The Boy Who Disappeared

Black-Hollow, 1083

Godric was six summers old when he first discovered he was different. It happened on a bright spring's day, when the small manor of Black-Hollow basked in the warmth of a blazing sun, illuminating the surrounding landscape with a golden glow. Black-Hollow was a hive of chaotic preparations for the coming May Day festivities. The inhabitants of the nearby village who weren't cultivating the local fields were busy readying the food, drink and games that would be enjoyed in abundance. Young maidens waited eagerly for the announcement of the year's Queen of May, whilst wiser heads chuckled knowingly at the antics of their younger brethren, remembering bygone days and their own youthful antics.

Within the great manor house, the festivities were not the only demand. Sir Edmund's eldest son William had recently returned from his duties at the royal court, where he was a page to his monarch and namesake. He'd been given leave by the King to briefly enjoy the spring festivities at his familial home, and Sir Edmund had declared a feast to celebrate his son's return. Tall, strong and training to become a knight, William was constantly at his father's side, observing the duties of a liege lord that would one day fall on his shoulders. The atmosphere around them was a swirling tempest of rushing servants, loud noises and rich aromas. Although Sir Edmund's household was small compared to the estates of the great magnates of the realm, the celebrations would be a lavish display of his pride in his eldest son's achievements, whilst also flaunting his rising status before his richer neighbours at Thanesfell. No one would suspect that Sir Edmund even had a second son.

Godric, the second son of Sir Edmund, wandered alone and undaunted through the chaos. He was a small, sickly child and weaved unnoticed amongst the bustling servants like a ghostly wraith from pagan folklore. Despite his head of bright auburn hair, no one detected his escape as he slipped away from his overbearing nurse to roam unhindered around the heaving courtyard. He revelled in the sights and sounds which greeted him, managing to evade notice and slink out from the suffocating serenity of his mother's private quarters. He found no difficulty in passing past the manor house's courtyard enclosures small gate as its guards, leaning lazily against tall spears, dosed in the sunlight. He skirted around the small palisade of earthwork and timber and soon reached a small meadow. He had been here before, as it was a favoured spot where his mother and her ladies often sought refuge away from the bustle of the household. Yet, this was not the young boy's destination; for what lay beyond the meadow was what held his interest. Creeping through the foliage at the meadow's edge, with his short frame hidden by the undergrowth, Godric's eyes widened at the sight before him.

The tiltyard was where the half-dozen household knights of his father's retinue practiced their horsemanship and honed their martial prowess. Godric looked on from the meadow as two mounted knights were being drilled. They stood tall in the saddle and performed each elaborate manoeuvre with seemingly effortless ease, although the padded gambesons they wore were drenched in sweat and the aching arms which held lances, swords and kite-shaped shields alluded to the physical and mental strain they were under. From Godric's position, he could make out the rest of his father's retinue. One was resting in the long grass at the edge of the tiltyard, breathing heavily as he stretched sore limbs. Two more were sparring eagerly with wooden staves, each man testing and advising the other, offering advice even as they attempted to gain the upper hand. The last man was a little distance away, struggling to mount a temperamental and restive horse.

Godric was spellbound. He had dreamed of being just like his father, wielding a sword and riding fearlessly into battle. Whenever the opportunity arose, Godric was often found listening to minstrel tales of daring warriors and mighty heroes. However, he had yet to see knights in practice, as his sickly health often kept him confined to his father's hall.

Eager to see more, the little boy darted forwards from the cover of the meadow, reaching an old cart in which a panoply of training weapons were stacked. Crouching down, he hid unnoticed in its shadows. Godric was grinning as the two knights thundered past him in a skilful, martial dance, grunting with exertion as they twisted their mounts about and the clash of steel rang out as their swords met. He'd never seen anything like it; although it was just like he'd imagined it. His childish eyes sparkling with wonder, Godric realised then that this was where his fate would lead him. One day he would be one of these mounted men, wielding a sword with a legendary prowess which would inspire songs of his exploits. However, his youthful wonderment was quelled as a loud shout reached Godric's ears, and the smile slowly vanished from his face as he recognised the gruff voice with a heavy heart.

The voice belonged to Siward, his father's steward and closest companion, who was currently observing the practicing knights with a shrewd eye. Godric shrank lower at the sight of him. He held a fear of this man and rightly so. Siward was not a mean-spirited man, but he was a giant in stature, standing a head taller than many men and his personality was as hard and harsh as his cold, brutal features. He intimidated many grown men, let alone a six-year-old child. Godric also knew that if Siward found him there, then he'd suffer a beating and one from his father too. Fortunately, for the moment, Siward's dark eyes were solely fixed upon the training men, relying on the skilful eye of a seasoned warrior to advise and admonish them with a voice which rumbled like thunder.

Siward was a veteran of the years before the coming of King William and his Normans, where he had served Sir Edmund's father as a household warrior. In those fateful days, Siward had marched against them and had fought at Senlac Hill. His strength and skill were legendary, and it was rumoured he'd cleaved a knight and his mount in two with one strike of his Danish axe. Yet, it hadn't been enough to stem the tide of defeat. Whilst the invaders had claimed victory, Siward had survived, staggering away from that bloody hill, leaving two sons and his oath-sworn lord dead. Wounded and hurting, he'd reached Black-Hollow days later, and had loyally served his Lord's surviving son ever since with a battered pride and a facial scar that would cause evil spirits and vagabonds to quiver in fear. Godric was right to feel intimidated, but the old man was never unkind and usually ignored the sickly child if Godric was scurrying about in his presence.

His heart hammering, Godric watched engrossed before wisely deciding to retreat to the meadow. Crouching low, he began to edge out from under the cart whilst a distracted Siward was berating one of the mounted men for a mistake. Breathing a sigh of relief, Godric twisted about, preparing to dart towards the sanctuary of the meadow when something caught his eye. A bright flash of sunlight reflecting off polished steel, for a sword was lying discarded in the grass nearby.

Godric paused, staring curiously at the weapon. Glancing back to see that Siward was still distracted, Godric sped off in the direction of the gleaming sword. As he reached it, he stared down at the blade in wonder and unable to resist the temptation, he hesitantly bent down and wrapped his small hands around the worn hilt. The little boy's feeble strength did not hinder his efforts to try and lift the sword and he succeeded in lifting the lower end of the sword, although the sword's heavy blade and blunted tip refused to budge. Frowning, Godric tried again, straining with all his strength to no avail. The sword remained unmoving, proving too heavy and cumbersome for a six-year-old child. Growing frustrated, Godric planted his feet apart and heaved with one last attempt and this time the blade's tip wavered and briefly rose from the ground, before falling quickly with a dull thud as the boy's strength gave out and he stumbled backwards. But Godric beamed at his brief success, feeling a wave of pride wash over him at his achievement as he briefly wondered whether he would one day wield a sword just like this.

The spell was broken by a shrill call from beyond the meadow.

'Godric.'

The little boy stilled, paling considerably. He recognised the voice of the young nursemaid instantly. The call came again, closer this time. The girl sounded stressed and worried, although nothing compared to Godric's own fear as a harsh voice suddenly barked behind him.

'Boy!'

Godric twisted around to find Siward staring at him from the far side of the tiltyard, the nurse's shout having alerted him of the boy's presence. The old warrior took a step towards him, his large hands curling into fists as his anger rose at the sight of the sword in Godric's hands.

'Boy. Come here.' Godric dropped the sword, which landed with a dull thud in the grass. He briefly considered fleeing the scene, but the idea was immediately dispelled by a shout of pain and shock which drew the attention of all those nearby.

'Shit!'

The knight who had been attempting to mount the struggling horse had half succeeded when the beast bucked and flung the poor man away. The knight landed heavily with a cry as the horse suddenly bolted, charging mindlessly towards Godric. Siward quickly realised what would happen, but he was too far away to physically intervene, instead raising his own voice to divert the rampaging animal. Yet, to no avail, for the horse was blinded by panic and continued to bear down on the helpless boy standing transfixed by fear, eyes wide as this monstrous animal galloped towards him. Godric was dimly aware of a high-pitched scream as his nurse entered the clearing; of his father's men calling for him to move. But the little boy could not move, for his world was consumed by the thunderous screaming of the beast charging towards him, its eyes wide with a fear that mirrored his own. There was no time to act, only for Godric to close his eyes and anticipate the collision that would leave his body broken and trampled as the rampaging stallion finally reached him.

Then suddenly there was a loud crack, and Godric felt as if his body was being forcibly dragged and flung to the side. Then silence. Just a sudden, all-encompassing silence. Godric's eyes remained closed, his breathing now laboured as if he'd undergone a sudden exertion. Oddly, there was no pain, just the gentle caress of the spring breeze. The roar and thunder a few heartbeats ago was gone, swiftly disappearing as if it had all occurred a great distance away. Godric took a few unsteady breaths before tentatively opening his eyes, suddenly realising that he was alive and miraculously unharmed.

He was still at the tiltyard; only now it lay between him and the weapons cart. Frowning, Godric could see his nurse standing at the edge of the suddenly far off meadow, her tearful eyes wide and astonished, her hand quivering in front of her mouth as if to muffle a scream that had died on her lips. Beyond her and still galloping towards the distant fields was the beast that should have killed him. Godric noticed his father's men staring, all rendered speechless by his astonishing feat. Even Siward had no words for him. As Godric's gaze fell on the seasoned warrior, he found those dark eyes staring blankly back at him in astonishment. A sudden shuffling beside him caught the little boy's attention and he turned to find the man the bolting horse had injured hastily crawling away. There was something different in this man's eyes, something which didn't reflect shock but an emotion that had never been directed towards the six-year-old. Fear.

'Boy?' Siward said oddly, his voice questioning and unsure. Godric stared unflinchingly back before suddenly his world was spinning and he collapsed to the ground, retching loudly as a loud chorus of shouting rose from the black void that greeted him.

Sir Edmund, the Lord of Black-Hollow, was not in a pleasant mood. His day had started well, but as he was hearing tales of his son's life at court, he had not expected the sudden storm of fear, anger and accusation which had descended upon his family. The cause of it was his second son Godric.

Edmund was rarely an unkind man. He had survived the social changes which had killed, exiled or disinherited many of his fellow countrymen, as well as thriving. He may be Saxon born, and he may resent and lament the harsh treatment of his people in the secrecy of his private chambers, but he was loyal to his King, and his loyalty had been rewarded with land, a beautiful Norman bride and a place at court for his eldest son. It had taken a great degree of tact and patience to secure these rewards, to ignore the jibes and insults of not only the Norman peers who saw him as an upstart and outsider, but the accusations of cowardice and betrayal often flung at him by his own people. He loved his eldest son dearly, was generous to his followers and although their marriage had soured since their wedding day, he remained fond of his placid and whimsical wife.

Godric was a different matter, for when it came to his second son, Edmund could find nothing but loathing and contempt. The boy was useless; so sickly that he could barely leave his mother's skirts and Edmund was resigned to the fact that only a career in the Church or an early grave awaited Godric. He could barely suffer the boy's presence, and felt a deeply ingrained resentment towards the son who had been named after his paternal grandfather. Although they shared an uncanny facial likeness, the similarities ended there. Godric of Black-Hollow had been a hale and hearty man, stronger than most men and a born warrior. Sir Edmund's son was a pale ghost of a boy, an embarrassment in his father's eyes, whose ill health and feeble nature was an insult to Sir Edmund's honour. Sir Edmund would never have suspected that Godric could cause such a tempest of trouble, let alone have potentially ruined the family and all his father's hard-earned success.

The Lord of Black-Hollow strode about his private bedchamber. He was not alone. His wife sat perched on the edge of their marriage bed, distaff forgotten beside her as she wrapped her arms tenderly around her youngest son as if to reassure herself that he was still alive and well. Lady Alys was still a beautiful woman, with long dark hair and bright emerald eyes which had once sparkled with life and energy. However, the shadowy rims now lurking there wove their own tale of unhappiness and discontent. Godric's eyes usually danced with curiosity, especially when he was surrounded by his father's knightly regalia, like the large shield resting against a far wall, emblazoned with a rampant gold lion on a red field. But today his eyes were downcast and his meekness and willingness to be comforted by his mother's coddling behaviour made Edmund want to beat him bloody. Besides his mother and younger brother stood William, Edmund's eldest son. He was thirteen years old, on the cusp of becoming a squire in the king's household and whose loyalty and kind heart and made him a popular companion. Now his smile was missing, and he nervously watched his father pace about the room, unsure of the events which had transpired.

The local parish priest was also present, a man called Father Thomas whose early promise had tempered into disappointment and bitter resentment over his lot in life. He was the kind of man who would heap responsibility for his own misfortunes on the curses of pagans and wild men he believed were envious of his piety and potential. Siward stood behind him, watching silently from the shadows of the chamber's entrance. Slowly, Edmund paused and turned his attention to his old friend,

'Tell the tale again?'

'Devilry!' hissed the priest under his breath, his beady and calculating eyes casting disapproving glares at Godric. Lady Alys scowled at him angrily whilst her husband remained unmoved, awaiting Siward's answer.

'I've already explained, Lord. The boy slipped away from his nurse and wandered down to the tiltyard. We didn't realise he was there until we heard the girl call for him, but by then the horse was bolting…'

'He was watching the men practice? That wouldn't usually escape your attention!' Edmund interrupted waspishly. Siward looked displeased with the criticism, but nodded reluctantly.

'He's small for a boy. The girl should have kept better notice of his whereabouts.'

'The girl's already been punished. I whipped her myself.' Edmund grunted darkly, remembering how he had vented his fury by taking a belt to the weeping girl's back. When she'd been beaten bloody and lay whimpering at his feet, he'd callously discharged her from his service. Having to find a new nurse was just another problem the boy had caused. His wife's eye's burned with displeasure and revulsion at her husband's actions. Siward simply shrugged, unmoved by the girl's fate.

'The boy tried to slip away when he noticed me, but he was distracted by a discarded sword one of the lads had dropped. He'd been trying to lift it when I was alerted to his presence. By then the horse was bolting and it was too late to intervene. The beast went straight for him. There was nothing any of us could do to stop him being killed, and the boy seemed rooted to the spot, stricken by fear.' He paused, and glanced at Godric, gesturing helplessly, 'Then he wasn't there. The dust had yet to settle and I thought he was surely dead. But when one of the lad's cried out and I turned and saw him standing on the other side of the yard, alive and not a scratch on him…I'm sorry Lord, but I don't know how he did it. One moment he was there and likely to be killed; the next, he's disappeared.'

Silence followed as Siward's tale settled on the occupants. It was Father Thomas who broke it, his eyes fixed expectantly on the Lord of Black-Hollow.

'The Church won't accept him. Not after this.'

'Why?' demanded Edmund,

'You think he can take holy vows with an affliction like this?'

'Then what would you advise?' Edmund growled, and the priest shrugged, his eyes glinting maliciously,

'I do not seek to influence your judgement, Lord. However, it is our sacred duty to ensure that this demon does not escape him and bring further evil and ill-will down upon others.' He paused, running his tongue over dry lips, 'Perhaps a swift end would suffice. It's the only way to be sure!'

'Father…' William began, but his horrified interruption was overshadowed by his mother's reaction.

'No!' cried Alys, passing Godric to his brother and leaping to her feet. She stepped protectively in front of her young child, shielding him from the priest. Edmund flinched in surprise at the sudden outburst from his usually placid wife.

'You do not understand,' he said evasively.

'I will not hear of it.' Alys cried again, throwing aside her placid reputation and glaring angrily at Father Thomas, who returned it with equal contempt, 'I will not allow it!'

'You will continue to harbour this affliction?' Father Thomas spat, 'You would willingly encourage the evil that lies within the boy…'

'Silence, you foul toad!'

'Insolent woman,' the priest snarled, looking outraged by the insult. However, his outburst was suddenly cut short as a heavy hand clamped painfully down upon his shoulder. Glancing back, he found Siward looming over him, glaring down with fire in his eyes. Siward was loyal to the Lord of Black-Hollow and respectful to the Church, but the thought of harming a young child did not sit well with the aging warrior.

'Hold your tongue.' He growled and the threat in his voice discouraged any argument. The priest breathed deeply as if preparing to continue trading insults, but he valued his own skin and was clearly intimidated by Siward's size. He nodded, breaking free of Siward's grip and stepping back to broodingly fix Alys with an icy glare. She returned it tenfold before turning to her husband, who had remained silent throughout the confrontation as he stared impassively at his youngest son.

'You have stayed oddly silent, husband?' she said bitingly. Edmund looked up, but couldn't hold her gaze for long. The priest's words had wormed their way into a heart already undermined by contempt and fear at what the boy could do; at what this dreaded feat meant. With a shake of his head, he murmured softly,

'What else can we do?'

Alys looked at him in disbelief, appalled.

'You agree with this snake?' she accused him,

'What would you have me do?' Edmund retaliated, his own voice rising as anger came to his defence. Alys was still on her feet and her rage, rising from a place within her soul she had long ago forgotten existed. Gone was the serene and dutiful wife of a minor noble. In her place stood a fiery shieldmaiden from the pagan legends of her sea-raiding ancestors, her passive nature replaced by an impassioned, righteous fury.

'I will not let you touch my child!' she snarled, 'so what if the Church refuses him. He is still our son and there are other lives he could lead. Maybe it is not my son who is at fault, but the Church that is not good enough for my son!'

'Blasphemy!' spat the priest, but his declaration was ignored by the Lord and Lady of Black-Hollow as they stared furiously at each other.

'The boy will have to make his own way in the world,' Edmund declared stubbornly, 'if the Church will not have him, then he'll have no charity from me.'

'Boy! Always boy and never Godric, the name you bestowed upon him at birth. The boy named after your father. He will make his own way, like his grandfather before him. Our son has heart Edmund. I have seen it. You simply choose to ignore it, like you ignore his very existence. I will accept it no more. I have already sacrificed William to your ambitions, and I am proud of his achievements. He's a good boy and he'll be an accomplished man. But given the chance then so will Godric.'

'With this affliction?' Edmund growled, gesturing wildly at his son who whimpered and shuffled backwards to distance himself from his father. This only served to fuel the man's anger further, 'you think this weakling will achieve anything other than an early grave with a devil like this possessing him?'

'There is no demon! Can't you see that?' Alys told her husband, 'can't he see that he is just like his uncle!'

Edmund seemed to swell in rage at the mere mention of the man his wife had dared to speak of, despite him being her brother.

'What has that man got to do with this?' He growled threateningly, his voice now low and as cold as steel.

'Everything!' replied his wife in the same tone, 'Are you blind to see that the same power flows in their veins, the same legacy. If you will not support your son, then why not send him to my brother…'

'No,' Edmund suddenly roared, striding forwards until he looked down at his wife with violent eyes, 'I will not send the boy to him. I will not have that man meddling in my affairs. Do you really wish to see our son sent to a man who openly consorts with spirits and elves? A man who has laid with beasts; by God have you heard of that woman he married? Have you heard the rumours of what she is?'

'Alain's life is not our concern and I will not have you decry him. He is a man of honour who deserves our respect…'

'He is nothing to me!'

'Just like our son?' Aly's responded, the fiery passion giving way to tears of anguish as she suddenly grasped her husband's robes, 'I beg you, send him away from here, for he will know nothing but hurt if he stays. Send him to my brother.' As his mother begged for his life, Godric, confused by the turmoil around him, saw his father's hand twitch towards the sword perched beside the chamber's window. He glared coldly down at her,

'I will not send him to that sorcerer,' he snarled contemptuously, 'the boy will die by my own hand before I ever agree to send him to that butcher.'

'Bastard,' gasped Alys out, her inner fire flaring, 'you cold, heartless bastard.'

'Besides,' Edmund continued piteously, 'the boy's most likely responsible for your barrenness. His birth almost killed you. Maybe if it wasn't for this evil in him then we would have been gifted with more sons, and his death would be of no concern…'

He went silent as Alys launched forwards and slapped him hard across the face with all the force she could muster. Silence descended on the chambers occupants. Then Edmund slowly turned back to face his wife, his features darkening quicker than the reddening mark on his cheek. Guessing his father's intentions, William hastily stepped in front of Godric's line of sight, not wanting his younger brother to witness what was about to happen.

The first blow sent Alys crashing to the floor with a cry. Aly's hazily attempted to rise, but her husband's second blow drove her face into the scented rushes with a pained grunt. Edmund stood over her, his breathing distorted by his fury. He slowly began to unbuckle his large leather belt, still bloodstained from the beating he had given the maid.

'Father,' a shocked William attempted to intervene, but came to an abrupt halt when Edmund's hand jerked in his direction. His father had never raised his hand towards his beloved eldest son before. Suddenly Aly's was on her knees and was reaching out towards William. A cut lip was sending a slow trickle of blood down her chin before falling to the crumpled rushes at their feet and her face was already swelling, but Alys managed to catch William's face in her hands and whispered to him urgently,

'No, no William, listen to me. Everything's fine, take Godric back to your bedchamber, take him away from here.' William hesitated, fear dancing in his eyes. He'd never experienced anything like this. He heard a sniffling whimper behind him, for Godric had burst into tears. Understanding his mother's wishes and realising the danger his father's temper posed to Godric, he nodded and submitted to his mother's demands. Seeing tears mingling with blood on his mother's beautiful face made him hesitate, but a heavy hand swiftly steered him towards the door. Father Thomas was already gone, having left at the first sign of violence, a malicious smirk adorning his features. But Siward remained and he dragged both boys from the room, his face grimmer than they had ever seen it. As Godric was steered past the rampant lion shield, he spotted a crimson stain blemishing its finery. His mother's blood. A swift crack and an agonised cry rang out, echoing down the small corridor behind them.

The atmosphere in the manor was dark and subdued, the earlier gaiety of jovial festivities giving way to fear and speculation as rumours concerning the lord's youngest son spread like wildfire. Siward deposited them in their private quarters but didn't linger, looking concerned and muttering under his breath about having a much-needed word with Father Thomas as he left.

The silence between the two brothers was strained. Whilst William's frustration and worry were obvious, Godric remained tearful and subdued, as silent tears slid unchecked down his face, not wanting to risk stirring his brother's ire. Eventually deciding it would be best to occupy his frayed mind, William left, but swiftly returned with a small platter of sweetmeats and other delicacies that he had charmed Black-Hollow's cook into giving him. He found Godric curled up and still weeping quietly. Sympathy swelled William's heart as he sat beside his brother and gently put an arm around the younger boy. Godric stiffened for a moment, before accepting his brother's support. After a while, a small voice choked out,

'I'm sorry.' William looked down at him sadly,

'It's not your fault Godric.'

'If I hadn't snuck away…'

'There's a lot of things that shouldn't have happened today,' the older boy shrugged, 'sneaking away because you wanted to watch the knights plying their trade was far from the worst.'

'Will mother be alright?' Godric asked after a pause, sounding so desperate that it caused William's voice to stumble,

'Of…of course she will.' His reply sounded hollow and devoid of comfort, even to himself. In truth, William was just as confused as his younger brother. He had suspected that his parent's relationship was strained and had known that a husband held the right to beat his wife if she deserved it. He had seen it before at the King's court and had heard rumours of such men. The revulsion he felt at seeing the wives and whores of courtiers sporting bruised and bloodied faces flooded him again as he remembered his mother's own battered face.

More puzzling was the strange mention of their uncle and the extent of their father's hatred for him. William had never crossed paths with Lord Alain of Avalon. However, rumours abounded about who and what his uncle was, most of which a simple page like William didn't dare to believe. Even his uncle's wife was a cause for gossip and it was claimed that she was no woman at all, but a creature born from the heathen world of myth and magic. William often scoffed at these fanciful tales, but now he questioned his own instincts.

William knew that his uncle rarely lingered at court before returning to his mysterious lands, despite the King trusting his counsel. After all, Lord Alain was a figure who was both greatly admired and fiercely maligned. William shuddered at the thought of his earnest little brother following a similar path. However, would such a road be any worse than following in their father's footsteps by staining their hands with innocent blood.

The older boy glanced down at Godric again, who was picking absentmindedly at the meagre platter. Did Godric share an unknown legacy with their strange uncle? Did he possess a power that William could only dream of possessing and would he be feared and endangered by it? William's face hardened with determination; if his brother was in danger then William would help him. He would protect Godric from harm, even if that meant defying the father he loved. His arm tightened around Godric's shoulders and he ruffled the smaller boy's hair playfully,

'Tell me about your adventure little brother? What did you think of our knights?' William had barely finished when Godric responded enthusiastically, causing his brother to laugh aloud at the eagerness in which his brother wiped away at stray tears and began retelling the tale.

Later that night, Godric woke from a fitful sleep to discover a shadowy figure sat beside him, softly stroking his hair. A nearby candle still burned dimly in the whispery light, but the gentleness she applied to the caress told him that it was his mother before his blurred sight had cleared. He saw her smile when she realised he was awake, her face still half shielded by the shadows. She placed a finger to her lips, telling him to be silent. His brother stirred next to him but did not wake from his slumber. She offered William's sleeping form a warm and fond smile, before turning back to Godric.

'You should be asleep little one,' she admonished him softly.

'I was worried about you,' he admitted in a whisper, 'and the night-terrors will not go away.'

'I'm here now and perfectly fine,' her voice quivered slightly at the lie, but Godric didn't notice. He merely stared tiredly up at his mother, content in her presence.

'I don't want to be different,' he admitted quietly, blurting out his fears to her like he could never do to anyone else.

'It cannot be helped,' Alys whispered soothingly, 'but this difference doesn't define you, Godric. It is your choices that determine what man you will become. You have been given a gift. You should treasure it.'

'I want to be a knight. I want to have a horse and a sword' She chuckled fondly at his earnestness. She leant down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead,

'You can be whatever you want to be,' she assured him gently.

'Will you stay with me?'

'Always,' she smiled fondly at him, 'I'll be here whenever you need me.' Godric nodded before his eyes began to close again, exhaustion from the day's trials finally taking their toll. Alys watched him as he slept, her hand still resting in his soft auburn hair as she smiled sadly down at him. She maintained her silent vigil long into the night, simply content to watch her little boy dream.

'Sleep Godric,' she whispered softly, tears glistening in the flickering candle light as they streamed down her bruised and swollen face. Soon she would seek out the healing salves and poultices she stored hidden in her chamber, but she would stay a little longer beside her sleeping sons, 'you have heart, little knight. Never lose your courage, for one day you will face trials and tests which would claim the hearts of lesser men. You will be your own man, Godric, and you will conquer every challenge you encounter. One day you will make us all proud, my brave little lion.'

Author's Note: So here is the prologue to Book One of my Founders Series. Book One is called 'The Heart of a Lion', and will be the first story following the life of Godric Gryffindor as he attempts to survive in the brutal world of medieval magic. As the keen eyed may have noticed, I have set this series in the late eleventh-century, about a hundred years later than Rowling's dating. The reasons for this are numerous, the foremost being that it's for creative purposes. The landscape of British culture and society changed dramatically following the Battle of Hastings in 1066, and the narrative opportunities this provides were too enticing to be ignored. I'll try and stick as close to real history as I can, and you can expect to see real historical figures and events popping up from time to time, as well as Rowling's creations and my own. Using Rowling's foundations, I'll also try and provide a colourful and hopefully realistic take on what the magical world of the Harry Potter Series would have been like in the medieval period. My aim is to write seven 'books', and whilst Godric is the principal protagonist, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and especially Salazar Slytherin will all play a huge part in the story. If anyone has any questions, advice or even criticisms then feel free to message me and I'll try my best to get back in touch, or leave a review. I honestly feel passionate about these stories and I've spent a lot of time researching and creating this world so that I can do not just myself, but the readers and fundamentally J.K. Rowling proud.