27 Halimath, SR 1250

Isembard had known from the cradle that he was special. A seventh son (even if one brother had not lived long), Took superstition held that a seventh son was nearly magical, and so he had praise lavished upon him, was rarely corrected or scolded; his parents and other relations were quite lenient with him, for what if his powers should choose to suddenly surface in a fit of wrath? They did say faerie blood ran through Tookish veins, after all...

Isembold, the family’s other “Isem” – called “Duck” even by the Tooks now so as to distinguish him from the new brother – was especially fond of him, interloper though he might be with the naming convention. To soothe any insult, he called the lad “Bard”, and it stuck among the children at least. Duck was eight years older than his little brother, and now eleven, he was old enough to help watch over the new faunt. So he trotted at their big brothers’ heels, hand in hand with Bard, as they hunted for suitable First Gifts.

These would be important First Gifts; they would be the first ever presented by one of Gerontius’ children to him at the High Table, rather than outside, or in the small private parlour where the Thain’s Heir had previously breakfasted with his family. For, just months after Bard’s birth, Thain Fortinbras had passed away, and Gerontius himself was Thain.

Isengrim, mindful of the new position given him, kept a close eye on Duck and Bard, as Bard pointed to potential gifts for Grandmother Sapphire, the Lady; for the visiting Chubbs, Grandda Hugo, and Grammum Peony, for Papa – Father, the other lads had begun to say, but Bard was still little – and Mama, Mother. After choosing most of his gifts under Isengrim’s approving eye, Bard joyfully picked up a mud-soaked toad and held it out. “For Papa!”

The Thain’s Heir winced inwardly. It was not proper for the Thain to be given a toad, much less a mud-covered one. Still, this was Bard, and he could hardly naysay such a special child. His instincts warred within him, and he sighed, knowing he was caught between a goblin axe and a troll-stone, as the old saying went; what could he do? He resigned himself to punishment, and nodded. “It’s a fine toad, Bard. Father will like it.”

Well...he would have, three years ago. It was Father, the Thain that didn’t like muddy toads...not Papa.

Surrounded by his elder brothers’ approval, after placing a pretty shell on Hildi’s barrow, Bard made his triumphant way back to the Great Hall.

***

It didn’t go as badly as Isengrim feared...

...it was worse.

At least Father had waited until they were alone to punish him...but cleaning out the pigsties?It had only been a bit of mud, and it wasn’t even his!

Not for the first time, nor the last, Isen resented his special baby brother.