Chapter Text
Hamelin was no place to live.
Everyone knew that. Ever since the youngest of the two princes were born, Hamelin had turned into an absolute hell hole. A Royal Procession was going on, and the two princes stood next to their father, the current Emperor, as the wheels moved along the tracks, making excruciatingly loud noises. However, the three that were on the tank seemed unbothered by it. However, as people looked closer at the vehicle, it was clear that one of them didn’t want to be there.
“Gascon! Back straight, chin up!” Although the emperors voice was only slightly louder than a whisper, Gascon felt like it was booming. Marcassin looked past their father and to his older brother, as Gascon tried to make eye contact with his little brother, but only could manage a short amount of time before he squinted his eyes and fixed his posture. Once Gascon could sense that his father was satisfied, he opened his eyes again and looked straight ahead. He and Marcassin always got overwhelmed if they looked at the crowd of people, Marcassin mainly. He just looked down the entire time, but of course the emperor didn’t correct Marcassin, stupid favouritism.
Of course! Marcassin couldn’t do anything wrong! He’s just a perfect little kid who does whatever he’s told! He’s too much of a pushover to stand up to anyone!
Gascons face tensed up as he thought this. What if he was born before Marcassin? Everything would be solved then.
Before they all knew it, the Royal Procession was over, and the tank was swiftly moving into an area near the palace, where it got parked. Once it stopped, Gascon jumped off the tank and lifted Marcassin from under his arms from the tank and onto the safety of the ground. He held Gascons hand tightly as they both received some sort of lecture, Gascon mainly.
“Gascon.”
“Yes?”
“You should really follow your little brother’s example. Everyone loved him.”
Bloody hell, Marcassin was barely old enough to be at the processions! He’s FOUR!
“Fine.”
“Excuse me?”
Gascon winced slightly, before exhaling any built-up tension, and just going along with whatever his father said.
“Yes father.”
As they walked into the palace, Gascon glanced at a grand clock that was on the wall. It was already late, Marcassin should’ve been in bed by now. As he thought this, he leaned down and picked Marcassin up on his back. His little brother was half both his size and weight, and that was saying something, considering Gascon was technically considered underweight. He started walking down the eye-straining gold hallways that he knew all too well and turned his head slightly so his voice could be heard better.
“My room or your room tonight?”
Marcassin buried his face into Gascons shoulder as he spoke.
“Y-your room please.” His voice was quiet, and Gascon had to strain to try and hear. Marcassin was always so shy, even around him. Gascon hoisted Marcassin up again as he continued studying the walls. There was a portrait of their family up on the wall. There seemed to be a lot of portraits around the palace, and Gascon couldn’t bother to remember when he had to pose for each one of them. He felt a sudden thud on his shoulder as he turned to see Marcassin had completely passed out.
See, father? This is why my four-year-old brother shouldn’t be at the Royal Processions.
Once they got to Gascons room, Gascon opened the door as quietly as possible, and looked both directions before sneaking Marcassin into the room. Their father hated when Marcassin slept anywhere other than his room, but Gascon knew that within an hour Marcassin would be at his door saying he had a nightmare anyways. This was just a more effective solution. The door creaked as he tried to settle the door for their father not to hear, and he placed Marcassin in a pillow fort that they had made around 2 months ago. Their father insisted that Gascon take it down, but Marcassin insisted that it needed to stay up, and of course their father couldn’t say no to Marcassin. Once Marcassin was tucked into the pillow fort, Gascon glanced at him one more time before getting into his own bed. He purposely tried to face Marcassin with his gut telling him that it was for the best. He was just… worried.
Before long, Gascon had fallen asleep.