The Discarded Heir's Return

Episode 5

Godric stared down at Arthur, his sneer unchanging. "Well, what are you waiting for, you gormless wretch? Get on my horse. You're going to the manor, whether you want to or not."

Arthur simply stood, his eyes as cold as flint. "I told you, I am not going. I have no business with your family, and I will not be your slave anymore."

Godric face twisted in rage. "You're itching for a beating, aren't you?" He dismounted his horse, his feet landing on the dusty ground with a thud. He strode toward Arthur, his hand ready to grab him. "I'll drag you back by your hair if I must!"

But as he swung his arm, Arthur moved. He stepped backward with a speed that was not of a simple commoner.

Godric's hand grasped at empty air.

Looking stunned, he watched as Arthur moved with a move that belonged on a battlefield, not like a dusty village square.

Arthur's hand shot out, not in a clumsy punch, but in a precise, open-handed strike to Godric gut.

A sickening thump sounded as Godric doubled over, his face pale with pain.

The blow wasn't a show of raw strength, but of calculated, brutal force.

Godric was a nobleman who had never lifted a finger in honest work, his body soft from a life of flirting and fine food.

Arthur, on the other hand, had spent his youth watching his father's masters-of-arms train in the courtyard, mimicking their movements and practicing in secret.

"You… you useless git!" Godric gasped, holding his stomach. "How dare you beat a nobleman?"

In the past five years, Arthur had been beaten and humiliated by Sir Godric more times than he could count. He had endured it all because of love. But today was different, after all, he had nothing left to lose.

Godric staggered back to his horse, pulling a small, ornamental dagger from his saddlebag. Its hilt was etched with gold, a pretty toy more than a weapon. "I'll tell my grandmother you tried to kill me! I will run you through right here!" he spat.

He rushed forward with a wild swing. But Arthur simply dodged.

The dagger flashed again, and again Arthur dodged.

His hand shot out, not to strike, but to slap Godric wrist with a sharp crack.

As a result, the dagger clattered to the ground.

Before Godric could even think to retrieve it, Arthur delivered a series of rapid, precise blows that landed on his face and jaw.

Smack! smack.

Godric stumbled and fell, his face already bruising and swelling.

Arthur looked down at him, his voice flat and cold. "Tell your grandmother that I am no longer her house dog. I will not come and go as she pleases. Tell her that the man she calls a wretch is a man, and he will not be commanded by anyone."

Arthur left Godric bruised and humiliated on the ground and walked away.

He had to go back to his old life, but he also needed to get one last look at the simple world he had chosen to live in.

He found a small, quiet tavern on a side street and ordered a mug of bitter ale.

He took a seat by the window and simply watched the common folk go about their day.

Meanwhile, back at the manor, the Old Lady and her family were preparing to leave for her grand feast at the Peckham other finest manor.

Lord Aethelred was making a final inspection of their carriage when he saw his son, Godric, riding back on his stallion.

A smile touched his lips. "Ah, Godric is a man of action! He has surely returned with the wretch."

But as the horse drew closer, the family's smiles faded. Godric was slumped in the saddle, his face a swollen, purplish mess. And he was alone.

"My boy! What happened to you?" Lady Eleanor, Godric mother, cried, rushing to his side.

The Old Lady stared in disbelief, her hand flying to her chest. Godric was her favorite, the only male heir in his generation. If anything happened to him, their lineage would be in jeopardy.

"Who did this?" she demanded, her voice shaking with rage.

Godric slid off the horse, his legs trembling. He pointed a shaking finger at Elara's parents, Lord Alistair and his wife.

"It was... it was that son-in-law of theirs. That useless husband of Elara's. He beat me!" he sobbed, his voice choked with feigned sorrow.

"What?! You... you beastly family!" Aethelred roared, turning on Lord Alistair.

"How dare your son-in-law strike my heir! I demand an apology!"

"Apology in a family matter, Aethelred?" Lord Alistair said, his face a mask of panic.

"Family? This is a disgrace! Look am my son’s face…!" Aethelred seethed, pulling out his sword.

The Old Lady raised a single, trembling hand. "Enough!" she bellowed, silencing the room. She turned to Aethelred, her eyes cold as stone. "You're not raising your sword on your brother. This is a family matter. But this wretch has gone too far. He will not be allowed to get away with this."

She pointed to a handful of men standing near the stable, hulking men in dark leather tunics with thick, knotted muscles.

They were Lord Aethelred most trusted guards, but their faces were not those of common soldiers. They had the hard look of men who were used to doing dirty work.

"Aethelred," she said, her voice a low command. "Have your men go to the village. Find Arthur and bring him here. I want him to receive a proper lesson."

Aethelred nodded as he signaled to the thugs.

Meanwhile, Arthur finished his ale and walked out into the open.

He knew that soon, he would be back in his father's great keep, surrounded by luxury and power, but he would never again get to feel the simple pleasure of watching commoners live their lives.

Just then, he saw them. Two burly men, their faces scarred and their arms thick with muscle, stood in the mouth of the alley. They wore simple leather tunics, but the hard set of their jaws and the sharp steel at their belts told Arthur all he needed to know.

"You're Arthur, right?" one of them grunted, his voice a low rumble. "We've been sent to bring you."

Arthur's expression was calm, betraying no emotion. "I am not going anywhere."

The men's faces hardened. "Looks like you want to do this the hard way," the second one growled, pulling his sword from its scabbard.