MAR Fan Fiction ❯ Mollycoddling, Or Something Like That ❯ MollyCoddling, Or Something Like That ( Chapter 1 )

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Mollycoddling (Or Something Like that)
The murky castle lies sleeping, as do most of its occupants. Peta knows for a fact that Phantom is asleep, dreaming of a blackness he has become friends with. There is the slight whistle of the wind as it creeps through the cracks and open windows around the castle. It caresses the tall knight's cheek, and causes his hair to wave behind him gracefully, creating the illusion of a blonde cap as he walks into the dimly lit library.
His eyes scan the large, dusty room, finding cold, grey statues looming over the oak tables in the centre of the room, like Peta remembers his tutors doing to him as his eyes threatened to close and his head to fall - hard, mind you, it always woke him up again - against his books. He remembers with a chuckle the few times he'd nearly stabbed himself in the eye. There is a cold draft, and the books lying on the table's pages flutter noisily.
Peta watches with a dark green eye as Rolan sleeps and snores on the table he'd been working at. Despite the young knight's best efforts, it seems the battle he'd had with Alviss and his lack of sleep from the night before has taken its toll. Peta almost smiles as the boy - practically man - mumbles and the book balanced carefully in his slim fingers falls with a clatter.
“Ah! I didn't mean to break it! I'm sorry!” Peta conceals himself within the shadows, his visible eye sparkling with mirth as Rolan jumps to attention, his chair falling back to the cold, stone floor, the younger man's own eyes racing around the room in order to find what he had `broken'. With a smile, Peta watches as the younger knight visibly relaxes, “Oh,” Rolan chuckles weakly and brushes his fringe back with his fingers swiftly, “It was just my book.” He laughs again, as he flicks a stubborn strand of hair away from his face.
Whilst Phantom was sleeping, that hair had caused Peta many problems. Many which still cause the knight to frown darkly. But, as Rolan sits back down, having pulled his chair upright, Peta can't help but eye the spill of orange-brown hair that rests on, over and around Rolan's shoulders and shoulder blades.
One memory, Peta recalls easily, was created soon after Phantom and Boss had been defeated. Rolan had fallen into a small bout of depression, one that left him staring into space, starving and dirty. Peta hadn't had much contact with the boy before then; he'd been far more interested in what the Chess Pieces were destroying and the messages they sent through what they destroyed. Rolan had been a speck of dirt amongst the bloodshed and horror Peta caused with a giant grin and a wicked laugh, Phantom either by his side, or leading him into battle. Now that he thinks about it, Peta realizes with a smile as once again Rolan's cheek rests against the table and his breathing evens out, he cannot remember when Rolan had first joined them, just that he'd been there at the end.
Rolan's depression and actions were all new to Peta and the older knight had found himself at a loss, for the first instance in a long time. Phantom is the one that found amusement in training or raising children, just as the one armed knight is the only one willing and possesses the capability to charm his way into a child's heart with a mere smile and an offering of a few words. It had taken Peta a week to do something he knows and has seen Phantom do in an hour, as the image of Rolan talking to him for the first time fades into his mind.
Peta had often taken the boy into his arms during that week, and carefully tilted the boy's head up, a fork in his opposite hand as he talked to Rolan, attempting to get him to eat and understand that no, Phantom wasn't dead, no, he hadn't left him alone, no, he should live and grow strong and that yes, Phantom would want him to do just that. He'd been surprised when it had happened, so surprised, he remembers staring as Rolan picked up his own eating utensils and begun to eat all on his own, with Peta across the room. Even more surprising was the empty plate Rolan offered to him and the small voice that said, “That was nice, can I have some more? Please?”
Still, the boy's hair was the biggest of problems. He refused to cut it, in the memory of his father who had - according to the boy - grown his hair to his waist. Peta had refused to wash him whilst Rolan was in his staring and vegetable phase, though he had wiped the boy's arms, hands, feet, skinny legs and face with a cloth every night, once again, whilst the boy was held in his arms. However, it seemed that even the finger brushing Peta had given Rolan's hair every night hadn't helped with the smaller knots and all the dirt that had clung to the strands like a dog with lock-jaw. The entire affair had ended in Peta's bathroom looking as though Rolan had thought it would be amusing to dump a bucket of grey, soapy water in his head.
He'd immediately set to adopting another outfit, one that Rolan could drip, drop, splatter and dirty until his childish heart was content, and Peta wouldn't need to care about. With a frown that made Peta look like one of the dramatic masks he has seen in books, the knight remembered the aggravating comment Rolan had offered him when he'd first appeared decked in it, “You remind me of my Mum.”
He didn't and still doesn't understand how that could be possible. It didn't sound plausible in Peta's forever ticking mind. He was definitely male (Peta had lived with himself long enough to know that), most likely much taller than what Rolan's mother would have been and he didn't care how much Rolan argued, he was not going to believe that the bun he'd hesitantly placed his long, straight, white-blonde hair in made him look anymore feminine than he liked. Perhaps, Peta muses, it was his clothes that had sparked Rolan's memory. He had taken on clothes much different to the long dress like, black and red over shirt, black and red, pointed hat and red and black knee high boots he usually wore. His new house clothes consisted of a white shirt that was patterned with dual coloured triangles and hung down to his thighs, grey tights, and his usual boots; what was one pair when he had three of them? Had been his reasoning and thinking about them now, they were beyond rescuing.
Thankfully, after their first week together, Rolan hadn't allowed his hair to become so filthy again. Though he did get it caught on door handles, in the buttons of the shirts he usually used as pillows and often in Peta's brush when he attempted to brush his hair. Peta had gotten used to saving the boy from his own clumsiness, just as he'd grown a soft spot for brushing the boy's hair. It had almost seemed like Rolan did it on purpose, just so Peta would, though the boy had denied his proposition immediately, with a red face and a stuttered answer.
With deliberate strides, Peta allows the soft light from the flickering candle sitting in the middle of the table Rolan in napping on to hit his face and he quietly stops by the young knight. He bends down and places a steady hand on Rolan's shoulder: he is sleeping peacefully, his nose being tickled tenderly by a few strands of hair. Peta smiles fondly.
The older knight hooks his left arm under the boy's legs, and his right around Rolan's shoulders before he lifts him effortlessly. The book remains on the table, having left Rolan's nimble fingers with barely a whisper, “You are in need of rest, Rolan.” He speaks softly as he seemingly glides back down the narrow, dank, stony hallway he'd come in through, “You push yourself far too hard.”
“I don't want to disappoint Phantom.” The small voice that causes pleasant vibrations against his chest, makes Peta's visible eye twinkle; the boy is incredibly loyal. Where had Phantom told him he'd found him again? Peta wouldn't mind acquiring an heir of sorts much like him. “Besides,” The knight hears Rolan continue as he yawns and shifts himself in his arms, “You wouldn't be able to baby me if I didn't.”
Peta agrees. He has grown fond of Rolan, far too fond. Yet, he never thinks to stop his mollycoddling of the young man. He has tried, but has failed, his reasoning as to why he should stop morphing into reasons why he should continue, “You are exploiting me.” He responds with a grin. “At least you learnt something these last six years.”
Rolan smiles and blushes, “Well, I suppose! But you really don't have to carry me! I can walk if you like.”
“We are nearly at your room,” Peta returns as his gaze goes back to the space in front of him. He mostly sees darkness, as the torches along each corridor flicker, threatening to die with each small gust of wind, “Go back to sleep, there is no reason for you to remain awake.”
After a moment's more shifting, Peta feels Rolan's head loll against his shoulder, finally asleep again. Peta fumbles with the door to Rolan's room's golden handle for a moment, and continues to the large bed by the room's large open window. The sky is peaceful and shows off a bright crescent moon. The room itself is bare bar the few pictures that live on the desk Rolan had asked for when he'd first arrived back here. It was littered with paper and books too. With hardly any jarring movements; Peta has the boy stripped of his shirt, before he carefully Peta places Rolan on the bed and he tucks him beneath the thick, blue-grey covers.
“Good night, Rolan.” He says, far more tenderly than he wants. He runs a pale hand through the boy's hair, out of habit, he reasons, before he strides back to the door.
He is starting to feel like the boy's mother, Peta muses as he shuts the door with the barest click. He doesn't understand why, but that makes him feel like he belongs, even more so than the blood he spills does. As the clogs in his mind begin to spin and turn and give birth to an idea. Perhaps he ought to find his house clothes again, Rolan had been whining about missing his cooking, as plain as he thought it was. Perhaps a surprise was in order, for the boy's successful show of skill and power during the war games earlier that day. It would be appreciated Peta was sure. And he did so enjoy spoiling the boy.
He would just have to make sure he wasn't found out by the other chess pieces, especially in his other clothes; no one would dare speak against him, though Peta could only imagine the comments Rolan would receive from them. He was going to have to be discrete, which suited Peta just fine, it was Rolan he worries about. The boy is clumsy and far too noisy for secrets.
A wail echoes through the corridor, “Ow!” Peta frowns as his visible eye threatens to roll. Rolan must have rolled out of bed again. It seems he will need to lay with him tonight, if only to make sure Rolan doesn't do so again. The boy is far too clumsy.
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Woffy: To celebrate creating of a MAR category on Yay! Peta fiction! Oh, how I loves Peta. Wish they'd show him more in the show though. -pouts-
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