Work Text:
As the southernmost of the human kingdoms, the snow only reached Katolis in time for Soren’s birthday in some years. This birthday—if it could even be called such—would prove to be one of those rare years, as Soren watched the bright white blanket double in size over the morning.
The stone windowsill stood taller than he did, so Soren lifted himself up by his arms, feet kicking out below him. Today’s sword-fighting lessons were canceled in favor of preparing for King Harrow’s birthday, so Soren had nothing else to distract himself with. Even Claudia couldn’t celebrate the snow with him, claiming that she had to practice a magic fireworks display with their father for tomorrow.
Well, Soren never got any sparklers for his birthdays, but at least she remembered.
Since it was Harrow’s first birthday as the ruling king, Soren could understand, and he could hope for more in the years to come. However, the hope and understanding twisted together and still settled like a rock in his gut.
A whole host of servants were happy to ignore him as they dashed back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off. That is, until one woman tried hanging streamers along the windows. She raised her eyebrows at the boy, and Soren only smiled brightly and hopped one ledge down. He continued to do so as she decorated, even as the consternation grew on her face.
Finally, at the last window, she ignored Soren in favor of a gasp and falling to her knees. Soren tilted his head back as he hung on the windowsill, and an upside-down Harrow came into view.
“Oh, that’s more than enough of that, Aoife,” Harrow chuckled. She stood tentatively, crushing her next collection of paper streamers in her hands. “This looks wonderful, as well.”
Soren dropped to the floor and blinked up at Harrow. His eyes flitted back and forth between the king and two members of the Crownguard that always traveled with him.
“Soren! Are you enjoying your day off?” Grinning, Harrow kneeled in front is the boy.
He flushed with the guilt of ever blaming King Harrow for his lost birthday. Soren tried to smile again. “Sure. But I like training a whole lot!”
“Well, of course! You should always like what you do.” Staring over him and out the window, the frosted windows made Harrow’s green eyes turn glassy. Before Soren could dwell on the king’s sudden frown, Harrow ruffled his hair. “But everyone deserves a break once in a while. What do you plan to do with yours?”
“It’s my birthday, I guess,” Soren shrugged and said quickly, as if it were an afterthought. “I wanna help for yours, but no one gave me anything to do.”
Standing slowly, Harrow blinked with his mouth hanging open. Soren stammered, on the verge of taking it back, when Harrow quickly schooled his expression and lifted Soren under the arms so he could stand on the windowsill. “Well now, as a birthday treat… would you like to complete rounds with the guards?”
“Really? Like, really really?” When Harrow’s face had melted into one of fondness, Soren matched it. He jumped up before remembering he stood on the stone ledge, but Harrow only laughed before he put a stabilizing hand on Soren’s shoulder.
“Of course. Since the party is open to anyone in the city tomorrow, we want to ensure everyone’s safety.” After squeezing his shoulder, King Harrow turned to the guards. “Guard-Captain Niall, do you mind?”
“Not at all, my king. I’ll send a replacement your way immediately.”
“No need. Nothing will happen to me today,” Harrow laughed and waved his hand. “Just ensure that the birthday boy has fun.”
“I… Of course.”
After bowing, the Crownguard lifted Soren onto his shoulders. He might have giggled at the prospect, but then, he straightened his back and tried to wink at the king, although it turned into just a blink. “Let’s go! Chop chop! The—uh, the bridge!”
“We do have a specific route, young lord.”
“...Right! Right.”
King Harrow smiled warmly and nodded his goodbyes. They headed in opposite directions, and Soren kicked his feet and received a salute from the other Crownguards standing watch. He kept a close eye on any possible dangers in the castle.
“Have you thought about snowballs as a defense?”
Despite the building snow, as many peasants as possible turned up for the king’s birthday celebration. Of course, it wasn’t as dessert-filled as Sarai’s birthday last month, but the queen still had her way. The table of sweets rivaled the actual feast, and she guarded Barius’ poppy seed tarts like a dragon.
With his mood boosted yesterday, Soren ate just as well. Streamers hung from the chandeliers and walls, and confetti fell from the height of the ceilings. Claudia’s demonstration went off without a hitch. He could hardly navigate the throngs of people dancing to the jaunty songs from bards that had traveled here from all over the kingdom. Soren and Claudia had danced themselves before he accidentally stepped on a noblewoman’s foot, and her acrid stare made Viren tell him to sit down.
The music only died down when Harrow stood from his seat at the dais. He raised his chalice with him, and the guards stationed around the room began to ask the partygoers to quiet, but most didn’t need much coaxing to sit down and listen to their king.
“I would like to make a toast,” Harrow began, his voice booming above the dying murmurs of the crowd. Amaya and Sarai sat to his left, Callum in her lap, and Viren and his children sat to the right. Soren had to stand in his chair and lean on the table to see the king speaking. As soon as he did, Viren muttered to him to get down.
“First, to everyone who came to see me despite the weather. Especially since parts of my roots are beginning to match the snow.”
The court erupted into laughter. Soren only leaned further to catch Harrow’s smile lines in the torchlight.
“And second, to our baker Barius and his staff for all of their hard work today, and in the years to come.”
Humming polite approval, the crowd lifted their own glasses and took a sip of wine. Soren downed his glass of juice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Two cooks walked up the aisle with a tiered cake on a rolling cart, decorated in Katolis’ colors with the uneven towers standing in chocolate on the top layer.
“It has come time for the cake cutting ceremony, but I shouldn’t be the only one,” Harrow continued. After putting his wine down, the king extended a hand towards his right. “Soren?”
Mid-swipe, Soren blinked owlishly and pointed at himself.
Harrow nodded and motioned for him to come forward.
Grinning wide, Soren pushed his chair back with a loud squeak and jumped down. He made it to Harrow within only a few hops, and the king lifted him onto the table.
“Our very own Soren’s birthday was yesterday! Do you want to tell everyone how old you are, son?” the king asked, patting his back.
Soren’s brows knit. Eventually, he turned to face Claudia, who held up all of her fingers.
“Two hands?” he huffed.
“No, Sor-bear! Ten!”
She continued to smile, but Viren rolled his eyes.
“Only ten, and yet so talented!” Harrow said, and Soren crossed his arms, glowing with pride. “But, as you’re still young, you deserve to be so. We wanted to give you this.”
A wrapped gift made its way from Amaya to Sarai to Harrow’s hands. When he presented it to Soren with a grin, Soren gasped and tore into the paper immediately. The chefs nervously kept the scraps from touching the cake.
Soren gasped again as he held a dragon plushie into the air.
“Do you like it?” Sarai asked gently. “We found it from a local craftsman.”
Soren squeezed the red dragon closer. “I love it!”
“And for that, I’m glad.” Patting his back again, Harrow then moved to grab one of the kitchen knives. “I would be honored if you would cut the first slice of cake with me, as well.”
“I can cut anything! Well, maybe not a rock…”
Harrow only laughed and helped Soren put one of his hands on the handle. Soren was tempted to slash as it like a dummy with his sword, but Harrow guided the slices into one thick piece of cake and moved it onto a plate.
He lifted the plate into the air and held Soren’s shoulder. Harrow glanced from the crowd back to Soren. “Happy birthday, son!”
After handing the first plate to Soren, he had to balance the cake and his new dragon on the way back to his seat. And when the crowd repeated Harrow’s birthday wishes and cheered, Soren blushed as red as the stuffed animal.
And if he tried to use the dragon as his sparring partner later, but felt bad and hugged it again, that was his own business.
“Did you guys know the armor makes this much noise?” Soren whispered to the two Crownguards guarding the throne room door. He kept bouncing up and down in one place, waiting for his signal to enter. All of the golden joints and silver plates jingled with him, drowning out Harrow and the Guard-Captain’s speeches inside. Hopefully, there was nothing too important. “Have you ever thought of using it to make a song?”
“Perhaps on one of our days off, sir.”
Just then, the great wooden doors creaked open, and a Crownguard on the other side nodded to Soren. He jumped again and took a deep breath, just to hype himself up, before striding forward with a hand on his empty swordbelt.
“Soren!” King Harrow said immediately, throwing his arms out in a welcome. His smile split his face in two. “Approach the dais, if you would.”
Matching his grin, Soren sauntered the length of the long, red carpet. A crowd gathered among the columns, and Soren could pick out familiar faces. Closer to the throne, Sarai stood with her hands on her children. Across the carpet, Claudia alternated between waving wildly and giving Soren a thumbs-up. Standing with his hands behind his back and a blasé expression, Viren leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Claudia flushed and waved closer to her chest before stopping.
After reaching the dais, Soren kneeled before the king. The Guard-Captain stepped forward and nodded.
“Repeat after me.”
An awed hush fell over the crowd, making it easier for Soren to focus. He still stammered and asked for a few repeats, but Soren never took any words more seriously, his eyebrows knit in concentration. He vowed to protect King Harrow and his bloodline before all else.
“It is my greatest pleasure,” Harrow boomed when they were finished, “and my greatest honor, to induct our Soren as the youngest member of the Crownguard in history.”
King Harrow’s sword clanged on Soren’s pauldrons as it passed from shoulder to shoulder. With the metallic slide back into its sheath, the crowd burst into thunderous applause.
“Rise,” Harrow leaned down and whispered to Soren, the grin never leaving his face. He offered Soren a hand to guide him up the rest of the stairs.
When only polite clapping remained, (and Claudia giving one final woohoo !), Harrow nodded to the Guard-Captain. Niall used a cloth to hold a Crownguard-issue sword along the blade, and passing it to Harrow, he did the same.
The King continued, “I trust no one’s rising talent more than I trust yours, son. I hope this sword serves us both well.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? Ha, pointy.” After nodding gratefully, Soren grabbed the gold hilt and sheathed it in his new belt. Harrow patted his shoulder in the moment of thin silence that blanketed the throne room.
Soren only hesitated a moment before spinning around and whipping his sword out of its sheath with a hyah ! When the tip pointed at one of the chandeliers, Soren glanced at his reflection in the blade and chuckled. “Man, oh man, I’ll never get tired of that!”
Claudia and Sarai’s laughs bubbled up from the crowd, as well as Harrow behind him He moved to stand beside Soren with a fond expression. “Well, I certainly hope not.”
Although Soren would not, he would not be able to keep the vows made in childhood.
As Soren climbed the dark spiral staircase to the king’s private chambers, the torches revealed more ghosts than he knew lived in the castle. Soren glanced out of the window at the top, and the full moon’s face, like bright snow waiting to absorb fresh blood, made him shiver.
Harrow stood in front of his door with a somber slope to his shoulders. Soren took his final steps forward, cursing his armor-heavy steps in the harbinger night. With a final nod, he handed King Harrow his sword, still set in its scabbard.
Covering Soren’s hand on the hilt with his own, Harrow sighed, “I’m sorry, Soren.”
“...What for?” When Harrow attached the sword to his belt, Soren scratched at his head. “I’m the one that should be apologizing.”
Soren wasn’t in the business of doubting his father, but he never thought the moon moth trick would work. After all, there was nothing there Soren could stab.
“For what will happen after,” Harrow clarified. “This will be more responsibility than I ever wanted you to take on, even now, at 18.”
“Yeah! That means I can handle it.” Soren puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips, but even now, the action rang hollow.
Turning to the window, Harrow smiled sadly. “I’m not certain age has any correlation, my son. It’s… the knowledge of yourself.” Putting a hand on Soren’s cheek, Harrow furrowed his brows. “Whatever you do, make sure you do for yourself, and by yourself.”
Unsheathing his sword, Soren huffed, “With all respect or whatever, my king, you can make sure yourself.”
Soren took his position in front of Harrow’s door like it was his own life that depended on it. Looking around at his fellow Crownguards, their eyes spoke that they felt the same.
The doubt only crept back in when his father ordered them to seize Callum.
“I killed both of them.”
“...What are you talking about?”
Most of the army had stayed at the Storm Spire while they planned out their next moves. Soren became accustomed to the thin air out of sheer willpower, but never the cold. He spent a majority of the time curled up by the fireplace in the old Dragonguard common quarters, his ratty Crownguard cloak a limp blanket about his shoulders. After his apology to Callum, the prince spent more and more time with Soren. Even if they sat in comfortable silence for most of the time, he didn’t deserve it.
Now, Callum looked up from his sketchbook, his green eyes wide with the reflection of the fire.
“King Harrow and Viren,” Soren continued, staring at his hands uselessly. “I killed them.”
“You were protecting the—my dad,” Callum said incredulously.
“And he died.”
The Crownguard heard the toss of pencil and paper to the stone floor. “We all made mistakes that night, Soren. I shouldn’t have run away right when the assassins arrived.”
And, unspoken: he shouldn’t have trusted Viren.
“It’s not like my sword fighting lessons were real helpful,” Soren managed a weak chuckle. “But, now you can… zap !” He wriggled his fingers in the air. They stopped suddenly.
He thought of Claudia.
“Exactly what I said!” Callum laughed. “And, well, Ezran is still alive. I certainly have you to thank for that.”
Soren bit his lip, imagining the times in which Ezran wouldn't. In those instances, would Soren simply be too late to the fight, or would his heart be to blame? Instead, he finally raised his chin to glance at Callum. “And so are you.”
“If anything, I killed Viren.”
Both boys jumped in their seats, swiveling to see Rayla standing in the stone doorframe.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Big ears, better hearing. Least, I assume so,” she shrugged, although her expression was plainly sympathetic. She walked forward until she could lean down and swing an arm around Callum. “But I can’t imagine that the illusion felt any different.”
“...I think part of me is happy Viren’s dead, but I’m not sure yet,” Soren admitted, hauling himself up with a groan. His joints warmed, Soren stepped lightly to one of the open windows carved into the stone.
Callum said, “That’s alright, Soren. We can’t expect you to be.”
“But I know one thing about myself.” As the winds began to whip up outside, Soren squinted his eyes shut and grabbed his swordbelt. “I would do it again.”
The fire spluttered as a blistering gust tore into the room, and Callum and Rayla danced around, collecting loose sketchbook pages. Soren blinked at the cold’s bite and stuck his head out of the window to see which one of the dragons was performing tricks now.
When a shadow fell over the sun, Soren yelped and jumped back, falling over himself and onto the stone floor.
“Sorry about that!” They heard Ezran’s shouts from somewhere outside. After a mini-earthquake, Harrow’s son peeked his inquisitive head through the window. He waved with the hand not holding onto fiery horns for dear life. “We’re learning! Pyrrah is still pretty young, y’know!”
“...Are we sure that’s not really, really dangerous?” Soren asked, bordering on nervousness. When he approached the window again, its entirety was replaced with a draconic blue eye, and Soren yelled.
Ezran only giggled, bubbly with childishness. “You sound like Callum!”
“It’s a reasonable question!” Callum yelled in the background.
He thought—or at least he hoped—that he had made amends with the dragons after the battle, so Soren still tiptoed forward. Before he could reach out for a pat, Pyrrah pressed her about to the window and huffed hot air onto him.
“That means she likes you!” Ezran claimed. Now, Soren wasn’t about to doubt someone that could talk to animals, but he was fairly close to her teeth. “Do you want to take a ride?”
Soren blinked again. “Aerial surveillance Crownguard… Hey, let’s do it!”
“You changed your tune awful fast.” Rayla smirked. “No one rides a dragon without me!”
“Pyrrah says two people only,” Ezran prefaced.
“Is she calling me fat?”
“No,” Rayla drawled, before jumping over to punch Soren in the shoulder, “but it is a race to the top!”
When she took off running, Soren sputtered indignantly before dashing after her. Callum groaned and held his art supplies to his chest as he followed suit.
“Why can’t anyone in this family be normal?” Callum said, but he said it with a smile.