Author's Note: This story is technically the fourth in my Wish Granted series. However, not much will happen at all, and it will be very short compared to the other installments. It's only a silly bit of filler with the Adurants, because I just love this family. There will be some drug usage in this story. The proper order of the stories will be listed on my profile's biography section.
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At this point in the Adurant's marriage, they had three healthy boys. The eldest was Andreo, a quiet lad who was more than old enough to have his breeches. He was slightly off in some ways. He didn't enjoy concentrating on people's faces, and he was always slow to respond to verbal statements. He would respond eventually, but he had to think on the words, gnaw on them, in a way.
His father's favorite horse, Breckson, had sired a son called Packer. The young horse was Andreo's favorite, as close as a any dear friend would be. Andreo rode him nearly every day, and sometimes he sat near Packer under a shaded area, reading a book or playing with a wooden cup attached to a ball by a string.
Amalric was almost at the age to be breeched. Unlike his older brother, he was always wanting to talk to someone. When there wasn't a willing person around, he talked to one of his toys, or an animal, or even an insect he might find on a window. Mildred, the nanny, often joked that he'd talk to a pile of dung if nothing else was available.
While he thought horses were entertaining, he wasn't old enough to properly ride one. He only had the old rocking horse Andreo had given to him. Sometimes he'd sing to the toy horse. He'd even dance for him, holding up his little skirts and twirling about as if he expected the rocking horse to applaud him. The horse never did, of course. Amalric would normally applaud himself in the end.
Roland was the youngest, a toddler who was obsessed with a particular sort of bread. He wouldn't eat anything else until he had that bread. His parents were certain that he'd grow out of such behavior. He tended to imitate his brothers whenever he could. He'd give Amalric a pouting expression to convince him to let Roland have a turn on the rocking horse. Thankfully, he would only rock a few times and immediately tire of it, leaving more time for Amalric.
Some days, Roland would whine at Andreo over a turn with his cup and ball toy, but, as usual, he would only halfheartedly wave the object around for a minute or so, flinging the string and ball in the air. Then he'd drop it and walk away.
His favorite place was the music room, where an adult would often hold him up so his little fingers could experiment with an instrument. He couldn't make anything that could be called music yet, but he certainly tried. When his father purchased a tiny ocarina of clay for him, Roland was quite pleased.
On some mornings, Erdgar Adurant rode his own steed beside his eldest child, and he did so on this cool, yet refreshing autumn morning. There were mornings when his wife would join them, but she wasn't as habitual about it.
Joy stretched his uneven mouth into a smile as he heard Andreo's occasional laughter. Soon, they started a little race to the outer wall of the castle, and Erdgar couldn't convince himself to win. As discreetly as he could, he kept himself behind. He never planned on doing this every time they raced. It was something he only did on occasion. There had been times, though, when Erdgar suspected that Andreo knew he had been treated gently, because the boy's brow would wrinkle up and his lips would shrink into something like an angry kissing expression.
When the race was over, they took a slower, leisurely pace around the land. Then they made their way to the stable so they could give the loyal horses their rest. Erdgar watched as Andreo lingered, murmuring soft noises to Packer and scratching up and down his neck with affectionate fingernails. Whenever Andreo tried to leave, Packer would put his chin over Andreo's shoulder, pulling the boy back to him. Then his head would point up. It was a silent demand for more attention. Andreo indulged the horse a few more times, and then he ducked away.
Erdgar was accustomed to riding horses, and so, he wasn't very sore, but he did have the aching sort of happiness that always came after a good amount of exercise. It was similar to relief. When they were inside the keep, he patted Andreo's shoulder and gave a soft goodbye. He walked upstairs to his bedroom, where he changed into a more casual outfit. Then he went to the larger nursery, where Amalric was chatting with his seated mother, Danetta.
The darling little patterer didn't notice his father right away. He was far too busy telling Danetta how rabbit ears look like autumn leaves. Erdgar smiled at his wife's knowing, lovely eyes, and then he crouched down behind Amalric. He patted the child's head, and he grinned as Amalric turned around and gasped, his pretty gray eyes lighting up. He licked his lips, waved his hands in innocent excitement, and started talking to him.
Erdgar put his great palms and fingers to Amalric's waist. Even as he lifted the boy up, Amalric kept on with the talking. As Erdgar sat down in a chair beside his wife, he adjusted his son's skirt so he could be comfortable and charming, and helped him settle in his lap. Erdgar listened to his son for a good few minutes. Erdgar had to remind him to pause at times, so he could listen to what someone else had to say.
Soon, though, Amalric eagerly announced, "I made up a new song, Papa!"
"Oh?" Erdgar said, his brow rising. "Let's hear it, then."
It was a high pitched nonsense song that lacked any recognizable words. Erdgar cringed, but he forced a smile. He let him howl on for a good while, tapping his fingers on the boy's waist and occasionally brushing some of his hair out of his eyes. Then Erdgar held his scarred hand up and said, "Sunny, Sunny. That's enough, Sunny." That was the boy's nickname. "Has your throat dried out yet?"
Amalric smacked his lips and nodded.
"Well, why don't you go with your mother to the kitchen and find a cup of water? I need to go see Biscuit." That was his preferred nickname for Roland.
Amalric groaned, but he nodded. Erdgar helped the boy get down to the floor. Danetta rose from her seat and closed her hand over her child's. She gave Erdgar a pleased smile as she led the boy out of the room. Erdgar's whole body seemed to sigh and complain as he got out of the chair. Then he walked over to the other nursery, the smaller one.
Mildred was kneeling and helping Roland to construct a building out of smooth blocks of wood. When Erdgar announced his presence, Mildred nodded and stood up, using her palms to sweep wrinkles out of her skirt and apron. As she took a seat in a corner of the room, Erdgar knelt down where Mildred had once been. He waved his fingers down at Roland's round little face, and he said, "Hello, would you mind having my company?"
Roland's reaction was to chop his building with the side of his chubby hand, ruining the structure, scattering the blocks. His expression was serious. He said with his tiny voice, "Different now." Then he put a block on top of another and repeated the action with two other blocks. Erdgar pushed his fingers under the wrapped section of his cravat and massaged his nape. Then he helped his son put together a new building. When it was finished, Roland destroyed it. Then he took two of the blocks and clapped them together as if he was trying to make music. Each clacking sound put a shiver of irritation in Erdgar's ears.
Despite his discomfort, Erdgar reached over to the child's head, which was protected by a padded cap. He found a loose curl of black hair, and then he gently caressed the lock with his thumb and index finger. "Are you making music, Biscuit?" Softly chuckling, he stroked an area close to Roland's ear. "That's fine, then." He stayed a few minutes longer, watching Roland's inquisitive eyes as he concentrated on trying to make a tune that quenched his youthful thirst for mental gratification. Then Erdgar told him goodbye, lightly touching his cheek.
His next destination was his bedchamber because a headache was coming. The cause of this exact headache could have been the old injuries from the now infamous fire. It could also have been caused by his younger children's loud activities. Erdgar wasn't certain.
Once he was inside the quiet room, Erdgar undressed completely. Then he put on a favorite old robe and gathered up his pipe, a tiny package of a shredded drug, a tinderbox, and his ashtray. He opened a pair of tall doors and went to a balcony, where a stone table and matching chairs awaited him.
When the pipe had the drug packed inside, he heated up the little bowl and leaned back. His lips closed around the mouthpiece, and he took a deep inhale, holding it in for a few moments, tasting the earthy sharpness. His thoughts were mixing and flashing.
Those boys ...
The mouthpiece was slid out of his mouth. His breath expelled the smoke. It obscured the sight of the brown and orange covered mountains, but it soon faded away.
Perfect little babies.
Well, Andreo had always been ... perhaps a bit touched in the head?
Erdgar put the mouthpiece back to his lips.
Inhale ...
The boy was intelligent. There was no doubt. He read at a higher level than typical children his age. He took to horse riding very naturally. He was always willing to learn anything he need to learn.
Except ... certain social cues ... his brain was stubborn with those, almost as if he was avoiding them. Sometimes he'd purposely withdraw himself from his family, especially his brothers. Sometimes he didn't bother combing his hair, or he refused to wear a coat, or even a waistcoat, which simply wouldn't do in polite society. He'd properly dress himself when asked to, though.
Exhale ...
There didn't seem to be much rebelliousness in him. He had been much more eager to disobey when he was a wriggling little toddler. At his current age, though, Andreo was meek.
Well, maybe he was a different sort of perfect.
Another inhale, and then he felt as though he didn't only take in the drug. He felt as though he was taking in love. As he exhaled, he smiled, because the love didn't come out. It was still in him. The fingers of his free hand flexed and popped as if they wanted to touch something or someone. He remembered all of his boys' faces when they were newborns. They had been little potatoes, screaming little potatoes that would only be calm when cared for, and they had been, and still were. Each of them had the softest, most expressive little feet when they were newborns, and even a few months after that.
The littlest ones always grew so quickly.
