Alexander

The Ceremony

Alexander Troup sat high up on top of the roof of the manor in which he lived and thought. He liked to think, especially with the breeze tussling his hair and the soothing sounds of the trees swaying. Below him a brook bubbled jovially, unaware of the day's happenings. All it had to do was keep on moving, keep on singing. That is, until summertime baked it down to a dusty pit.

Alex presumed that he was much the same. He was fine and dandy, going along his way until his own summertime sun came around for a visit. Like today.

He rested his head in his hands and massaged away a blooming headache. The rest of the manor was feverishly preparing the food and rooms for dear old Nicholas Troup, slayer of the Ylinkin Tribe, and his guests. Well, Sir Nicholas Troup he should say, as his brother was an esteemed knight now. Joy.

If only Lydia would join in the celebration, then maybe he'd consider climbing down. But no, she was getting to know her new husband, General John Miles, and would unfortunately miss the safe return of brother dearest.

Down below, a brief commotion arose as his slightly older brother's horse spooked at a flock of native birds. Josiah swung off his leaping mount and left the young steed to the stable hands. He must have seen Alex in his peripheral because he raised one of his arms to shield his eyes, and the other in a hail. Alex waved back, unsure yet if he was happy to see him or not. Ever since Josiah enlisted as an army initiate, he hadn't come around as often as the others. He was being trained now as a lieutenant under the general himself, which meant he only came into town for very special occasions, such as Nicholas's party.

Alexander sniffed, glaring down at the ground. If Josiah, ever the late one, was here it was time to make an appearance. He rolled nimbly to reach the sheer pole, which he slid down. A little jumpy, he dropped from the pole too early and his feet jolted into the ground. He cried out, attracting the attention of a bright-eyed maid nearby. "You son of a..." he had to pause his narrative because his calf began to cramp, so his words formed into angry grunting. "Oh, I'll go ahead and shove you right up Nicholas's arse, you mark my words!"

The maid giggled. "I think we ought to get you cleaned up first," she said.

"Lily!" Alexander immediately resumed an upright position, turning to face the under-appreciated servant. Her ragged apron hung loosely on her thin frame, leaving much to be imagined, her bows dangling from her back in sloppy knots. But her eyes and smile were stunning. Something quivered inside of him. "What brings you down here?"

"I was going to help fetch the water for the party." She flicked her gaze starting at his toes and up to his head and back again. "However, I think I'm needed in another arena."

Alexander arched his eyebrows interrogatively. "And what would that be?"

She took an unassuming step towards him, close enough to touch, and tugged playfully on the baggy part of his trousers. "Why, dress of course. You're not fit to dance. Hardly the son of a lord I'd say."

He snatched back the fabric from her fingertips and halfheartedly dusted off his stained and hole-filled shirt. "Hardly the son of a lord, anyhow," he said, shrugging.

Lily sighed and started off toward the front doors, beckoning him to follow. "Come on."

He obeyed, mostly so that he could continue to watch her hips sway as she climbed the steep stairs. He could marry next year. Wouldn't it be something if he were able to lift Lily from the ashes, literally and figuratively, and give her the life of a lord's wife? Not that he was going to be lord. Either Josiah or Nicholas would take the position. Probably, Nick. He could see it now, Nicholas using him as an eternal footrest at the end of the great oak chair that would be his throne! And that was if he was lucky. It was a shame that Josiah didn't want the position. He was a born soldier, not made for glory by politics.