ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

He sat before the high table at the head of the small hall, wearing a white top beneath a padded jerkin of black, as well as pants of the same colour as the jerkin, and brown tall boots, already done from eating his morning meal. The food course which had been served was a roasted full goat, seasoned with spices that would make any man’s mouth water, hungry or not, and of course it had made his, he had been hungry beyond doubt when he woke.

Along with the seasoned goat were fruits of different kinds, such as apples and pears and grapes. Apple tarts had also been served, and so was wheat bread to go with the stew flavoured with spices and herbs. 

Before Zephyr were four trenchers, three flat and one round. A flat trencher, which had previously dripped with the juices of a sliced piece of goat meat, was now empty, and so was the round one which had been harbouring the stew; the bread on another trencher had been devoured to a half, while the trencher of fruit had been left untouched. Zephyr had already eaten his fill, and he knew trying to give his belly anymore would only be suicide. 

He had now spent a little over three days in this world, and had come to the conclusion that the meal of his former world was nothing compared to the ones he was eating here. They were devoid of modern chemicals, and retained their natural charms and sweetness, and his tongue always craved more after every meal than his stomach would allow. 

As well, that was the only conclusion he had been able to quickly arrive at in those three days; his exploits at finding the murderer roaming the castle was nothing of a success. He had spat at himself after his return from the brothel two days before, believing he should have pushed the working girl more, and maybe he would have gotten a more tangible result. He was of two minds, two voices. One of which told him it was good he did, while the other was bitter and filled with a seething rage, and he started to wonder since when he had begun to have two contradicting voices stuck in his head. The stress must have begun to get to him in the short time he had spent in this world.

His day was planned already, he had planned it. Having a taster taste his food before every meal wasn’t enough to prevent his death, poison was just one of the many ways he could be killed, he needed to get to the murderer and put them out of order once and for all, and he knew that. 

He took hold of the half-filled cup before him, sent the grape wine in it down his throat, and rose to his feet. Now devoid of hunger and foggy thoughts, his eyes were allowed to glimpse upon the two feasting tables in the small hall, and the people that sat before them.

The table to the right of the hall was occupied by the ones he could call his own. His newfound sibling and brother, Thaddeus, sat nibbling on the apple tarts filling his trencher. He didn’t lay his hands on his stew nor sliced goat meat, all he ate were the tarts, ignoring every other thing that wasn’t them. He always claimed himself a man, but it seemed he still had the taste buds of a child. 

Seated beside Thaddeus was the woman he was now obliged to call his mother. Her fit for the day was a scarlet dress, and atop her embroidered dark hair, sat the small golden crown of the queen. He still didn’t know how to feel about her; it had been easier for him to come to terms with his new life and this world, than live as her son. 

I have a mother—I had a mother. His chest tightened as his mind corrected his claims, while he watched the queen trying her best to convince Thaddeus to cut back on the sweetness of tarts, and instead eat his stew spiced with the healthiness of herbs. She failed though, she was a woman far too lenient, and he was a boy that scarcely listened.

She reminded him of nothing of his mother, well, at least the one he left behind. The one in this hall was loving and kind, while his had lost all her kindness and love after the death of his father. He thought to himself that maybe with this farce he could finally find the love he had lost in his past life; it seemed plausible, all he had to do was accept her as his mother, that was all. 

A sudden flash crept through his mind, and with it came the shadow of a face he knew all too well. He saw her, he saw his real mother, and his mind reminded him that no matter what he did, the dark haired woman seated in the hall would never be his mother. He was an unwanted inhabitant living in the shell of a body of her son, and even if she gave him the love he wanted, it was only because she thought he was her son, and the love would fade as quickly as the shadows of night at dawn if she ever found out he wasn’t. 

After a while, Thalia gave up on convincing Thaddeus to eat his stew with an exhausted sigh, then turned her gaze towards the high table, where her blue haired son stood a beautiful and magnificent man; it filled her with warmth, and that warmth spread onto her lips and became a smile, a warm hearted smile that Zephyr saw but could not return. She was not his mother, he thought, her warmth wasn’t meant for him. 

He removed his gaze from her awkwardly, and turned a quick glance towards the other table at the left of the hall, catching a glimpse of another two works of royalty from the other branch. One a girl, she looked a tad bit older than Thaddeus, and her maturity was evident in the way she ate her stew. She also looked gloomy for some reason, but none that concerned Zephyr. He remembered her, she was the one that avoided his gaze while her mother and brother berated him. He had nothing against them though, the movies and books he had consumed enlightened him on how common it was in this era; everyone wanted the throne, he understood that. 

The other who sat beside her with a curled hair of brown, was the one whom he remembered to reign in his mother during the severe beration he had encountered. He still had his approachable demeanour, one that put him ways apart from his brother. 

He was done eating as well, but still sat, either watching his little sister eat or gazing into his empty trencher of stew; whichever he was doing, Zephyr seemed not to care as he walked away from the high table, and made his way to the feasting table of Thaddeus and Thalia. 

“Eat your stew,” he laid his hand on Thaddeus’ shoulder as he muttered to him. “I’m done eating, Mother,” he added, his gaze on Thalia’s, which looked up at him from below. He told himself he had no choice as he watched the softness of her eyes; he could not tell her he wasn’t her son, he would lose the warmth she fed him with no doubt, but that wasn’t what soared his mind the most at the moment, he wondered if she would break as his mother did, he knew she might, there was little doubt about that, and he would rather play her fake son than watch another mother crumble before him. 

“No,” Thaddeus answered. “I don’t like it.” He looked up at Zephyr. He was almost done with the tarts filling his trencher at this point, and his stew wandered cold with every passing moment. 

“You won’t?” Zephyr leaned close to him, and Thalia watched with a grin briding her face. “I thought you called yourself a man. A man never lets his stew waste. To me you look more like a child craving sugar. Isn’t that right, Mother?” He mocked, turned to Thalia and then gave her a smile and a wink, one unnoticeable to Thaddeus. 

She understood. “He’s a boy of ten afterall, a child, it’s quite normal for him to crave sugar.” She returned his smile. 

“I’m not a child! The stew is nothing, I’ll show you, I’ll eat it, without the bread even.” Thaddeus was red with embarrassment. He hated being called a child, it ruined his self esteem or whatever he thought a boy his age had of it. He picked up his spoon and began digging into the stew. The taste of the herbs completely drowning out the sugary ones he had consumed, made him grimace sourly, but he carried on. He was a man, he would not lose to a stew. “See,” he added, his mouth full.

“I can see. You’re a man after all.” Zephyr tittered as he straightened himself. “I have somewhere to be, Mother. Might I take my leave?”

“Why ask? Do what you want. See you later, my sweet boy.” 

Goose-pimples spread all over his skin. It was then he knew how much he missed it, how much he missed such motherly love. His mind was clouded by it, so much that he didn’t notice something important, something that might have been far more important to him at the moment, than the motherly love he craved ever so much. 

As he escaped the small hall, a voice came from behind, along with the shutting sound of the somewhat large wooden doors of the hall. “Zephyr,” it called, and Zephyr’s steps halted. 

He then turned around to behold the approachable face of the person which had been seated a few moments ago. 

What’s this…? He wondered.

“Might I request a word with my brother?” A little smile followed after the talk.