pardon
verb
forgive or excuse (a person, error, or offense).

{Taemin rescues Minho from certain death.} | 583w

A/N: I hope no expert on medieval times ever reads this.

“He's a bloody thief!” the castle guard spat, leaning over Taemin menacingly.

“We all know that,” the noble's son said as he moved away, eyeing the peasant in the weathered stock with genuine pity. “But I want him.”

“Ha! You want this good-for-nothing wretch?!” Onlookers in the square jeered as the burly man went over to crouch in front of the skinny boy, his unsightly face mere inches from him. “All he knows how to do is steal from honest men.”

The boy shut his eyes, grimacing at the guard's sour breath, and pulled his head as far back as the hole in the wooden block allowed.

“Too dumb to learn his lesson the first time too,” he muttered, grabbing his untidy hair and tugging it from the side of his head to reveal his left ear. His earlobe was missing.

The boy cried out in pain, and from humiliation no doubt, as he struggled to get the man to let go of him.

“You're lucky nobody's come around to snip anything else off.”

“Enough!” Taemin yelled. “Let me take him.”

The guard got up and approached him with a sneer on his face. “We don't pardon thieves. He's meant for the gallows.” Several people in the small crowd shouted their support.

Taemin silenced them with a fierce glare. “I. Want. Him.” he said in the most intimidating tone he could manage. He pushed his way around the man and stepped in front of the peasant. “Tell me your name.”

The boy reticently raised his head. Taemin looked him over, finding that under all the grime his face could actually be quite handsome. Big brown eyes, fine nose, and round lips, unfortunately dry and cracked at the moment. All in all, a true waste if he were to let the aggressive guard carry out his orders.

“Minho... your grace,” he managed in a raspy voice. It was deeper than he'd expected. The boy had to be older than him. He'd definitely be useful.

Taemin appraised him once again and then pulled a small leather pouch from his scarlet fur-trimmed surcoat. “I'll pay you for him.”

“Oh?” The guard's beady eyes fell upon the bag. “A fair price I hope.”

“Indeed,” Taemin responded, disgusted to be negotiating with this easily-swayed man and over a miserable boy. “You say he's good for nothing.”

The man wrinkled his nose, immediately regretting his words.

“And dumb.”

He scowled at the dirty boy, then at the wealthy brat in front of him.

“One Noble.” Taemin picked an intricately marked coin from the pouch and offered it to the guard.

He wanted to protest, ask for more, but it'd been too long since he'd seen gold, and he wouldn't be seen begging a kid for money. He raised his callused hand to snatch the coin, but caught nothing.

“Remove the lock and release him,” the young noble commanded. “Only then will I pay you.”

The guard grumbled and went to do what he was told.

Taemin put his pouch away, careful not to show how relieved he was that this ordeal had gone over without much trouble. Those who had gathered to watch dispersed. He looked at Minho's face again and he really had to work to keep his emotions in line then. The boy's face was streaked with tears and his sobs were so heartbreaking one would think he were going to be hung after all.