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Chapter Text

Being the heir of Wroth is not an easy title to hold. With it, there are many expectations and more training than free time to be had. This was especially true when the heir happened to be of House Ga. A noble house that prided itself on the many heirs it had produced over the years.

Jiarg is no exception. The strongest child of the families within House Ga, it’s no surprise he is the current heir of Wroth. But, of course, it is not as simple as a blood right. Any noble house’s prince or princess could take the title for themself should they try.

It would take passing Jiarg before he reaches the age of adulthood -- twenty -- or take killing any who came before them in succession… But it was possible. Assassins were not unheard of among the less honorable houses, either.

House Ga would never do that, he’s been told by everyone from his parents to his teachers. We are above that, and so you must be strong. You must be able to defend the right you have already earned.

Buidhe is three years his junior and strong in her own right, but she is not the heir. Instead, she is his vassal -- another strong body to protect him. She trains day in and day out for it. Is almost always at his side.

Jiarg wonders if in another life their roles would be reversed. If she was just a few years older… He knows he is not supposed to think it, and so he keeps it to himself. He has enough on his plate as is.

He must keep in his mind all other noble houses. Thankfully, not all houses are noble, but there are enough that he must focus. House Zo, House Da, and House He were ones that currently had children. Ones that could some day rise up and take his title should they try.

Of course, House He was an interesting case. That was why he went to their home today, Buidhe and Bewhe on his tail in order to keep him safe. They had just welcomed a child a month ago -- kept quiet for the sake of the blind and deaf child until they became able to see and hear for themself.

Just two weeks ago he had opened his eyes, and his ears were starting to unfold. He was aware enough he could scream should something happen -- enough for any noble cub to be shared with the world.

He bows to the Lord and Lady of the home and then, he meets their child. Small, chubby, loud . He wonders if he was as loud when he was only a cub, unable to stop the coos coming out of his mouth.

The thought is. Quite embarrassing to the twelve year old Jiarg.

He does not have much time to think on it, however, as the cub is waddling towards him. Clearly still not even on his feet, he falls a few times on his way, but Jiarg does not move to help him. The child simply has to learn.

He climbs into Jiarg’s lap. Buidhe and Bewhe are on edge, but Jiarg simply pats his head. This is a child -- if one were to try and kill him here, it would not be the month old cub who could barely manage to make his way to him.

He grabs one of his hands, nibbles on his finger. Ah, teething will be starting soon, will it not? He will have to protect his tail whenever he makes the necessary visits to House He in the future. A cub’s teeth on a tail is… Not pleasant. He had learned as much when he was only three and Buidhe a newborn.

Ahhh… so much to worry about as the heir to Wroth.

Jiarg is fourteen and the son of House He two years old when something odd happens. The child is curled up next to him as he stares out, having just about finished another visit in order to keep up appearances. He pats the cub’s head and moves to leave.

But then, the cub speaks.

“Prince Jiarg,” he said in his uncertain, childlike voice. “I wanna be a princess.”

“Hm?”  Jiarg says, looking down at the child.

“Princess Miyoh,” the child says. “Will you call me princess, please?”

It is not odd for a two year old cub to be able to voice wants and desires, but wants and desires related to things such as gender were rare before the age of four or so. It throws Jiarg off for a moment. He-- no, she -- has already picked a name for herself, even. Do her parents even know yet?

“I will, Princess Miyoh,” he replies. “But do not ask for such things. Take what is yours, your name and your very being. Leave no room for doubt and demand to be recognized as such.”

“Demand?” Miyoh asks.

Jiarg nods. “Tell those who stand before you that you are Princess Miyoh of House He. Do not allow any to argue otherwise.”

“But…” Miyoh’s tail thrashes fearfully. “What if Mother and Father say no? I can’t… fight. To prove it…”

Miyoh was an ill child, had been since the day of her birth. Shortly after Jiarg’s visit when she was but a month old, she had fallen ill for two. It was a miracle her tiny body was still pushing forward. A miracle someone had not seen it as a chance to take competition out of the running.

Though, Jiarg supposes, a sickly child is unlikely to even be seen as competition. If anything, she may as well not exist in the race vying to rule over Wroth when the time comes for the current Queen to step down.

But it also means she is not in the position to demand the respect and honor she deserves, for she cannot fight for it as others can.

“I pledge to you my blade, then,” he says after a moment. “To fight in the honor of your existence as He Miyoh.”

“You would do that?” She asks. “But wouldn’t you get in trouble?”

“I am the crown prince of Wroth, no one would dare argue with me,” Jiarg replies. “And if they truly wish to duel with me over it, I will simply win and defend your honor yet another day.”

Miyoh’s eyes shine. “Thank you, Prince Jiarg…!”

“Mother is pregnant,” Miyoh says one day. “Do you think it’s because I am so sick?”

“Parents sometimes simply have more than one cub,” Jiarg replies. “I would not think too hard on that. Rather, you should think on why you thought it alright to tell the heir of a rival house.”

“Because you’re my friend!” Miyoh replies. “I know you won’t hurt my baby sibling, Prince Jiarg! You have no reason to!”

“You are right, but others could be listening,” Jiarg scolds. “There is a reason noble houses keep their children a secret until they are old enough to see and hear.”

Miyoh frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to risk my baby sibling…”

“It is alright, I’m sure Buidhe and Bewhe have ensured no one is around to listen, but be more careful in the future,” he ruffles her hair. “Now, tell me. Why do you think they want another child because of your sickness?”

“Well, I can’t challenge you for the throne when I’m like this,” Miyoh says. “I train all I can, but I can’t catch up with you when most of my time is spent in bed.”

“Mmm, so you think it is because of me more than you,” Jiarg says. “I see…”

“Oh, do you think it’s possible?” Miyoh asks, a frown on her face.

“Perhaps, but even then it is because of me, as I said. If you were not to be vying for my spot, I do not think they would have anything less but fulfilled lives with you.”

“I hate that they have to make us vye for it,” Miyoh slings herself across his lap. “I want to be your friend, Prince Jiarg, not your rival.”

“I know, little one. When I become twenty, perhaps things will settle down,” he offers. At least the overt fighting will end, then.

“Become twenty soon, Prince Jiarg,” Miyoh says. “It’s lonely not being able to play with any of the children my age.”

“I know, He Miyoh. I’m sorry.”

Chapter Text

“You are going to see the new child of House He, My Prince?” Ga Buidhe’s words are neutral, but the way her tail thrashes tells Ga Jiarg all he needs to know. “I believe even Her Majesty said there was no need -- you are so close to twenty--”

“I am only fifteen, and even if this child is of no threat to me, it’s good to make allies,” Ga Jiarg cuts her off. “It would be an act of cowardice, a swallowing of pride, if I did not appear. I would seem afraid of a mere cub.”

“Ah, I suppose,” Ga Buidhe says, an unspoken sentence hanging in the air.

There was nothing worse than a wound to one’s pride as a Wrothian, and so Ga Jiarg could not back down. Not even if the Queen herself tells him he is able to. For that would not stop the rumor mill from developing.

“I will be safe, with you and Bewhe watching my back,” he offers after a moment, in an attempt to calm her nerves. “You have nothing to worry about, Buidhe.”

“Yes, My Prince,” she looks downward, breaking their staring at each other. “I will trust you know what you are doing.”

He nods. “Thank you, that is all I ask.”

“When shall we go?” Buidhe asks.

“In a week, Miyoh mentioned many are visiting. Likely in hopes the child will be the one to take me down. We’ll go when things calm a bit,” he says. 

“To be safe?” She asks, a bit too hopeful.

“No,” he grins at her. “To leave a mark.”

The child is cute and small, and reminds him greatly of Miyoh. Though their fur and hair are slightly darker in color than Miyoh’s own. Maybe a less attentive Wrothian would not notice the difference if they did not know, but he did.

And he also knew if the child was anything like their older sister, they would decide things about themself earlier than expected. And for that reason, he refuses to call them their name or even he . 

He will wait to see what the child wishes in the future and decide no sooner. Though this seems to upset Lord He quite a bit, he does not care. Even as a young prince, he outranks him. If he wished to stand up to him, he would have to be sure he won.

But he knew Lord He was said to be a bit of a coward. He had nothing to fear and knew the man would not stand up to him. He had not stood up when Jiarg declared He Miyoh’s name of choice and he would not now.

Good. He’s glad the man knows his place. Knows not to spit on his guest who was told he did not even have to come. Social suicide was not a pleasant thought, and that’s all it would be.

The cub is sucking on his finger, trying to feed. He Miyoh sits on his lap and giggles, petting her little sibling. It was quite nice, he wonders if one day he will carry on the Ga line… Though for now he’s young enough he doesn’t have to worry about that.

At least, not yet.

“I am sorry, little one, but you won’t find any food there,” he chuckles, a smile on his face. “You would have to ask your mother if you’re hungry.”

“They can’t understand you, Prince Jiarg!” Miyoh laughs. 

“I know, but it’s good to talk to cubs and help them learn!” He laughs in return. “Surely you noticed how quickly you caught on thanks to it.”

Not surprisingly, He Miyoh simply stares up at him and blinks. He supposes a child wouldn’t realize that, would they? Not even an incredibly bright one such as He Miyoh here!

“Well, that doesn’t matter now,” he says after a moment. “For now, do your best to support your little sibling, hm?”

“Oi!” The younger child of House He, now five, kicks Jiarg in the back and he turns to look at them with a frown. “You!”

“Yes?” He asks, doing his best to stay calm about the fact this child didn’t seem to get the way nobles were supposed to act one bit. “Do you need something, little one?”

“Miyoh told me you supported her when she told you she’s Miyoh,” the child says. “So I’m tellin’ you I’m He Niyah! Got it?”

“Ah, of course,” he nods. “Though I suppose you’ll be able to handle telling others that on your own?”

“What?!” Niyah pouts. “That’s not fair, Miyoh told me you defended her to Pa!”

“You talk about your father so impolitely…” He shakes his head. “Miyoh is frail and sick, she needed my help. You are sturdy and healthy, surely you can stand up for yourself, Princess Niyah?”

She sticks out her tongue. “No Princess, it sounds stupid. ”

“That explains why you always call me you, rather than Prince Jiarg, I suppose…”

“Well you’re actually next in line so if I have to, I’ll call you that,” Niyah crosses her arms. “But it’s a load of dung, trying to call the other noble houses that stuff!”

“Load of… who has been teaching you these sayings?”

“I can read really good,” Niyah says. “Anyway, will you defend my honor or not?”

“I still don’t think you need me to,” Jiarg replies. “Just because He Miyoh has something does not mean you need it, little one.”

Niyah puffs out her cheeks. “It’s not fair.”

“Life is not fair,” Jiarg replies.

“Then make it more fair!”

She storms off before he can reply and he sighs. Niyah… She’s always been more loud and brash than her sister, but now? He thinks she may be the loudest and brashest by the time she reaches adulthood proper. He feels sorry for her tutors and her vassal.

But at least she’s entertaining whenever he visits, right?

The Queen is dead, and the Ganglion throw themselves at the Wrothians still. There is no time for Jiarg to officially become king, but in all but name, that is what he is. The beacon as they continue to fight. Continue helplessly floundering.

For a moment he curses the way of the Wroth. The self-sufficency to the point of idiocy. Then he swallows it down quickly, before it can be voiced. He is a symbol for all Wrothians, he had been born for it. He cannot show signs of weakness.

If he is weak, Wroth is weak. If they are weak, the Ganglion will win. He cannot let the Ganglion win, cannot spit on the dead who fought for their freedom thus far. He must keep fighting.

Keep fighting until there is no choice but to kneel.

There is a curfew in effect, in an attempt to keep everyone they can alive. Most listen, as Wrothians are taught from a young age to listen to those stronger and more important than them. But there is a straggler or two.

Including ten year old He Niyah.

Jiarg is out -- he is one of the few without the curfew. The prince makes the choices right now, he does not follow them. And so he approaches her, Ga Buidhe right behind him. He frowns down at her and all he Niyah does is frown.

“I want to help!” She says.

“You are still a cub,” Jiarg says, kneeling to be closer to her level. “You cannot fight.”

“I can care for the injured, though,” Niyah insists. “Miyoh is nearly old enough to fight for you, so I’ll--”

“You’re too young,” he replies. “You would not be able to handle all you would see. You should stay home and stay safe.”

“But--”

“No buts, He Niyah,” Jiarg replies. “It is for your own good. If you want to help, support your sister and He Dromarch when they choose to go into battle.”

Or are drafted. He keeps that to himself, though. He is not proud that thing have gotten to the point where most over the age of eighteen have no choice but to fight. Not even fully adults, but having to risk their lives for those even younger.

He Niyah is too young to understand that, so he stays quiet. He simply waits to see what she does. Bunched fists, bitten lower lip, narrowed eyes. Things aren’t going to go well; he braces himself.

She slaps him and he doesn’t even flinch. Simply holds up a hand to stop Ga Buidhe from moving in on the girl. She is young, too young to do any real damage. He flicks her forehead and she lets out an angry yell.

“You are a child, go home, He Niyah,” he says. “I don’t want the children of Wroth to have to bear this burden. So please, just go home.”

“I…” She frowns, grunts. “I’ll change your mind one of these days, Prince Jiarg.”

The use of that title tells him how serious she is. “We will see about that. For now, support your family.”

“You’ll see…!”

She runs off and he stands up with a frown. Ga Buidhe comes to stand next to him and frowns. He refuses to meet her eyes. He can already guess what she’s about to say to him. He doesn’t need it tonight.

“My Prince, that child is…”

“I know, Buidhe. I know.”

Chapter Text

Ga Jiarg walks past Miyoh as if she does not exist, and she supposes that’s about the best she can expect right now. After what her father had done, how he had betrayed the proud warriors of Wroth… She tightens her grip on her bodysuit and says nothing.

She just wishes she knew why he did that. Why he chose to throw away the honor of House He. Did he think the end of the war would be the end of their suffering? Had he thought it the best for Miyoh and Niyah’s futures? For Milton’s as well?

“Bastard,” Niyah mutters, pulling her from her thoughts. “You’d have thought he didn’t visit us all the time, the way he’s acting.”

“My Lady,” He Dromarch, once their father’s vassal and now theirs, speaks up. “You must understand our prince is under duress--”

“He could at least look at us,” Niyah snaps back. “He acts like we did just what Da did, like we had a clue!”

“Niyah,” Miyoh says. “That’s enough. No matter how we feel, we have to respect him. He’s our prince.”

“A lousy prince, if you ask me,” Niyah says, but she doesn’t argue anymore.

He Milton, the recently adopted son of House He, huffs. His tail is still quite silly looking for a cub of his age, even more so when it thrashes like it does right now. His arms are behind his head, in a silly attempt to seem less angry, as he looks between them.

“All we can do is roll with the punches now, right? Stop bickering,” he says, shooting a pointed look at the fifteen year old Wrothian.

Miyoh, being the closest thing to a family head now, steps between them before they can start arguing. She knows they’re both stressed from everything. From welcoming a new family member, to their mother dying, to their father vanishing, to the truth of it coming to light…

She pats their heads and coos, thankful when Dromarch steps in to pull Niyah back a step or two.

“It’s alright, you two. We have each other… It doesn’t matter what other think, right?”

“Right,” Milton says with a nod. “Didn’t care about what people said when my village got washed away over night and I don’t care now.”

“Your ears pressin’ against your head the best they can say otherwise,” Niyah mumbles. “But… guess you’re right. All we can do now is live with the hand Da dealt us, yeah?”

“Exactly,” Miyoh gives her siblings a smile. “We can make it through anything, if we just stick together.”

“Your words are moving, My Lady,” Dromarch says. “You would make your mother proud, could she see you now.”

Miyoh’s smile turns to their vassal -- the only one left after everything. Standing by their side despite the shame it would bring him and any family he made for himself in the future. Loyal to the end, as any Wrothian should be, he said.

Loyal, even when their father had not been.

“Thank you, Dromarch,” she says, voice quiet. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“Eh,” Milton says.

“We would find a way to survive,” Niyah adds.

Domarch clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “My Lady, My Lord… you wound me.”

“Don’t worry, they don’t mean it,” Miyoh says, laughing a bit, as if things didn’t feel like they were falling apart around her. “They’re just too young and too shy to speak their true feelings, that’s all.”

Niyah bristles. “W-what do you know?!”

“Y-yeah!” Milton agrees, tail once again thrashing. “You don’t know anything!”

Miyoh simply laughs, laughs despite the weight on her shoulders. Laughs, as if she still has the ability to be a child as these two are, as they are all forced to work and prove they are not their father. Laughs and laughs until the others have no choice but to join in.

Jiarg flinches ever so slightly when Miyoh laughs. A flinch so minute only Buidhe notices, as she is meant to. Even the smallest change from her prince is to be noted, mentally or verbally, for his own sake. Even now as they are the thralls of the Ganglion, that is her job.

She says nothing this time, simply notes it mentally. She wasn’t blind -- she had been there since the He family had first welcomed a child into the world. Had watched Jiarg grow closer to them by the day. She knows he is abandoning his feelings for the Wrothian way.

That is not something to be questioned, but honored, she reminds herself. She would be failing as a vassal to see him choosing their people as a whole over them as anything less than valiant. 

She glances back only when the others join in. They laugh, but they do not seem joyful. How could they, when the shame of the previous Lord He hangs heavy over them? For Miyoh, especially, despite her being the one to start it all. She was the heir -- the one the blame most squarely fell on.

At least Niyah and Milton were young enough to claim ignorance. At least Dromarch has the excuse of undying loyalty to your lord until the end. Miyoh was old enough many believed she must have known. That she worked with her father.

But Jiarg had granted her a simple mercy. An allowance to live and prove herself. A chance for them to all prove House He should not be wiped away like a stain. Buidhe finds it a bit too soft of him, but she supposes it was better than the alternative.

It would give them a chance to prosper again, or give Jiarg a chance to see they weren’t worth it and to finally wipe his hands clean of them. She was torn, pieces of her vying for either ending -- watching them all that time had left her with some fondness herself.

A fondness she could bury, that she had to bury. Because there was still an arm reaching up from the soil for Jiarg, and she could not allow herself to falter should that arm try to strangle him. She would be the blade to sever it, should it come to that.

(She hopes one last time for it to not come to that, and then buries her feelings completely.)