Work Text:
Reverent silence settles on the courtyard of Vengard as the gathered city guard, paladins, knights, simple folk, and the scarce remains of the nobility take in the – in their opinion – majestic sight. Reverent silence, only interrupted by the suppressed snorts coming from somewhere on the left side of the yard as one of the men there – he dares not to look who the culprit is, but his bet is either on Lares or Lester – finds the situation too funny to keep his trap shut.
From what the former convict can see, however, Gorn and Milten would gladly join them, as they struggle to keep a straight face; the large mercenary’s sight is strangely fixated on a section in the wall that has yet to be repaired after the siege, while the Fire magician has his face half-hidden behind the parchment he was reading from during the ceremony, his mouth a thin line as Milten bites down on his lip to keep self from laughing.
The eagle, of course, pays no attention to the daze it has caused. The large bird preens; first its wing, then the former convict’s hair. Afterwards, it pecks at the round item that has, without a doubt, been the one to attract the eagle’s attention in the first place and caused this idiotic joke of the gods to land in such odd place, and the one bearing the crown on his head has to refrain from facepalming hard enough to knock himself out. Behind them, the shadowbeast stares at the large bird curiously, following its every move with hungry eyes.
- I wish I could say this is the weirdest shit that’s ever happened to me, - the newly crowned King of Myrtana mutters, silent enough only for the Fire magician to hear, while the shadowbeast wiggles its behind, preparing to pounce.