Stories Thread

[AussieGiant]

Caernarvon 1095

Alain stood on the battlements of Caernarvon castle as it overlooked the Irish sea. In his minds eye he could see the English ships blockading the port of Dublin while the English troops ringed the city itself.

Was it fear, was it prudence, he could not tell what it was that had made him hesitate in attacking the city when he had the chance. The feeling of doom was certainly upon him from the journeys very beginning. His nights were broken by dreams of his death in Dublin, he would wake covered in sweat, swiping at an imaginary spear being driven up into his heart, his steed Cyril too late in crushing the spearman’s head with his hooves.

He was broken from his revere by his veteran retainer.

“Sire, the kings report has arrived. You should return to Paris for the Council.”

Alain took the report and read. It was short, it was damning. He had failed to achieve the objectives laid out by the King and now was being held accountable for that failure.

Without turning from his wind swept view, he spoke. “Thank you Julien, that will be all.”

He resumed his watch of the ocean, thinking back to a time when he was younger.

William had sired Alain on his fiftieth naming day. As a result even in Alain’s youth, he was an old man, in addition to this he was a bitter, aggressive but he was still his father.

The old Duc of Bretagne was half English, half French and he never seemed to forget that and as a result William seemed to hate the world for this twist of fate.

He would goad Alain in public, calling out sarcastic hurtful words in sword practise while in front of the assembled knights and tutors.

“Get a butterfly net Alain!!” he would shout when his eldest son would fail defending himself correctly.

Alain had slowly learned to hate his father, it would fester and simmer under the surface, exploding occasionally under severe stress or public humiliation. The Ducal house would become an icy place while the two fought. His mother Janice and his younger brother Stephen would make every effort to smooth the waters. Thankfully the old Duc was as quick to anger as to forget and things would return to normal quickly. However it was the constant sniping and snide comments that soured everyone eventually. That was the real and insidious effect his father had on everyone.

His mother, once beautiful and vibrant, was slowly reduced to a woman of few words, lines of worry and concern etched her face. She rarely spoke to her husband in the presence of others, fearing they would argue or William would explode into a rage while disagreeing with her on some matter. It was excruciating to watch.

His father’s specialty was public humiliation, he was relentless, vicious and utterly without compassion. He seemed to pride himself in being able to force people to lose their temper as his will demanded, or simply having to leave his presence because they could take no more.

Yet he had found himself trying to please his father all his life. Striving to hear just one kind word, just one encouraging sentence, one act of compassion or love.

In reaction to this Alain was a young man of two characters. One was created to ignore or appease his father, providing a public face to those watching the family. He was witty, oblivious, unconcerned and carefree to such an extent Alain would surprise himself.

The other was developed to fight fire with fire.

Explosive, quick to anger, ruthless, mean spirited, this “Alain” was as sarcastic, humiliating and aggressive as his father. It was this “Alain” that would rise and take over for short periods. This was the person that would be taken with rage at the hateful words of his father and react in kind, this was the person who would smash the knights instructing him, beating them until they cried for mercy. This was the person who would lash out at his mother at some small word, or beat and kick his brother when taunted or provoked.

That Alain had seemingly died at the same time as his father had passed away, the same day his brother Stephen had fallen from the walls of Rennes to be paralysed in both legs, the same day his mother had left the family home and walked with bare feet to a church in Paris to disappear from his life.

Even in death the hate for his father still burned.

The Kings words echoed in his mind.