up the hallway to make sure they were alone before cupping Matteo’s face in both hands.

“I’m going to convince you to call me Therrin again, first,” the King said, looking straight into Matteo’s eyes. “And write to your big brother in the hopes we are still friends, and keep my head and my crown both.”

“You’re not going to mention Martin Spearly?” Matteo asked. It was easier to be direct like this, with his face in Therrin’s hands. He was braver than if the King was across a room. “About the rebellion?”

Therrin let him go. They began to walk again. “If I have my way, we’ll never speak of it again.”