Brendan DePiercy's Background II

Brendan DePiercy,

Fifth son of Stuart DePiercy II

The family were all present, arranged in a line down the corridor towards his fathers study, when the yeoman who had found him wandering back onto the estates some days later brought him in.

His brothers all wore expressions of annoyance and worry, there was no kindness in their eyes for their wayward brother today. The yeoman rapped sharply on the study door, opened it enough to poke his head into the room and state,

'He's here' before thrusting Brendan through before turning and heading back to his duties. Stewart, his oldest brother followed him inside and closed the door.

His father, Stuart DePiercy the elder had evidently been stewing for days, though an occasional twitch in his eye was the only tell of the foul mood he was in at first.

'Tell me, my son,' he spat those last two words out, 'how many hours a day, do you think, do the priesthood of Crowa set aside for traipsing through the woods'

'None father' Brendan addressed to his feet

'You'd be right there, you'd BE DAMN RIGHT. WHAT IN SHARDA ARE YOU PLAYING AT YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT. YOU HAVE A PLACE! A PURPOSE! AND IT IS NOT GETTING YOURSELF COVERED IN MUD NEXT TO TWO OF THE MOST DANGEROUS PLACES IN BERWICKSHIRE YOU STUPID LITTLE BOY'

he took a deep breath as he calmed himself and Brendan felt his face burning, tears of anger beginning to sprout in the corner of his eyes as his father continued,

'If I have to lock you in this tower Brendan, I will, whether you like it or not you are a little lord and your fate has already been decided. You will play the part your mother and I have picked out for you. One way or the other. Now get out of my damn sight. AND STAY IN THE BLOODY SPIRE!'

Bren turned to leave and saw his oldest brother standing by the door, he searched Stuart's face for compassion, begging for help with his eyes, but on this occasion his brothers face was as unyielding as the armour he wore. Stuart simply opened the door and stared at Bren silently until he went through it.

He fled through the corridor and down the winding stairs of Deepspire, out into the grounds, some ways from the house proper and it's surrounding outhouses, to and ancient Oak tree that stood lone vigil in a wild-flower meadow. There in the base of the tree was a hollow, easily deep enough for a fully grown man to crouch in if he wanted to.

This was Brendan's safe place, and it was here that he curled up and cried his bitter tears against the tyrannous stars which plotted his fate.

To be born a lord had been curse enough for him; he was to be lectured and drilled all day everyday for years and years, all freedoms denied to him until one day he would marry someone he did not know for some reason he did not care about, all because of the blood in his veins.

But his ill fortune ran deeper still, a DePiercy son had been promised to the church of Crowa, Goddess of battle and defender of the weak, and he was to be that son.

Sobs racked his frame as he thought on it, curled beneath his tree. The DePiercys where a Crowan family through and through, her standard was one of those that flew from the roof and her symbol was engraved all over the place. His mother was a former Crowan rose and his older brother already was a squire for the Griffin order of knighthood. For his whole life, every rule placed on him was placed with her in mind and in his heart, he began to hate her a little, her and every knight that ever walked on Ithrons beautiful soil, and he added in every noble that ever lived for good measure.

The thought shocked him from his tantrum; it was borderline blasphemous and struck against everything he had known!

And yet, as he considered it, he could not help but accept some truth to it. Each man should be based on his own merits and strength in his eyes, and he had no real love for Crowa. And knights, well they looked fancy but Bren had never understood why they always promised no to do some things. Sometimes you had to do something, even if it wasn’t very good, and promising not to do anything of the sort just seemed to be setting yourself up for trouble later.

There, tired bitter and alone, underneath that ancient oak, Bren took his first steps towards thinking as a man, not as a child, and he realised he could be In some serious trouble.