Morgan’s life changed for the first time when he was only eleven years old.
“You are my second son. You won’t be my heir, but you will still be of benefit to our family.” Despite how young he was, Elvran talked to Morgan as if he was one of his soldiers. “Join House Basthed, grow strong, and be their sword. Show them the strength of a child from the House Selbair.”
With those words, the man who had never smiled or showed Morgan any kind of affection, send him away from his homeland, the city of Rover.
Considering House Basthed were total strangers at the time, Morgan had expected them to be cold. Instead, they showed him appreciation and understanding.
Five years had passed since then but he was still a toy for House Selbair to play with.
Faced with the knowledge he would leave soon, the only thing Morgan could do was engraving those precious memories of Onder and his relatives in the deepest of his soul.
No better place for it than from atop his favourite place in Onder, the watchtower. A colossal mountain at its back and a deep river cutting across its front, so you could only get to the building through the bridge that crossed over the watercourse.
It was so far away from everything else in Onder that nobody bothered to approach, guarantying Morgan’s privacy; and so tall, being there, he felt freer than anywhere else.
Even at night, Onder was beautiful. It was a modest place, unlike the big and intimidating Rover. Maybe because of it, Morgan found it more homely.
He was going to miss it.
“You can be obnoxiously dramatic sometimes, Morg,” said his older cousin, who totally shouldn’t be there.
Sighing, he languidly looked at him from over his shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean. I just wanted some time alone.”
“Right,” said Bertrand. “And instead of staying in your room, you came here.”
“I like tall places, Bertrand; you already know that.”
“I do. And of course, this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact your family is finally visiting you after… Ever?”
Morgan tightened his fist. “How did you know…? Did uncle Sigmund or aunt Seras told you?”
“Not exactly. I overheard you talking with them,” he said, showing no shame about violating his privacy at all.
“How? I’m sure there was no one else around us.”
“I have my ways.” Ignoring his glare, Bertrand shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s a secret I intend to keep. You should be mad at your folks, not me.” Bertrand walked to his side. “They must have guts to want to take you away from us so close to the new year.”
“You are saying it as if they were going to kidnap me.”
“Isn’t that what they want to do…? Anyway, they should arrive tomorrow, right?”
They had even sent the letter late enough so Morgan wouldn’t have enough time to process the situation.
“Yes.” He did not want to talk about it, but knowing him, Bertrand wasn’t going to leave the topic alone. “Did you told, Cailin?”
“What? Telling Cai her favourite honorary brother is going away? Obviously not. If I had, she would be here right now, bawling her eyes out… She will be royalty mad when she finds out.”
A small smile inched in Morgan’s face.
“You know? You could always tell them you want to keep on living with us. You know dad and mom would accept you.”
“I know. Aunt Seras told me the same, as you probably listened… But Rover is the land of House Selbair. It’s where I belong. My home.” Morgan was lying. He couldn’t imagine himself being happy away from Onder. But he couldn’t abuse his relatives’ kindness.
I received the hospitality of House Basthed for five years and basked on it but I’m still a Selbair, he thought, I’ll always be a Selbair.
And the fact he wanted to remain on Onder so much was the exact reason he needed to leave. His life belonged to his House, and the longer he fought against that reality, the deeper he would get hurt in the end.
“Hey, want to shoot some arrows?” said Bertrand, interrupting his thoughts.
Morgan looked at him with confusion about the sudden change of topic. “You always beat me.” He didn’t mean to sound bitter but it was a known fact he wasn’t made to use a bow.
“And? You always get me when we use swords. Now it’s time for my revenge!” His cousin smirked.
He sighed. “Fine.”
They made it to the shooting range and grabbed a bow and quiver each.
“Okay, as the champion,” Bertrand gestured at himself, “yours truly will shoot first.”
“If you say so.” Morgan shrugged. First or second, he was going to lose anyway.
His cousin made a face but said nothing. With a swift movement, he equipped the arrow and lifted his bow.
Morgan admired that side of Bertrand. His cousin could be a goofy boy most of the time, but you gave him a bow and he transformed into a skilled archer. It would be great if he were just that serious and dedicated all the time.
Taking three seconds in total silence to aim, Bertrand shot the arrow, hitting the bullseye.
“You hit the centre, as always.” It didn’t even surprise Morgan anymore.
“It’s not that hard, you just need practice,” the younger boy tried to sound modest but failed totally.
“Practice I don’t have.”
“Not my fault. Now it’s your turn.”
Morgan equipped the arrow with difficulty and shoot it. It hit the target post.
“Hmm. If that were a real person you would have hit their groin, not sure if that’s amazing or awful.”
He cringed. “Definitely awful.”
“Come on,” Bertrand patted his back, “don’t give up so fast!”
He nodded and kept going, even if only to indulge his cousin.
They continued for half an hour. Bertrand succeeded every time while Morgan didn’t get even close once.
After a while, it became annoying.
“Can we stop? We both know that I’ll never be a decent archer.”
“And what would you do if a strong enemy were approaching and you had no weapon to defend but a bow?”
“I’d die?”
“Exactly! So hear me, just calm your breathing, visualize yourself as the arrow hitting the centre, and when you feel ready, let it go.”
Morgan tried again, but then a weird thought invaded his mind, I’m not the arrow. I can’t be the arrow; that’s Bertrand, not me
He focused on all the negative feelings inside him; hate, jealousy, inadequacy, and self-pity; and imagined them as his arrow.
I don’t want to feel like this, he thought, I hate feeling like this. Then, he shot those feelings away.
The arrow failed just like all the previous ones.
“Wow. That was worse than before.” Bertrand was stupefied. “Did you tried what I said?”
“I did.” He smiled softly.
“Um. Do you feel better, then?”
“Actually, yes. I do. Thanks, Bert.”
“Aw, after six years living in the same place you are finally calling me by my nickname. I’m so proud of you!”
Morgan snorted, hiding his embarrassment, and put the bow and quiver in their place. Bertrand followed right behind, making short conversation on their way.
Once in his bedroom, it took Morgan a while to fall asleep, thinking constantly about his family.
Would they feel proud of the young man he became? Or would they be disappointed?
As sleepiness invaded his mind, Morgan accepted with reluctance that, despite everything, he still cared for his family’s opinion and wanted to make them proud.
And he hated himself because of it.
