#Writing royal characters

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal Children - Heirs and Spares

The lives of Princesses and Princes are of interest to most fantasy writers, it's where many of our heroes, side characters and antagonists hail from. But what is there life like? Is it always ballgrowns and servants? Or something more?

A Strict Order of Precedence

The first thing to know about royal children and siblings is that there's a very strict precedence of importance. Is it fair? No. But this is a system, it doesn't have to be fair. The heir comes first without argument. They are the most important child, they are always greeted first, they are the one to stand next to the monarch or their parents at occasions, they literally go first - and this doesn't change with age, if the heir is the youngest, they still have precedence over their siblings. After the heir, order of predence goes by age and the order effects the life of the children. For example, the older sister will marry begore any of her sisters. This order of deference will be so engrained in your character's life that they will believe it the norm and rarely question it, it probably won't spark any in-fighting.

Accommodation & Staff

Royal children are usually raised one of two ways. Either they are raised at court, in the same Palace as their parents or they are raised away from court under the care of trusted servants. Being raised away from their parents isn't a sign of remoteness or dislike or terrible parenting, it was a way of break a child into the constraints of royal life while giving them freedom of scrunity or danger. Usually these children are raised in the countryside for their health, as cities are usually cesspits for disease. Their parents would come to visit them or allow them to visit them at court. Children raised at court are raised with a higher level of scrunity and attention. They will be in the public eye.

Royal children will always be surrounded by staff. There will be nurses to wash and dress them, nannies to discipline and direct them, guards to protect them and usually, a guardian known as a governess to run their household and care for their needs. Staff are not allowed to hit royal children and must obey their commands. Some royal children were very close to their staff:

Kat Ashley and Elizabeth I

Baroness Lehzen and Queen Victoria

Klementy Grigorievich Nagorny and the Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich

Lala Bill and Prince John

However, some royal children faced neglect from their staff. George VI was abused by his nanny, who would pinch him during important occasions, openly favour his elder brother over him and deny him food, which many have been a cause of his speech impediment. After the Russian Revolution, another of the Tsarevich's nannies proved less loyal than the other. Andrei Yeremeyevich Derevenko abandoned his charge, but not before ordering the boy around and insulting him.

Day to Day Life

Royal children would be educated withing their home by tutors. They would usually take lessons all together (the heir may take other lessons). A royal child would recieve an education in languages, arithmetic, geography, etiquette, dancing, music, sports such as riding and literature. Sometimes they would even share lessons with the children of trusted nobles or their cousins. Only the heir will be taught statecraft and how to reign. There is no rhyme nor reason a spare would learn how to rule.

Some royal children are taught the value of their position. Many royal children will be raised strictly to adhere to their social standing and their place in it. Some children may be raised in isolation, kept from mingling and raised to think of themselves as higher than those around them. Some royal families preferred to raise their children as "normal" as possible. The last Romanov children slept in camp beds, with no pillows and we're expected to tidy their own rooms and help the servants. They didn't even use their proper titles, they were called by their names and given a tight monthly allowance to spend. Alexandra of Denmark and her sisters used to make their own clothes. Some royal children could even be encouraged to play with the children of servants and staff as well as nobility (Kolya Derevenko and Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich, Winifred Thomas and Prince John). Companionship was a great honour for noble and common child alike as sometimes, they would be invited to live or be educated alongside by the royal children.

Royal children will not undertake royal duties until they are of age. Younger children be be present for large scale events such as jubilees but would not be expected to partake in any duties themselves. When they are of age, they will usually be granted an annual allowance, be invited to social events, invited to be patrons of charities and participate in royal duties.

Heir Vs Spare

Heirs have more responsibility, all the prestige, more power but they have less freedom, less room to explore their own lives and be expected to always be the epitome of perfect. Heirs will be given responsibilities in government, sitting in on state meetings or undertaking state duties.

Spares have little in the way of real power but have the ability to live less regimental lives and gave more agency in their personal lives. Spares may act as ambassadors to other nations or undertake state visits on behalf of the monarchy or even take positions in the army. Spares are encouraged to find positions to support themselves outside the family, either in a marriage or undertaking some service to the country. Spares who stay in the country, tend to act as unofficial advisers to their sibling when they become monarch.

All Grown Up

When royal children grow up, there are usually certain expectations and limitations.

Heirs will be married quickly, the lineage must be secure. Heirs will usually marry either as part of a political alliance or marry somebody suitable - from a good family, the right background, and able to fit into a certain mould (i.e malleable, amiable and loyal). They will be expected to focus on the country, it's needs and support the monarch at all times. Their social circles will be scruntised, their every move will be noted and remarked upon. Heirs will never gave to worry about funding their lifestyle, the Crown is their job and it supports them.

Spares can marry or remain single if they choose, (but if the monarch instructs them go marry they must). Spares can travel, they can be idle, they can even persue amusements not permitted for the heir. Spares can win glory on the battlefield and mix with all sorts of people. That isn't to say spares are useless, spares often occupy very important spaces in society and government. Spares will usually take these positions not for just status but also for the pay. This is why spares are granted royal titles such as dukedoms (they can make money off the lands, be able to build a dynasty for themselves and their heirs and gain status).

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Reasons to play In Stars and Time: Canon Pronoun Warfare.

[turtleblogatlast]

Small but significant character moments that I actually really adore are from both the times we see the boys as tots. There is a reoccurrence that happens in both of them that I find so incredibly interesting.

For the turtle tot short, Splinter leaves the boys with weapons. In the short, Raph is the one who suggests they do “what Lou Jitsu would do” and Leo is the one who takes point when Splinter comes back to reprimand them. Leo, in taking point, is the one to defend them and get Splinter off their tails.

And then, in the flashback regarding the Kuroi Yōroi helmet, Raph is the one who grabs and throws “Skully” as a way to replace their missing ball which breaks it into pieces, but Leo is the one who speaks for the group and rushes into action to fix the teapot.

I love this for multiple reasons, but the biggest are how it shows that Raph has always been inclined toward the bold and fun and making the plans to include his brothers in what he loves and believes they’d love, whereas Leo has always been inclined to be the “Face” of the group and shoulder the attention even if it’s potentially negative all while coming up with on the spot attempts to fix the situation.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Imagine a spoiled royal, heir to the throne, part of a powerful bloodline that gives them "divine right to rule". They're raised to be cruel, and told their heritage puts them above everyone else.

And then one day, it's revealed before the entire court that it's all a lie. The royal was switched at birth with the child of a servant. The real heir has been serving in the palace all this time, unaware of their birthright. Maybe they're even someone the faux-royal had been particularly cruel to all their lives.

The ruling family is quick to push out the false heir---blood is more important to them than any illusion of family---and welcome the servant with open arms.

Maybe the false heir is banished from the kingdom they were raised to rule. Maybe they're imprisoned so the truth can never come out. Maybe they're made a servant, now at the beck and call of someone they'd thought beneath them.

Does the true heir take pity on them, or do they seek vengeance from years of abuse? Does the royal family have any regrets, or have they always been cold, only concerned with holding power? What do the servants and commoners do, now that the arrogant "heir" has lost all power and protection?

[maskedchip]

the juicebox bandits

[thingsthatcometomymindwheniwrite]

father forgive me for the type of fictional characters I say “he just like me fr” about

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

I think it's a rumour started by a parody joke account, but the way we all heard a variation of "F1 driver Franco Colapinto hits it off with Norwegian Princess" and immediately went:

[m0e-ru]

i cant believe p4g came out and every single one of you forgot about adachis sister

[v1x3n]

okay ik i said i wouldn't post or write shit but!! i have something i need to say.

simon riley and you, both strict parents. but one difference is his parents are middle class/ barely getting by and yours are the fucking queen and king.

simon who regularly sneaks out and sneaks through your window to come see you, your father banishes you to your room when he finds out you are friends with someone who doesn't have royal connections.

you glare at simon, complaining that he was the reason you cant leave your room. to that he says its good cause now you two can have 'alone time' and your helicopter parents cannot bother yous. he climbs through the window when you give up, tired of his complaining about how cold it was outside. he swears it was the hatred from your parents making him freezing. he could almost feel the cold glances the queen and king give him when they see him.

"hi princess" he smugly smirks when you allow him into your grand bedroom.

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Reader resting on red velvets chest please...also one of reader resting on clotted cream's chest and affogato's chest and caramel arrow's and royal margarine's...aaand dark choco's too!

(Sorry, the mozzarella one inspired me a little too much and ended up throwing in the crushes...couldn't resist, I'm sorry! They are all just so amazing!)

He'll stop whatever he's doing whenever you decide to do this. When the cake hounds decide to join in, too, he knows he won't be getting up anytime soon. He doesn't mind at all, finding it very sweet.

It usually happens during his work hours, when you're curled on his lap and your head on his chest. Sometimes you'll drift off to sleep, but he'll keep you there. He can't help but crave your affection.

During her down times, she'll cuddle with you, and you'll rest your head on her chest. It gets her a little flustered, but hey, it makes you happy! She'll hold you closer too, enjoying your warmth.

Affogato will stroke your hair when you rest your head on his chest. He'll talk to you during this time, sometimes even lulling you to sleep. He loves seeing you ap vulnerable with him.

He gets incredibly flustered. He's not that used to physical affection, so you just resting your head on his chest throws him off guard. Doesn't mean he doesn't like it, though!

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble Jewellery

Royal and Noble jewellery is a staple of their life, a statement of the who is person is, their rank and their wealth. Jewellery simply isn't a accessory, it's an exercise in showmanship and a way to link to a past.

(Disclaimer: Many stones in pieces often have a bloody past, usually stolen or worked from the earth under the reign of Colonialism. It is best to always take this into account when admiring real world pieces)

Providence

Jewellery like this is usually inherited buy can also be bought or even given as a gift. There is three kinds of jewellery in this instance: private, owned by the crown or owned by the state.

Private jewellery is owned by a single person and worn or lent at their own descretion. Private jewellery can be no less grand than state owned jewellery. This jewellery can be inherited by anybody the owner chooses.

State jewellery is not privately owned, it belongs to the country itself. It is not inherited but used by royal family. If a royal family is deposed, the jewellery remains with the state. Such as the French Crown Jewels.

Owned by the Crown means that it can only pass monarch to monarch, worn only by consorts or the monarch and lent to anybody they choose.

Noble jewellery is not quite the same. Much of it is owned privately but there may be one or two pieces designated as official jewellery for the title such as a specific tiara.

The Rules

Jewellery like this are not just trinkets to be borrowed by anybody. Usually the monarch (or titled noble) or sometimes the spouse, is in charge of designating who can be lent which pieces and for what occasion. Even if you are a super close member of the family, you still have to take what's on offer. Sometimes certain jewellery is worn exclusively by a certain rank say the Queen or the noble themselves and would not be offered to anybody else. For example, you will note that into today's royalty you will see certain royals repeating the same tiaras such as Kate Middleton who has only worn the Cambridge Lover's Knot, the Strathmore Rose Tiara, the Lotus Tiara and once, the Cartier Halo Tiara. These would be the tiaras available to them, which usually number only a handful. Certain pieces are designated by for the monarch/Consort as well, the Vladimir Tiara & the Girls of Britain and Ireland Tiara only graced the head of the Queen in her reign. Other pieces such as earrings or bracelets would also be distributed accordingly, more elaborate and expensive pieces would be worn by the higher ranking members. Certain collections are meant to be passed on, such as the Consort's jewels but many Dowager refused to pass on their jewels such as Empress Dowager Maria Feodorovna after the death of Tsar Alexander III.

Treasure Trove

Now, just because a family has a throne or a grand title doesn't mean they have caches of jewels. Many noble families sold off their pieces to pay death duties, most only have a few pieces left today. As for tiaras most noble families would not have access to large quantities, usually only affording one or two. The Spencers for example own two, the Spencer Tiara and the Spencer Honeysuckle Tiara. This is an inaccurate protrayal in Downton Abbey, as the family have at least 6 but then again Cora is a Dollar Princess so it could be possible to own as many but it never made sense considering just how many times they almost loose the estate and never sell any off. Royal families are not exempt from this either, some families have vast stores of jewels such as the British Royal Family (I wonder where those all came from...) while the Greek Monarchy (discontinued) has only a few pieces. The Romanov collection is of course legendary and we may never know it's full extent.

[emblemxeno]

If we're being honest, I got a lot of issues with Ingrid because I feel like she has the wrong character development

Her support with Dedue is realizing that she shouldn't apply her negative view of Duscur onto every Duscurian indiscriminately

That kind of thing works for Oboro because Nohrians really did kill her parents

But, Duscurians didn't actually cause the death of Lambert or Glenn, so her development should've been to learn that all those years of hatred were misdirected, and she hated them for no reason

It also didn't help that Dimitri states multiple times that Duscur didn't commit the crime, and Ingrid is still ignorant about it

I have this unhinged hatred of the Faerghus Four as a concept because every time, it's like they're consciously refusing to acknowledge the importance of Dedue in Dimitri's life in the present "Oh, these are Dimitri's childhood friends. Of course, they're close." Yeah, sure.... They're totally closer to Dimitri than Dedue is in the present.... *Internal screaming*

Combining these because my answer to both is similar!

In my opinion, it showcases how 3H's writing philosophy is ultimately shoddy in its foundation. The backstories, supports, and character-to-character dialogue itself is great in theory, but execution it clashed with what both FE usually tries to do and what 3H desperately wants to do.

FE typically has characters join chapter to chapter, with important ones having plot moments, while side characters fall to the background once their designated chapter is up. But this isn't at the cost of character interaction, pre-established relationships, and the micro-to-macro worldbuilding precisely because they're not overly important. You can have canon romances, friendships, familial relationships, etc. because that's all supplemental side material.

3H was written in a way in which the characters were all connected to its grandiose world, to the point where Fodlan itself can be almost considered a character. Multilayered backstories that infer key points in the narrative, each character no matter how trivial having opinions on how the world works, shifting dynamics, etc.

The problem though is that these two philosophies clash already at base, but also run into the problem of FE's gameplay integrated story elements.

None of the Faerghus Four can meaningfully comment on their relationship with Dimitri during a story cutscene because they can die. Ingrid can't meaningfully change her perspective on Dedue or Duscur beyond her supports because she can die. Therefore, all you get are (admittedly pretty good) supports, the monastery dialogue, and other tidbits intentionally disconnected from one another so as not to be important enough to write around potential death. The comments they do get in cutscenes were intentionally written in a way to be surface level and easily replaced. Look at the FEdatamine site for example, where conclusions are reached by Byleth, the lord, the unkillable retainer, and other important story figures, with numerous possible instances of "if X character is alive they comment this, but if X character is dead this line is skipped."

That is proof of how sloppy 3H's writing is in foundation when you think about it long enough. The game that has such an intricate world, thorough details, and fascinating story beats, is actually extremely bad at delivering a story, especially an FE story. Being the judgmental and petty cunt that I am, 3H gets a pass most of the time a) most don't care or bother to care about actual stuff like this and b) the game has the aesthetics of being a down to earth, gritty, serious narrative. The foundational issues don't matter when you have Edelgard yapping about "THE CREST SYSTEM", dark character circumstances, and intriguing mysteries to solve in part 1.

People want the appearance of sophistication, especially after Awakening and Fates bent a lot of rules to fuck around with their respective stories. It's why Engage, despite not having nearly as many basic issues at conveying its plot and is actually extremely good at being a Fire Emblem story (e.g. more character being able to actually die, pre-established relationships, chapter to chapter joining, not nearly as much centering on Alear as the ultimate decider on a character's fate compared to Byleth), is panned because... why? Its bright aesthetic? Its good dragon vs evil dragon plot? Its softer or humorous moments?

Hell, even its call backs to past FE games is called cheap, soulless, or a gateway to gacha (one video I saw even described it as something like "when art becomes obligation" or some such nonsense), despite it LITERALLY being the prime anniversary title. The main character is the Fire Emblem, and the writers-through Lumera-wish a happy birthday to Fire Emblem!!! What about that is lacking heart and soul?

But yeah, again, I preface that I'm a judgmental asshole who proudly proclaims that the audience (at least the western one) has for years been too obsessed with yearning for darker serious aesthetics of FE's past (despite said past being wackier than they remember), that when a new game has them in overflowing spades, the many fundamental video game writing issues do not matter as much anymore.

Aesop for the day: Serious tones and aesthetics are not automatically better than lighter, heartfelt, or funny ones. You still have to write well for a story to be good.

EDIT: Funny enough this is also why Three Hopes is a more comfy environment for the Fodlan cast's in terms of tangible development, because the things the writers want to do with that game's story complements its gameplay. Because KT is better at making Warriors plots than FE plots.

[goldenwilmon]

Just saw a tweet about how Omar was leaving after signing things for fans after his Gröna Lund show but he turned back around to sign something for a young boy who was there and naturally after feeling emotional about how precious Omar is, my brain started to wilmonify the moment into -

A fic where Wille is a single dad, and him and his son both love Simon Eriksson’s music. When Wille’s spouse died, Simon’s music got them through the long nights and hard mornings. So when Wille sees Simon is playing at Gröna Lund, he has to take his son (and even though he’ll never admit it to Felice, yes maybe he has developed a bit of a crush on Simon). Wille didn’t think it was possible to love Simon even more after watching him perform live until Simon takes his time to sign something for his son after the show, talking to him and giving him a hug, and after that, Wille knows he’s in deep. Luckily for him, Simon also takes notice of the cute single dad he met after the show and starts desperately thinking of how he can meet him again…

[thepenultimateword]

Love Thy Enemy Part 6

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

For all Callista's talk of winning Vorrin over, it was surprising that she returned to ignoring his existence. Pins and Switch even informed him that his designated visit to her chambers had been canceled for the week. Usually, Vorrin would've been thrilled, but considering the circumstances... How was he supposed to gain the empress's trust if they didn't see each other?

"Is she busy again?" Vorrin asked as he took a bite of strawberry scone. He kept his tone bland and stared with what he hoped looked like disinterest at the wall.

"I hear she's taking a trip to the border cities," Pins mumbled, sewing needle held between his lips as he turned the half-finished embroidery in his hands. "Probably takes a lot of prep work."

Vorrin had felt rather guilty about his outburst the other day, and remembering Switch's comment about waste, he'd asked the manservants if it was possible to repair the torn shirt. The short answer was no. Nothing could get the shirt exactly back to its original state. The longer answer, with more cloth and designs to hide the stitches, the outfit could be salvaged. So here the pair were, with more work thrust upon them, though Vorrin couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the company.

Vorrin set down the scone, turning full attention to the manservant. "The border cities? Why?"

"I only caught pieces from the soldiers while fetching your dinner the other night, but I think an emissary from Avarose is meeting her there."

"An emissary?"

"She has been out of the country for almost a year now. Maybe she needs an update from Prince Suthand on the state of the kingdom?"

"An update can be sent in a letter."

"You know more about politics than us," Switch said, stacking up some of the empty breakfast plates. "Why do you think she's going?"

Vorrin pondered it a moment. Callista was calculated, and she knew her hold on Totholan was tentative. She wouldn't leave the capital unless she thought it was absolutely necessary.

Perhaps she wanted to check on the strength of the border troops. But she could outsource that to a general couldn't she?" And then there was the emissary. That would be political. But why would she need a representative from her own kingdom? And why didn't they meet her here instead of the other way around?

"I don't understand anything she does," Vorrin said finally, picking back up his scone. He only managed to nibble it a little further before asking, "When will she return?"

Switch raised a brow. "You're certainly eager to see the empress again."

"I wouldn't say eager. Simply...interested."

"Well, she hasn't left yet," Pins said. "She might still come to say goodbye."

As if Vorrin was worried about not receiving a proper farewell. He was her consort, not her lover. He forced a smile anyway. "Maybe."

Pins smiled brightly back and turned the finished tunic around for him to see. "How's this?"

A spattering of golden stars and a large sun now hid the repaired tear. They glimmered against the white fabric like the celestial bodies they were imitating.

"It’s beautiful,” Vorrin said, “it’s a wonder you were hired as a manservant rather than a tailor’s apprentice.”

Pins flushed appreciatively and lowered his eyes to the ground. “I used to do the repairs to the servants' uniforms, back before I was officially hired. My mum said I had a gift. But…apprenticeships don’t pay in money, just room and board, and my family couldn’t really live on one income so…” His face fell a bit, but as he lifted his head again, it abruptly brightened. “When I was offered this position, it paid twice the amount as a regular manservant, and I still get to do sewing, so better off for me, I say.”

Vorrin fought the frown dragging down the corners of his mouth. He knew what it was like to come from humble beginnings. Living day to day on whatever scraps he could get. Going hungry. Survival topping every other thought or desire. The main reason he'd joined the King's army as a boy was for the pay. Squires received a gold piece every month, and the stipend only grew the longer he stayed alive. Not to mention the free board in the barracks. As he’d risen in the ranks, he’d created a comfortable place for himself. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he hadn't had any family to rely on him, so he’d only had to worry about himself. He could only imagine the pressure of supporting a family at such a young age.

“Is your mother in Totholan?”

“No, she stayed back home. But I send her half my earnings whenever any of the soldiers travel back to Avarose with the Empress's letters.”

“Which they skim,” Switch muttered.

“It’s fine,” Pins said, forcing one of his bright smiles, “I just think of it as a delivery fee.”

This time Vorrin did frown. “That is not fine. They recieve their own wages, they don’t need any of yours.” He doubted it was something Empress Callista would allow either. “I’ll speak to the Empress about it.”

Switch audibly choked.

Pins shot to his feet. “Oh, no! You don’t have to— It’s much too small a matter to bring so high as the Empress.”

Yes, Vorrin understood it was unconventional. King Duras would have imprisoned a servant for wasting his time with such a request, that is if he even allowed it to reach the level of audience, and with the state of the kingdom, Empress Callista probably would brush it off too, but…

“If she cares about me, she’ll care about you,” Vorrin said firmly.

“I don’t want her to think I’m complaining or gossiping about the soldiers. Especially not to you."

"Because you don't want to be blamed for my poisonous attitude toward all things Avarosian?"

Pins pressed his lips together, his lack of denial an admittance all its own.

“If it bothers you, I won’t tell her it’s you.”

"I...well..." Pins slowly folded the tunic over his arm and moved gingerly across the room to tuck it away in the wardrobe. "I guess its ok. If it comes up that is. And as long as it doesn't inconvenience her. If she seems put out, tell her to forget it. And don't make it seem too urgent." He cleared his throat and plucked out a new outfit, lithely changing the topic. "How about this?"

It was another set of robes, this one a couple layers, the bottom a silky vibrant gold and the top a poofed, gauzy white that muted the underlying fabric, almost like looking through fogged glass. Glimmering gold strings hung loosed off the sleeves, ready to hold each one in perfectly puffed sections."

Vorrin grimaced. Where did the empress even get all these clothes from? Had she sent for them as soon as she’d taken him hostage or had she planned for this ending in advance? From what he'd seen Pins and Switch wear, robes were not uncommon for Avarosian men, but the fancy ones in his wardrobe were on another level. Either high-class styles were different, or the empress had some tastes. Maybe a bit of both.

"Well, I was hoping to attend the training grounds today," Vorrin said. "That is if there is a soldier to escort me today."

One of the things he and the empress had agreed upon in their last conversation was that Vorrin should have more freedoms. The training grounds to practice his sparring and more visits into the city were at the top of his requests. Surprisingly, both had been granted, on the condition that he was watched at all times.

"Oh!" Pins put the garment set back and sifted around the wardrobe for something else. "Then this?"

The new outfit was two pieces, a bottom and a top, so that was at least closer to Vorrin's regular style.

The top was a black compressed shirt with the sleeves cut off mid-shoulder and silver-threaded embroidery stretching from the shirt's high throat to the middle of the chest, giving the appearance of a layered necklace. The bottoms...were a skirt. Blue. Long. Plain except for the embroidered hem in matching silver.

"Er...I can't exercise in that," Vorrin said. It was the more diplomatic reply.

"This is a sparring outfit," Pins said. "An expensive one, but still equipped for actual sparring."

"I don't see how I'm supposed to fight in that." Vorrin stepped closer and flicked the hem of the skirt. "It's too long. And constricting. I'm not going to be able to move without tripping, ripping it, or showing everyone everything."

"It's not a skirt if that's what you're worried about," Switch said, setting the stacked dishes on the breakfast tray. The young man was as sharp as ever. He marched up the proffered outfit and grabbed the hem by one side, pulling it up to show the wide trouser legs beneath. "The overskirt is for show. It's split so it doesn't get in the way. Think of it as robes for fighting. Most of the military has switched to more obvious trousers, but most generals still wear this style. I don't know if you've noticed."

Vorrin couldn't say that he had. He didn't really pay attention to what his opponents were wearing in battle, and since becoming Empress Callista's consort, he'd been mostly confined. He assumed he'd seen mostly low-level soldiers since then, but it was also possible he'd missed it, either being in too much of an angry fog to notice or assuming they were robes like any other.

"The outfit's fine," Vorrin said crisply.

"Good!" Pins said. "Then let's get you ready!"

"I'll send for a soldier to escort you," Switch said. A shadow of a grimace crossed his face, but just as quickly it was gone. Replaced by his usual straight expression. "It might take a little while, so I should go now."

"We can go together," Pins offered.

"No, no." Switch drew himself up proudly. "I'm fully capable of finding someone. And it will be more efficient this way."

With a short bow toward Vorrin, he was out the door.

Pins had Vorrin dressed within a half hour. The bottoms were much more comfortable than he'd expected. His hair had taken on a simple style today, tied up into a tail. However, Pins still managed to make the simplicity elegant by using a silver hair ring instead of a regular hair tie.

The bedroom door burst open. Switch stormed in red-faced and hair-mussed, slender hands barely catching the door before its handle could hit the wall.

"I found someone," he said, easing the door shut before sitting hard in one of the dining sets.

"What happened?" Vorrin and Pins said together.

"Nothing. Like I said. It just takes a while to find soldiers who aren't busy."

"Switch, you're shaking," Vorrin said, his voice falling into the firm tone of his old station.

Switch looked down at his trembling hands with a surprised expression.

Switch clenched them. "I'm not scared or anything. I'm just mad."

"What happened?" Vorrin pressed again, this time summoning the authority Switch responded to.

"It's just soldiers being soldiers," the manservant spat. "Being crass and difficult and idiotic as usual. I swear, this is why I dropped out of the military. They're all so stupid. But of course, they can't let it go. I'm a traitor because I didn't fight in the war and even more so because I serve a Totholi consort." Switch's tone grew sharp and sarcastic. "Apparently, it's very unpatriotic of me to be at the beck and call of a Totholi general. Oh, and I think I'm better than them because of my cushy safe job and better pay and face-to-face meetings with the Empress."

At that last part, Switch let out a little gasp and pinned his lips tightly shut.

Another time, Vorrin would have seized that slip-up. He knew that Empress Callista was getting information on his behavior from someone. His manservants had been the most likely suspects, and this confirmed it. However, this was not the time.

"I didn't know you were military," Vorrin said instead.

"Was." Switch looked steadily at the ground a couple feet ahead, clenching his fists harder so the knuckles turned white. Vorrin knew that look. He kept dry anger at the forefront of his emotions, but he was probably fighting off tears. "I only squired for a year. I hate soldiers."

"Is that why you sometimes have a hard time with me?"

Switch flushed a little and a long pause stretched over the room. "Maybe. I don't know. I guess sometimes I see the resemblance. But you're not like them. I know that. Even if you are aggravating." He cleared his throat abruptly. "Sorry."

"Did the oh-so-proper and strict Switch make a joke?" Vorrin said with a mock gasp.

Switch rolled his eyes, but a small smile crept up his face. "Don't tell anyone."

"They're just being jerks because they're jealous," Pins piped in.

Vorrin nodded. "As a once stupid soldier, I have to agree. For men like them, there is a pecking order, and they're worried you're on top. And they hate that, so they're trying to convince you that you're not."

"But I don't want to be a part of their stupid pecking order at all," Switch said.

“Then you need to find the biggest instigator and give them a good punch in the nose.”

“You are a soldier.”

Vorrin shrugged. “It’ll at least show them you’re not going to take their rubbish.”

“But it’s so unrefined…”

“And they are? They’re a bunch of insecure bottom feeders with too much space in their skulls. I’m telling you, the only thing people like that respect is brute force.”

“I’m really beginning to doubt your strategic ability as Totholan’s best general.”

Vorrin chuckled. “Well, I can always punch one for you. I doubt they’re allowed to hit me back.”

Switch let out a long sigh, though it wasn’t entirely exasperated. He scrubbed his tearless face. "I’ll think about it. Pretty sure letting the royal consort get into fights isn’t a much better look. Anyway, the escort is waiting outside when you're ready."

Vorrin stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Time for me to go then. Guess I better show this little guppy who’s really in charge. ”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t worry, Switch. I know how to handle grunts.”

“Seriously don’t.”

Vorrin only grinned, flexing one of his bare arms before sweeping out the door.

As he stepped out into the hall, the soldier leaning against the outside wall stood up straight. He was about what Vorrin had expected: young, a little below average height, and built just enough to have real muscle but still feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Vorrin could see the inexperience in his shifting posture.

“Good morning, Royal Consort,” the soldier said offering a short bow. Obviously, his feelings on a Totholi consort were much different when face-to-face with him. “My name is Raoden. I’ll be escorting you.”

“Yeah, I’m not remembering that,” Vorrin said, stepping past the man without a second glance and starting toward the training ground. “How about I call you Button?”

“Well, er…”

“Perfect. Come on."

The soldier scrambled after him, needing to use his full stride to keep pace at Vorrin's side. As they reached the end of the hall, he angled toward the right, the direction to the main entrance of the arena.

Vorrin turned left.

"Um, I think the training grounds are--"

"I know how to get there," Vorrin said.

He strode the full length of the hall, turning left and then left again. He barely glanced at the other soldiers and servants they passed along the way, only stopping when he reached a worn, narrow door the same grey as the stone around it.

"Royal Consort--"

Vorrin was already pushing inside.

"Hello, boys!"

The whole room scrambled to their feet. A couple of men fell off their beds. One hit his head on the bunk above him as he rushed to stand.

“So this is where you all go to slack off.”

One of the soldiers without his shirt or shoes squirmed. “We’re off duty, your…Royal Consort…sir.”

“Of course. Don't mind me.” He mosied down the aisle, looking idly around with each step, gaze skimming past the soldiers enough that they dropped their heads to avoid eye contact. “I just wanted a look at my old quarters before Button here escorts me to the armory. Well, close enough. These were the squire quarters. You're all full-fledged soldiers, aren't you?"

"Er...most of us," Button interceded from behind. When Vorrin glanced back at him, the man stood by the entrance, looking desperate to lead Vorrin back out. "Military rankings work differently in Avarose. Um...should we perhaps..."

"Really? That's interesting." Vorrin sat himself down on one of the now-empty bunks. He crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back on one hand. "How is it done in Avarose?"

Button looked around the room, but no one else spoke up. "Royal Consort Vorrin, I really think..."

Vorrin raised his brows. "Yes?"

"Uh...well, in Totholan there are three titled ranks, right? Page, squire, and knight? Though of course some knights can reach the higher rank of Knight General or the highest rank, like yourself, Grand Master."

Vorrin shook his head. "King Duras was the Grand Master. I'm just a general."

Button blinked and glanced toward his comrades and back. "Respectfully, sir...that wasn't what we were told in our briefing. That's why the Empress specifically--" He abruptly cut off and cleared his throat. "My point was Totholi military is more simplistic."

One of the soldiers snickered but stopped before Vorrin could identify who it was.

"Whereas Avarosian military is sort of...complicated."

Vorrin leaned his chin into his hand. "Oh?"

"There are ranks within ranks. Sort of like your knights, but with much more variety." He lifted one end of the wide scarlet sash wrapped around his middle. Looking at the colors may help. The lowest rank is yellow. Children in training wear the palest shade and it deepens as they move up. Green is the next rank, usually utilized as messengers or apprentices to higher-ranked soldiers. Blue is reserved for military medics. Red is for ordained soldiers, again the palest shades are always reserved for those with the least experience. Generals wear black. The sovereign wears white. But only on the battlefield.

Vorrin closed his eyes a moment, tentatively summoning a memory. He could still picture that day perfectly. Empress Callista standing over him, half of her hair escaped from its braid, the long tails of her "white" sash whipping in the wind. In reality, it had only been white in small patches; the majority of it was dyed red with blood. The point of her blade pressed carefully into his throat. He'd swallowed. She'd grinned.

Vorrin's eyes shot back open. He pushed himself back to his feet, shoving the memory's emotions deep down and instead surveying the soldiers once again.

"It seems every one of you carries a red sash. I'm surprised."

"Sir?"

"It took thirty minutes for my manservant to acquire one of you. You do realize that a request from my servants is a request from me?"

Button bowed his head. "Yes, Royal Consort."

"Tell me, how long did you spend arguing, drawing straws, and over me instead of doing your duty."

Button sank so far between his shoulders he resembled a turtle. "Too long, Royal Consort."

A part of Vorrin wanted to punish them further for Switch's sake. But Button had admitted his fault without excuse. Vorrin had to give the man credit for that. Many of the men looked equally chastened. No need to press further when a reprimand was being received.

"I suggest being a little quicker next time," he finished.

"Yes, Royal--"

"You're not in charge of us, Tolothi," another soldier interrupted. The man was all wiry muscle and unruly hair. Vorrin noted that his sash was vermillion whereas many of the other's were crimson.

Vorrin stalked up to the man, gazing down at him from under half-lowered lids. "Am I not?"

"You're a pet."

"Argin," one of the crimson soldiers hissed warningly.

"A dog may be pampered and protected," Argin continued, meeting Vorrin's eyes. " but that doesn't make it less a dog. And a dog holds no authority no matter who it belongs to."

Vorrin only smiled. "You sleep in a bunk bed. I sleep beside the Empress. Maybe I am a dog, but between the two of us, I wonder who has more authority. I suppose if you're really concerned I could ask the Empress what she thinks."

Argin paled a fraction and clenched his teeth hard enough to crack. He ducked away from Vorrin's gaze. "Aren't you supposed to be practicing sparring or something?"

"You're right. Thank you, Kitty."

The man flushed equal parts embarrassment and anger.

"Come along, Raoden."

Button looked a little shocked at the usage of his real name, but he quickly fell in step, following Vorrin through the door at the back of the room into another room of bunks, this one empty. The Knights' old quarters. They passed rows and rows of beds before exiting another door into the armory.

Unlike the barracks, this room had been completely reorganized. Probably so it could hold all the weapons that the Avarosian army had brought with them.

Vorrin ran his hand down the row of spears lined along the wall. "Any limits on which weapons I'm allowed to use?"

"I don't think Empress Callista established a rule." Button looked around the room nervously. "Maybe nothing too sharp?"

Vorrin tsked. "Do you have so little faith in yourself that I need a handicap?"

"When it comes to you, sir, yes."

"Really? You don't think you could stop me if I was armed? A little concerned for the person who is supposed to keep me from escaping.

Button swallowed. "I don't know, sir. But I know it took the Empress to defeat you, and I couldn't win against the Empress." He gathered himself taller. "However, Royal Consort, I don't think you plan on running. Even if I fell, there are at least a hundred guards between here and the end of the palace grounds. They would catch you immediately."

Button's tone begged Vorrin not to try anything. He almost seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as Vorrin. He was right though. Vorrin suspected that having a watch was more about preventing him from stealing weapons than stopping an escape attempt.

"I'll stick with the quarterstaff then," Vorrin said, plucking the long wooden pole off the wall. "I only want to practice some movements today anyway."

Button nodded, relieved, and they exited the armory into the training grounds. A light breeze wafted the smell of the dusty earth, and the musty hay of the training dummies to his nose. Vorrin closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scents. It had been a long time.

The quarterstaff felt a little strange in his hands. Though his hands instinctively gripped the right places, the weapon no longer fit the same against his too-smooth palms.

Vorrin spun the staff a couple times before trying a stab. He stumbled a little and gritted his teeth. He'd overextended.

His immediate reaction was a surge of rage, but he exhaled the emotion slowly. This is fine. Just go back to the basics.

He fell into a defensive stance. Block, parry, stab. Block, parry, stab. He moved slowly, perfecting each movement as he went. After about four times, he picked up speed, throwing in a few dodging movements and thrusting out the pole in low and high attacks.

Button yawned from the sidelines.

Vorrin half-wanted to ask the guard to spar with him, but he doubted that was allowed. Maybe he should asked for two guards next time, one to spar with and another to watch him. Better yet, maybe he could begin bargaining for the release of his soldiers. Not at all at once, but one or two at a time. He missed their familiar company. Not to mention, he’d need them if this uprising was going to work.

Having enough of the repetitive movements, Vorrin imagined an invisible enemy before him. He’d done this all the time as a boy when the other pages refused to be his sparring partner. Having Captain Kenric for a mentor had remedied that, but he’d still found solace in solo sparring once in a while.

He lowered into a defensive stance, holding the quarterstaff diagonal from his body. He circled slowly, searching for weak spots, knowing his enemy was doing the same. Abruptly, he thrust the staff forward. The enemy dodged, swinging back at him violently. He barely stepped back in time, throwing the staff sideways to block the blow. He gritted his teeth and widened his stance further against the imaginary weight. He shoved forward hard, knocking the figment backward. He stalked forward, raising his elbows in preparation for the finishing jab. He thrust the weapon forward, and...

A very visible, very real sword collided with the end of his staff.

Vorrin inhaled sharply, retreating back a couple steps and instinctively throwing out his quarterstaff in front of him. It took a couple moments for him to make sense of the red-and-gold-clad figure in front of him.

Empress Callista glanced at the weapon then casually back to his face with a widening grin. She slid her sword back into its sheath. “Hello, dear."

Vorrin exhaled slowly, doing his best to hide the tension ebbing from his muscles. He'd felt like a hair-trigger ready to fire. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't visit my consort? you weren't in your quarters; I was told I could find you here." Her eyes roved back to the weapon. "It's been a while since I've seen you in action. Serious as ever I see."

Vorrin furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Some people spar for fun, you know. But you have that same look you have in battle. Fighting isn't a game to you, is it?"

Where did she get off acting like she knew anything about him?

"I spar for fun," he said a little sharper than intended. "But there's nothing fun about swinging a stick around by yourself. Besides, if I'm going to regain all my skills, I can't afford to be lax."

Empress Callista let out a little amused breath. "Well then, we'll need to spar together sometime."

Vorrin's face warmed. "I wasn't implying that I wanted--"

"I like the outfit," she interrupted. "Very classic."

“Well, it was in my wardrobe.”

Empress Callista gasped in mock offense. “Are you suggesting that I gave you those clothes just because I wanted to see them on you?”

“Is that not true?”

“Well, maybe.” She winked, her smile landing somewhere firmly between flirtatious and wicked. However, the sly curve quickly straightened into a more serious expression. “I didn’t know what you looked like until the first time we faced each other in battle. I had no idea what would suit you, so we brought lots.”

“You didn’t think we had clothes here?” Vorrin said.

“Dressing you in our styles was intentional."

"And now?"

"It still is. But your comfort is also important, so we'll find a compromise."

Vorrin let the butt of the quarterstaff rest against the ground. He leaned into it like a walking stick. "Dressing me like an Avarosian isn't going to win over the people. They're just going to be mad that I'm betraying our culture."

"Maybe. But it does show them who you belong to." Her gaze darkened. "And it's not just for your people. Mine need reminders too."

Vorrin's insides went cold. Empress Callista was so confident, so domineering in every action and word, he'd never considered that her people might have as many disagreements with this plan as he did. He was safe...wasn't he?"

"Anyway, darling," she said, shattering the frozen feeling encasing him, "as much as I love our little tiffs, I came to wish you farewell. I'm heading to the border this afternoon."

Vorrin remembered what Pins had said about the Empress saying goodbye. He sincerely hoped that neither manservant had shared his interest in her departure. "You don't need to do that. My servants would have told me."

"Ah. Of course." She cleared her throat and gathered herself up a little straighter. "It's a two-week trip--5 days to the border and another 5 back. I would have felt strange saying nothing at all."

Vorrin didn't quite know how to respond, so he stayed silent.

The empress cleared her throat again. Wait a minute. Did she actually feel awkward right now?

“Is there anything you need before I go?” she said

"I need your soldiers to stop terrorizing my manservants."

The empress's forehead furrowed. Not confusion, or doubt. More...disciplinary. The look of a parent when they're told their child has been caught teaching curse words.

"Explain."

"Pins gets his wages partially stolen whenever he sends money back home to his mother. And Switch gets harassed when he makes requests on my behalf. It has to do with serving a Totholi, which, I would like to remind them, is literally his job."

Empress Callista raised her brows. "Switch and Pins?"

"That's what I call them."

She didn't push it further.

Vorrin continued on. "They're in positions of power and servants to the Empire. They're abusing those positions for personal gain. If it were my men they'd be cleaning everyone's armor for the next week. Or be working directly with me until they wised up."

Vorrin caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps his voice had risen too loud because Button shifted uncomfortably from his post at the arena's edge. His eyes flicked their way, briefly connecting with Vorrin's. The young man's shoulders leaped a little, and he hastily averted his gaze to the empty space ahead of him.

The young man had been properly chastened earlier, but Vorrin wanted him to bring this information back to the others.

"They can't be allowed to act this way, can they?" he said, letting his anger raise his voice even louder.

"No," the empress said firmly. "Their behavior is unacceptable. Unfortunately, I don't have control of every action the people in my employ make. However, I will be alerting my generals and captains of the issue. They should provide some correction. Let me know if it continues."

Vorrin nodded. Despite the many things that bothered him about the empress, the one thing he could count on was that she was fair. King Duras had allowed, even encouraged, a toxic dynamic in his army. One where power and physical strength reigned as dictators. It had taken a long while for Vorrin to clean up once he became Knight General, so he couldn't help but appreciate the empress's standards.

She tipped her head to catch his gaze. "I assure you, Vorrin. The trust I have in my army is critical to me. I allow error, and I allow redemption, but those I deem untrustworthy have no place with me.

"I know. Thank you." The words came out before Vorrin knew what he was saying. To his surprise, he actually meant them.

"Anyway," he said, diverting the attention from his last words. "Why are you going to the border?"

Empress Callista smiled thinly. "There's confidential information I don't want to be written in a letter. At least not one that passes many hands. Not only that, but I'm going to be surveying the area for construction."

"Construction?"

"For the new capital. With the kingdoms merging, I can't stay here. Avarose would be outraged. But I can't return as if nothing happened either, or I risk losing my foothold. We need a neutralized city equally distant between both locations."

"Idosa won't be the capital anymore?" Vorrin didn't know why he hadn't thought about that sooner. Technically, Idosa had ceased being the capital the moment Empress Callista won the war. Yet, everything remained so much the same, the castle, the stationing of the guard, the mannerisms of the city... He'd never imagined this type of reform.

"Don't act so sullen. This will be a massive change for all of us. Streles has been the Avarosian capital for centuries. I'm anticipating a heated argument with every noble and advisor I have over the next few months."

"And me?"

It wasn't a very articulate question, but the empress seemed to understand.

"You'll come with me, of course. Not only to the new capital but to Avarose as well. The new city will take time to build, so we may travel back and forth for some time."

"I could stay here." That was something consorts did, right? Have their own homes? At least, King Duras had gifted his mistresses residences within and without the city. Then again, many of them were not official consorts. Still, it wasn't as if Callista needed him outside Idosa. If she gave him this place, he could fix it. It wouldn't be exactly as it was, but it could be close.

Even as he tried to convince himself of nobler intentions, the truth gnawed at him. He was scared. Outside of battle and expeditions for the King, he'd never lived anywhere else. He'd grown up here. He'd become something here.

Empress Callista shook her head, a little sympathy peeking through her steady expression. "You're my token. A representation of our countries' union. You'll always be with me."

Always?

Vorrin's lungs suddenly felt tight. Like he'd been shoved into a space--a cage--too tight for his body.

The empress's hands found his face, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs. "It's alright, love. I will take care of you."

As if that was what worried him. Like he was a child who needed consoling about moving away from his friends. As if this was just about him and not everyone in Idosa--no Tothalan! And him a helpless bird with clipped wings.

No. No, don't think about that.

He released a shuddering breath.

He could stop this. None of this had to happen if he completed his mission. Calm. Calm. He just had to endure a while.

Vorrin stepped back out of her reach and looked down at her gold-button travel boots.

"Good luck, on your journey."

Empress Callista's hands dropped to her side, but she stepped forward, regaining the ground between them. "If you need anything, if you have any trouble, send for me. I'll return."

"Ah, so you expect trouble," Vorrin joked, not quite able to summon the humor into his smile.

She gently took his chin, raising his face to her eyes before withdrawing again. Her eyes appeared almost molten in the sunlight.

"I will be back before you know it."

Vorrin wasn't sure if that was meant as a comfort or a warning, maybe both. It made him feel strange.

He took two long steps back this time, properly distancing himself.

"Well, goodbye then. Bring me back something nice." With that, he turned his back on her, striding back to Button. "I'd like to go back to my room now."

Vorrin allowed the soldier to lead him through the proper exit this time. As they left, he felt the empress's eyes following him.

He did not look back.

Taglist:

@whatiswhump, @aprilraine, @ilovescarletwitch, @conniedensazation, @feedthebirds, @bloodinkandashes

[whump-in-the-closet]

CONGRATS ON YOUR FOLLOWERS!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉 for your scene prompt idea: a royal whumpee with a migraine, perhaps? context up to you :>

- @seth-whumps :D

Thanks dude!! It feels so surreal

anyway...

cw: royal whump, forced caretaking, migraine, noncon drugging because its "for their own good"

The young king’s room was cool and dark. A faint puff of wind made the chiffon curtain billow out like a sail, and then fall softly back to its natural position. Faint starlight shone on the white marble sill, and it glowed ever so softly, also glimmering in the pale blue eyes of the king who stood staring dully at the night sky.

The king's ears were still ringing from the heated arguments in the Council room. The fighting was tearing apart his leaders and he wanted nothing more than to put his head down on the cool marble and cry-- he was past caring about keeping himself together. Done.

He ached as if the entire universe was resting on his shoulders.

And in a way, it was.

A few days ago his most pressing concern had been whether or not the pretty lord with the dark eyes was single. Now it was whether or not he could keep his country from falling into his enemies' hands.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

And he put his head down on his arm and sobbed.

No father to plan with him and advise him. No mother to comfort him and listen to him pour out his worries.

Alone.

Completely alone.

There was an urgent knock on the door, and someone’s voice called out, asking if he was alright. But he had no strength to stem the flow of tears or to even move from the window. Behind him, the door opened, a shaft of warm light falling across his back.

“M'lord!” 

One part of him ordered him to sit up and greet the intruding lord with the facade of calm that he had spent years perfecting, but the other part was stronger, and so the king didn’t even look up when the young man repeated his name in a shocked whisper. 

“Are you alright? Do I need to send for a healer?” 

This shook him. He had no wish to appear weak. “No,” he choked out, pressing his forehead harder against the cool, tear-splashed marble. “I’m fine.”

“You’re very obviously not fine,” the lord replied, rushing across the room to stand beside the young king. “I’m calling them anyway.”

The king didn't look up. His head throbbed, and even the lord's voice felt like a needle probing into the soft, malleable batter of brain tissue.

“No,” he insisted, the ringing in his ears growing louder. “I’m-- I’m fine.” 

“But…”

“Don’t!” he shouted, whipping around to confront his friend. But instantly his anger vanished, replaced with a searing pain through his head, and his vision went fuzzy, then black as he crumpled.

The lord lunged forward, barely catching him in time. He picked up the limp form of the king with a protective concern. “Someone get me a healer!”

Panic shot through the lord as he realized how effortlessly he had lifted the king's body. He was far too thin and deathly pale.

He carefully lay the king, still with boyish features, on the couch and his eyes fluttered open.

The king tried to sit up but the lord shook his head and placed a hand on his chest, forcing him to lie still.

“Don’t try to sit up yet,” he said, his voice laced with worry. 

The king didn't have the strength to argue, pressing his hands to his temples, where the ringing continued to persist. 

“What… what happened?” 

Before the lord could respond, a healer entered the room. 

This woke the young man up. He bolted upright, ignoring the pain in his head and managing to shoot a glare at the lord. “I said I was fine!” he snapped, instantly wincing as his headache punished him for the sharp movement.

The lord looked worriedly at him but did not answer, instead turning to the healer. “He lost consciousness. He’s also burning up and when I picked him up it was like picking up...picking up a child.”

The king wished he could come up with a come-back to the dark-eyed lord's accusations, but the ringing in his ears made it nearly impossible. All he could manage was an incoherent groan.

The healer was immediately by his side. 

“Your majesty, do I have permission to help you?” 

Like with the lord, the worry was evident in their voice. Blond strands of hair floated down their neck and covered their healer's tattoo at their collarbone.

The king shot another glare at his friend, who remained unfazed. He hesitated but finally nodded, swallowing down the bitter taste of failure. 

“No one is to hear of this, am I clear?” he got out through clenched teeth as the healer pressed their hand to his forehead.

For a moment, their touch was freezing against his skin. The look of worry did not fade. “You need to rest. A proper rest, not a few minutes when you fall asleep during meetings.” 

“I don’t fall asleep in meetings," he lied.

"Sure you don't," muttered the lord.

"I don't!" Another round of electric pain sent him into throbbing agony. He doubled up on the couch. 

The healer sighed. They did not have the patience for the king's stubborn pride. They handed him a small vial, filled with a glittering liquid. “Please drink this. It will help.” 

He eyed it doubtfully. “What’s it for?” 

The healer's eyes flickered with hesitation. “Pain reliever” 

The king pushed himself into a sitting position, “It's not a sedative?"

"...No."

The lord and the healer exchanged a glance.

It was a sedative. Both knew the king would refuse to take a sedative, so the healer lied and the lord kept his mouth shut.

The king looked up at the lord with a pleading expression. "You wouldn't lie to me?"

The lord felt a pang of guilt. He crouched down and wrapped a hand around the king's. His hands were trembling. The lord forced himself to hold the king's gaze as he lied. "It's not a sedative, m'lord."

This seemed to assure the young man. He took the small cup, chugging it down as fast as possible.

The king's hand fell out of the lord's as almost instantly, darkness stitched its way along the inside of his eyelids. In between shallow gasps, he panicked. "You--"

"Shh," whispered the lord. "I'm sorry." He stroked a stray strand of hair out of the king's face and noticed how just within a few months, worry lines had formed on his forehead. "Rest, m'lord. You need it."

The king's eyes fluttered closed.

The healer placed a hand on the lord's shoulders. "It's for his own good," they consoled him.

"I'll sit with him until he wakes up," muttered the lord, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It was the least he could do.

[ask-lu-wild]